Eritrea: A Dream Deferred 1847010083, 9781847010087

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Gaim Kibreab is Professor of Research & Director of Refugee Studies, Department of Social & Policy Studies, London South Bank University Contents: Preface: ‘washing dirty linen in public’? – Introduction – The broken promises, demand for change & violation of human rights – Associational life in independent Eritrea – Towards an explanation – The demise of the private sector – PFDJ’s dominance of the economy & the consequences – Freedom of association, political stability & institutions – Shattered promises: in lieu of a conclusion – Postscript: the impending famine? Cover: Villagers in Shiketi village queueing to cast their vote in the April 1993 referendum (Photo © Ragnhild Ek)

An imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF www.boydell.co.uk and 668 Mt Hope Ave, Rochester, New York 14620, USA www.boydellandbrewer.com

EASTERN AFRICA SERIES

Gaim Kibreab

A DREAM DEFERRED

In this well-researched first account of post-independence Eritrea, Gaim Kibreab gives a detailed and critical analysis of how things went woefully wrong and how the former ‘liberators’ turned into oppressors with no respect for the rule of law, human rights and religious freedom.

KIBREAB

The PFDJ government dismantled existing formal and informal institutions, crippled the private sector, banned private newspapers, civil and political society organisations, expelled international NGOs and aid agencies when over two-thirds of the population were dependent on food aid, detained without trial journalists, thousands of dissidents, and former leaders of the liberation struggle, and turned national service from an instrument of nation building and national integration into an instrument of open-ended forced labour.

Eritrea

A DREAM DEFERRED

Eritrea

Eritrean independence under the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (now the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice) became an international cause celebre during the 1980s. Eritrea was the first African nation to gain independence in the post-colonial period and appeared to be opening a new and progressive path in African politics. But the promise of the revolution was soon betrayed by the outbreak of war with Ethiopia, the PFDJ’s increasingly repressive domestic policies, its mismanagement of the country’s economy, and its hostile relations with its neighbours.

EASTERN AFRICA SERIES

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Eritrea

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EASTERN AFRICA SERIES Women’s Land Rights & Privatization in Eastern Africa Edited by BIRGIT ENGLERT & ELIZABETH DALEY War & the Politics of Identity in Ethiopia: Making Enemies & Allies in the Horn of Africa KJETIL TRONVOLL

Moving People in Ethiopia: Development, Displacement & the State Edited by ALULA PANKHURST & FRANÇOIS PIGUET Living Terraces in Ethiopia: Kanso Landscape, Culture & Development ELIZABETH WATSON

Eritrea: A Dream Deferred GAIM KIBREAB

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Eritrea A Dream Deferred GAIM KIBREAB Professor of Research & Director of Refugee Studies London South Bank University

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James Currey is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK www.boydell.co.uk and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620, USA www.boydellandbrewer.com

© Gaim Kibreab 2009 First published 2009 1 2 3 4 5 13 12 11 10 09 The right of Gaim Kibreab to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Kibreab, Gaim. Eritrea : a dream deferred. — (Eastern Africa series) 1. Human rights—Eritrea. 2. Eritrea—Politics and government—1993- 3. Hezbawi genbar damokrasi fetehen (Eritrea) 4. Hezbawi genbar harenat Eretra. I. Title II. Series 963.5’072-dc22 ISBN 978-1-84701-008-7 ( James Currey Hardcover)

Typeset in 9/10 1⁄2 pt M. Baskerville by Long House Publishing Services, Cumbria, UK Printed & bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham & Eastbourne

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Zey snkas hutsa qortmolu (Chewing sand with someone else’s teeth is painless) Tigrinya saying

The peace we seek in Iraq, as everywhere, is one that reflects the lessons of our terrible century: that peace is not true or lasting if it is brought at any cost; that only peace with justice can honour the victims of war and violence; and that, without democracy, tolerance and human rights for all, no peace is truly safe. UN Secretary-General Mr Kofi Annan, Speech to the Council on Foreign Relations, New York, January 1999

This stained light, this night-bitten dawn This is not the dawn we yearned for The time for liberation of heart and mind Has not come as yet. Continue your arduous journey. Press on, the destination is still far away. Faize Ahmed Faize (Urdu Poet), 1947

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Contents List of Tables, Figures & Maps Preface: ‘Washing Dirty Linen in Public’? Acknowledgements Abbreviations & Acronyms Maps

1 Introduction The People’s Front for democracy and justice The structure of the book Methodology and data sources Loss of illusion Submission to tyrannical power

2 The Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights The dangers of ruling without ‘brakes’ The border war: a convenient alibi for tyranny The dissident Group of 15 (the G15) Who are the G15? Securitisation and violation of human rights The broken promises

3 Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The international context: the new policy agenda State and civil society in Eritrea and the PFDJ mass organisations National NGOs Professional associations The government assault on civil society organisations Post-independence government policy on NGOs

4 Towards an Explanation The clandestine roots of intolerance ‘Dependency syndrome’ and the Eritrean state The sovereignty myth Competition for financial and human resources The obsession with self-reliance Incompatibility of civic pluralism with a monolithic and centralising political movement

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x xii xviii xx xxiv

1 4 8 10 13

16

24 26 30 34 36 38 46

53 54 55 61 63 67 121

146 147 152 158 167 171 186

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Contents Perceived threat to national security Arrogance: ‘We know better than the rest’ Misconceived notion of national unity

5 The Demise of the Private Sector EPLF policies and the private sector The EPLF/PFDJ and the private sector in the immediate post-independence period Hostility towards diaspora, expellee and stayee entrepreneurs The private sector from illusory centre stage to stigmatisation Findings of the Ministry of Trade and Industry’s study Correct diagnosis and wrong policy prescriptions Inflation soars, the crisis deepens and the assault on the private sector intensifies Calling for revenge? The banning of the private sector in construction Democratic transition stifled through suppression of free enterprise

6 PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences

189 203 206

223 224 226 227 229 233 242 247 253 255 256

PFDJ Office of Economic Affairs The Hidri Trust Fund Economic domination as a means of ideological indoctrination PFDJ dominance of the national economy Unfair competition PFDJ economic dominance Is PFDJ’s economic dominance a threat to national security?

265 265 268 272 273 280 294 295

7 Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions

305

Freedom of association, the principle of civic duty and the rule of law What of the Eritrean opposition groups? Uqub: freedom of association, bonding and bridging social capital Questioning the opposition Freedom of association and its potential pitfalls Political stability and the opposition groups The anti-politics of exclusion, violations of human rights and erosion of social capital ‘Group think,’ bonding social capital and the stifling of institutional and bureaucratic development What is to be done?

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306 310 312 316 323 324 328 334 343

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Contents

8 Shattered Promises In Lieu of a Conclusion The betrayed promises Shattered optimism Dearth of freedom, institutions and the rule of law Is the president to blame for everything? The stigmatisation of intellectuals What of the G15? In the grip of nationalism

353 357 359 365 375 384 386 388

Postscript: The Impending Famine? References Index

394 396 413

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List of Tables, Figures & Maps

Tables 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6

The eleven detained members of the G15 The nine journalists detained in September 2001 Some citizens arrested in late 2001 and early 2002 Types of associations and their traits The role of women in the EPLF EPLF health personnel, 1987 Enrolment in Zero School, 1976–85 Regional distribution of student population, 1984–85 EPLF literacy campaign, 1983–85 Projects received and entered into the W3 database as of 23 November 2001 3.7 Projects received and entered into W3 database as of December 2003 3.8 Duration of the projects as of October 2001 3.9 Breakdown of projects by status 3.10 Current consolidated inter-agency appeal (CAP) funding status as of 31 July 2002, UN agencies (in US dollars) 3.11 Projects received and entered into W3 database in 2007 4.1 Domestic crop production and food aid, 1986–1995 4.2 Official Development Assistance (ODA) 1993–2004 4.3 GDP by industrial origin, 1993–2001, in millions of constant Nakfa (1992=100) 4.4 GDP by industrial origin, 1993–2001, percentage change in millions of constant Nakfa (1992 = 1000) 4.5 Crop production in Eritrea, 1994–2004 (tonnes) 5.1 Average number of workers per firm (permanent and temporary workers, 1999–2001) 6.1 PFDJ business firms 6.2 Hidri Trust Fund companies’ capital and retained earnings accounts in Eritrean Nakfa

x

25 40 44 48 81 108 111 112 113 128 130 132 132 134 138 153 157 177 178 186 239 266 270

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List of Tables, Figures & Maps 6.3 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4

Taxation of PFDJ firms registered under the Hidri Trust Fund, 2002 Eritrean political organisations in exile, 2004 Organisational members of the Alliance of Eritrean National Forces (AENF), 1999 Organisational members of the Eritrean National Alliance (ENA), 2002 Organisational members of the Eritrean Democratic Alliance (EDA), 2005

290 318 319 321 321

Figures 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9

Growth of real GDP and agricultural production, 1993-2002 (percentage changes) Food and non-food price inflation, 1997–2002 Government revenues and expenditure, 1993–2003 (percentage of GDP) Domestic and overall fiscal balance, 1993–2002 Balance of payments indicators (as percentage of GDP), 1997–2002 Gross official reserves, 1997–2002 Balance of payments indicators, (as percentage of GDP) 1997, 2002 National debt as percentage of GDP, 1993–2002 National debt servicing as percent of GDP, 1993–2002

179 179 180 181 182 182 183 184 185

Maps 1 2 3

Physical and historical provinces Current administrative regions, roads and towns Languages and ethnic groups

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Preface ‘Washing Dirty Linen in Public’?

In my many trips there, I came to love Eritrea and its brave, fiercely independent people, as do many others. Perhaps it is this admiration for them that leads so many outsiders to remain silent in the face of such outrages. Anthony Lake, Head of the American Negotiating Team in the Eritrea-Ethiopia border dispute1 Misery such as mine has no pride. I care not who knows that I am wretched.

Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility (1811) It is not just outsiders who restrain themselves from speaking out against the Eritrean government’s poor human rights record, due, among other things, to respect for the country and its people. A large majority of the Eritrean intellectuals in the diaspora are also silent. In the face of the government’s contempt for the fundamental principles of human rights and the rule of law, this is mystifying. Many of them, especially those in Europe and North America, have failed to make a principled stand against tyranny and gross violations of human rights. Although this silence may be due to various factors, including opportunism, Eritreans are generally averse to speaking negatively about their country, government and family in public. As Yosief Indrias, a young Eritrean artist, states: Eritreans hardly ever talk about the problems and bad things happening in their country. It’s because they are proud of their being Eritreans, they don’t want to expose the bad side. But they are also scared, because things have turned very sour. You know, Eritreans are courageous in bearing difficult situations, and they are patient. But once they feel they have had enough, they will act. And then the government will not be able to stop them. But I believe we need to talk now (quoted in Lammers 2006: 321) (emphasis added).

Yosief is fundamentally right about the general Eritrean attitude. People are reluctant to ‘wash’ their families’ and country’s ‘dirty linen in public’. Yet how bad must things get for people to reject this taboo and speak out in favour of freedom, justice, democracy and fairness? There is no pride in being subjected to the arbitrary rule of unelected dictators. There is no pride in suffering incommunicado detention without being charged. There is no pride in hunger and isolation. There

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Preface is no pride in being subjected to forced labour under the guise of the open-ended national service. There is no pride in being tortured and humiliated. As Yosief admonishes, Eritreans ‘should talk now’ before it is too late. One of the modest pledges the author made in writing this book was to avoid being constrained by the so-called ‘washing dirty linen in public’ taboo. This is because when linen is dirty, it needs washing or airing, for fear of the risk of decomposition for the linen in question and infection for those who wear it. Because the book transgresses the ‘washing’ or ‘airing of dirty linen in public’ taboo, some Eritreans may feel uncomfortable with it or get outraged by some of its contents. Others may charge that this will only serve the interests of ‘our enemies’ and therefore demonise its author as being yet another ‘traitor’, ‘sell-out’, etc. I have nothing to say to such people except to urge them to draw some insights from G.K. Chesterton’s wisdom, ‘My country [read my government], right or wrong, is a thing that no patriot would think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, my mother, drunk or sober.’ The nineteenth-century American senator, Carl Schurz’s observation – ‘My country, right or wrong; if right to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right’ seems to explain the motive underlying my decision to write as candidly as I have without being constrained by the ‘washing of dirty linen in public’ taboo. Although the book is nothing more than a modest contribution to the on-going debate on the sorry state of Eritrea, I am under no illusion that it will make a visible difference in trying to make sense of what has woefully gone wrong in such a short time. It may also be worth reminding those who make such charges of Jane Austen’s critical observation (cited above), ‘Misery such as mine [ours] has no pride. I care not who knows that I am [we are] wretched.’ Eritreans have the right and the duty to be angry with what has befallen their country and to think aloud. There is no reason to hide their indignation or feel embarrassed or ashamed about the wretched state of their country. It is not their fault. They have been betrayed and it is those who have betrayed them that should feel embarrassed. During the war of independence, ‘washing of the revolution’s dirty linen in public’ was regarded as a taboo bordering treason. Those who spoke publicly against the excesses or the mistakes of the revolution were regarded as traitors. Over time, this taboo was extended to apply to those who criticised the leaders of the revolution. ‘No matter what they do, it should remain a family affair, shielded from outsiders,’ was the conventional wisdom. In fact, this has been one of the most ‘sacrosanct’ unwritten rules of behaviour in the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) throughout its history. Its successor, the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), in government also uses it forcefully to induce its members and nationals to toe the party line. ‘There is no greater and unforgivable crime than exposing the unpleasant realities, weaknesses, and secrets of your organisation and your country to outsiders’ still remains one of the central tenets of the EPLF/PFDJ’s and the Eritrean government’s unwritten code of conduct. The taboo was so internalised by members of the Front that even those who disagreed with the leadership and fled abroad, including to Western Europe and North America, did not break it by washing the EPLF’s dirty linen in public. The group of 15 former high-ranking government, party and military officials, now known as the G15, were the first to shatter the taboo which had been elevated to the status of ‘sacrosanct dogma’ in the past (see Chapter 2).2 It was the violation of

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Preface this dogma and the unpleasant realities the G15 revealed in their ‘Open Letter’ that infuriated the presidency and the PFDJ Central Office who labelled them a threat to ‘national security and sovereignty’ and therefore deserved to be locked up incommunicado indefinitely without trial.3 This is clear from al-Amin Mohamed Said, the PFDJ secretary’s interview with the state-owned newspaper Hadas Eritra4 in which he kept harping on ‘the EPLF way’ of dealing with internal problems and the G15’s failure to observe that way of resolving conflicts. When the Eritrean president was asked, for example, about the incarceration of the 11 members of the G15 by a journalist on ABC television, he accused the G15 of ‘treason, betrayal, vacillation, compromising national security and a number of other things’.5 Although they have been held in incommunicado detention since 2001, no charges have so far been brought against them. They have been prejudged long before being charged. The ‘unforgivable crime’ the G15 and their sympathisers committed was ‘washing the president’s and the PFDJ’s central office’s dirty linen in public’ and thereby exposing the unpleasant reality to the PFDJ members and consequently to the Eritrean people through the ‘Open Letter’. The latter is said to have betrayed the ‘taboo’ – the EPLF/PFDJ way. The EPLF was a highly secretive, centralised and disciplined military organisation. Little has changed since its ascendance to power except that its members, particularly its leaders, are no longer as disciplined as they were during the war of national independence. The PFDJ still remains a secretive, non-transparent, centralised and oppressive military organisation. The assumption that as long as we don’t ‘wash our dirty linen in public we will remain clean, dignified, glorified, united, and focused’ is theoretically unsound and empirically false. If we don’t wash our ‘dirty linen’ for fear of being disunited or for concern over the fact that ‘our enemies’ will know about our ‘disunity and weaknesses’ and can use this to their advantage, this amounts to leaving the ‘dirty linen’ to stink and to decompose or eventually disintegrate. More often than not, because groups, organisations, or even governments use the ‘dirty linen’ parable to shield themselves from ‘outsiders’ or their critics, not only does this intentionally or inadvertently stifle cultural, political, or even economic progress, but more dangerously, nationalist movements, parties, and governments use it to stymie any opposition and to demonise those who dare to think aloud and differently. It is not only the PFDJ and the Eritrean government that use the ‘dirty linen’ thing to hide their unpleasant realities from the outside world. It is commonly used in many other contexts. For example, Nathan McCall, the African-American writer, opens his chapter ‘airing dirty linen’6 with the following sarcastic note of warning to his white readers: The author respectfully requests that white people abstain from reading this chapter. It contains material intended for black folks only and is meant as a personal discussion among us. In other words, this family business, an in-house matter, a black-on-black concern is not intended for consumption by the general public.7

This is similar to the EPLF/PFDJ culture, the only difference being that McCall’s black community tolerates internal discussion, while the EPLF/PFDJ does not recognise the need for or tolerate internal discussion unless it is along the same party line. McCall further states that some black folks consider ‘airing black people’s dirty laundry’:

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Preface as a crime worse than blasphemy. It is an unpardonable sin, an act of treason punishable by banishment from the race. It seems that African-American writers, who sometimes publish works that reveal unpleasant truths about black life, run as great a risk as anybody of being charged with racial treason. For sure if some ‘righteous’ brothers and sisters had their way, black writers who air our dirty laundry would be taken to the chopping block and be dealt with righteously.8

He gives a number of examples in which black writers who told the story ‘as it is’ were demonised and ruthlessly attacked by African Americans for violating ‘some unwritten taboo’. These writers include Michele Wallace, for her Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman, Ntozake Shange, the author of For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When the Rainbow is Enuf, Terry MacMillan, the author of Waiting to Exhale and Alice Walker for her book The Color Purple. It is not just black people who took offence about this ‘washing of dirty linen’ taboo. Many Muslims felt deeply offended by Salman Rushdie’s fiction, Satanic Verses, and recently by the publication of cartoons of the Prophet Mohammed by a Danish local newspaper. Italians also took offence at Mario Puzo’s Godfather, and Jews at Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint. As pointed out earlier, in the Eritrean nationalist movement, revealing ‘unpleasant’ truths about the fronts was always regarded as a serious crime equal to an act of sedition. ‘Traitor, sell-out, spy, defeatist’ etc. were the common demonising labels used to describe people who washed the so-called ‘dirty laundry in public’. It is important to point out, however, that the rationale underlying the ‘dirty linen’ parable is inconsistent with the principles underlying the cultures of the various ethno-linguistic groups in the country. Without trying to glorify the cultures of the various Eritrean ethno-linguistic groups, many emphasise the need for open dialogue rather than the burying of problems. This, for example, is epitomised by the Tigrinya saying, ‘hawi inte tedegoles zitefeà yimesl’ (a buried fire gives the false impression of being extinguished). Just because a fire is not burning and producing smoke or embers does not mean it is dead. By the same token, just because a problem is hidden does not mean it is solved. This saying is precisely the opposite of the ‘dirty linen’ adage. Not only is open and democratic dialogue the best method of conflict resolution, but it is also the best shield against internal division and external threat to national security and sovereignty. Open and frank dialogue enables different groups and individuals to seek solutions by working together and by recognising and embracing their differences rather than pretending that no such differences exist. The Eritrean government wants to give the impression that everything is fine and it expects every Eritrean to portray the relationship between the people and the government as being perfect, harmonious, and the situation in the country as being most satisfactory and enviable. Saying anything to the contrary is seen as treason or betrayal of the nationalist cause. One of the favourite phrases the EPLF and now the PFDJ use to stifle dissent and to instil fear and guilt is, ‘bdem suweat telagtz aloka’ (you are making a mockery of the fallen heroes). Disloyalty against the leadership is construed as being a sign of disrespect to those who paid the highest price – life – during the war of independence. The question, however, is who is it that has betrayed the cause the martyrs died for? How many of the fallen heroes would not be rolling in their graves if they saw what has happened to their beloved country?

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Preface Open dialogue as a basis of conflict resolution and as a means of cementing group and intra-group cohesion has always been an integral part of the Eritrean cultural imperative, manifested in many aphorisms of the various ethno-linguistic groups in the country. For example, the adage – ‘habaè kuslus, habaè fewsu’ (S/he who conceals her/his wounds, finds no cure) – is an expression of a tradition that encourages bringing problems into the open. This is because our forefathers and foremothers believed in the simple truth that a problem does not go away simply because it is denied or people are forbidden to talk about it. Only by bringing a problem into the open would people be able to analyse the causes and consequences, as well as find lasting solutions. Open and frank recognition of the existence of a problem is a sine qua non for finding a solution. Hidden wounds cannot be diagnosed and without diagnosis no medicines can be prescribed. Consequently, a simple and curable wound could develop into gangrene corroding the ailing body part. In the worst-case scenario, this may lead to amputation of the affected body part, or the treatment may be costly and protracted. A wound that does not receive timely diagnosis and treatment can also spread and contaminate the rest of the body and kill it. If people hide their problems and pretend that everything is all right, not only will their differences become deeper, but also their ability to defend their country’s sovereignty and territorial integrity will diminish dramatically. This is because, firstly, open dialogue and wide participation may eliminate the threat of external insecurity by improving the quality of a country’s foreign policy and international relations. Second, the people’s ability to avert the threat of external insecurity is far greater in a political system where the government in question embraces and encourages free and vibrant discussion rather than suppressing alternative views and criticism of its policies and strategies. The question of ownership is also vital in a country’s defence. If people are disaffected because the government in power abuses them or does not consult with them, this may not only have a corrosive effect on their stamina, incentive, and determination to defend their country, but, in extreme circumstances, they may no longer identify themselves with the government and could therefore welcome external intervention as a means of getting rid of it. However, since states seldom intervene in other states’ affairs solely for benign or charitable reasons, nothing can be more dangerous than government policies that engender apathy and indifference among the citizens. Unless we are in a state of denial or delusion, no reasonable person can fail to realise that many citizens are so disillusioned that they are in the grip of deep apathy. Notwithstanding the gross violations of human rights and the dearth of the rule of law that permeate the post-independence situation, the majority of the members of the Eritrean intelligentsia in the diaspora have turned a blind eye by remaining tight-lipped. The author hopes that his limited task of ‘washing the dirty linen in public’ encourages the tongue-tied Eritrean intellectuals to speak out so that ‘hundreds of flowers would bloom and hundreds of ideas flourish’ in pursuit of greater freedom, justice, fairness, bread and democracy.

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Preface

Notes 1 Anthony Lake, ‘Eritrea’s Shameful Deeds,’ Boston Globe Online, 26 October 2002 (emphasis added). 2 The G15 are high-ranking government and party officials who criticised the president for ruling illegally and unconstitutionally. Some members of the Berlin Manifesto were also long–standing members of the EPLF and they were the first who came out publicly demanding change and reform. 3 They were detained in September 2001 and are still held in unknown places without being charged. 4 ‘PFDJ Secretary Highlights Defeatist Stand of a Few Central Council Members,’ reprinted in Eritrea Profile, 18 August 2001. 5 Eritrea – Death of an African Dream. Transcript of the Broadcast 25 May 2004. http://zete.delina.org/zete/203.asp?quSri=203 (accessed 26 May 2004). 6 ‘Airing dirty laundry’ is the American version of the English ‘washing dirty linen in public.’ 7 McCall, N. What’s Going On: Personal Essays New York: Vintage Books, 1997, p. 14. 8 Ibid.

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Acknowledgements

Most of the data on which this manuscript is based were collected under a research project on post-conflict (re)-construction and (re)-integration of returnees, internally displaced persons and former combatants generously funded by the Swedish Authority for Research Cooperation with the Developing Countries (SAREC/SIDA) and by the John D. and Catherine T. McArthur Foundation. I would like to acknowledge with gratitude their financial support. Writing this book has taken a long time, and during that time, I have benefited from the generosity and kindness of many people mainly living in different parts of Eritrea, as well as others living elsewhere, especially in the United Kingdom. The hundreds of people who volunteered to share their wealth of knowledge and information with me are living in Eritrea. For obvious reasons, they cannot be named here. However, without their help, the task of writing a book of this magnitude on a period in which there is a dearth of accessible recorded primary and secondary sources would have been impossible. It is a great pleasure to say thank you to all of them. Among the hundreds of people I interviewed in Eritrea over a period of ten years, two anonymous people, one in the capital Asmara who has since then passed away and the other in Tessenei deserve special thanks for their extraordinary knowledge, insights and perspectives. One of them lived in the liberated areas controlled by the EPLF for ten years. He supported and served the Front unconditionally together with his family throughout those ten years, encouraging his own children to join the struggle. Several of them did not make it to Independence Day. I have never come across any informant, including former combatants, who could with such relative ease and eloquence present narratives in a historical perspective to explain why most things were going woefully wrong in the newly-born state than these two people. What makes the data elicited from these two people extraordinary is the fact that, whilst they were ecstatic about the successful end of the thirty years’ war, they were almost sure from the outset that Eritrea was not safe, as both independently of each other put it, ‘in the hands of these aggressive and traumatized military men’. One of them said, ‘they were dictators in the areas they controlled and now they are doing the same throughout the country.’ The other elder said, “I fear the worst for my country and people.

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Acknowledgements These people are incapable of resolving any dispute or misunderstanding without being aggressive, confrontational and insulting. They have no clue on how to run the country. Give them a few years, they will run it down to the ground.’ Although I have many close friends still living in the country, I have never involved them in my research. My friends and relatives were people I got together with after weekly hard work to have a good time and reconnect. This was a deliberate decision on my part. I did not want to involve my friends and relatives in the kind of work I was doing. I wanted to keep friendship, kinship and research apart. Without the generous gift of time, knowledge and experience of three people – Paulos Tesfagiorgis, Meriem Omer and Semere Kesete – the content and the analyses of the manuscript would have been much thinner and less interesting than they are now. A great debt of gratitude is due to three of them. Jane Njagi deserves special thanks for her extraordinary generosity and kindness. Jane has read all the chapters except one. Her editorial comments and insightful suggestions have been critical. Words are inadequate to express my gratitude to her. Jacky Wilson, Ruth Van Dyke, and a dear friend who prefers to remain anonymous have read the earlier drafts of some of the chapters, and without their constructive criticisms and suggestions I would undoubtedly have fallen into more errors of facts and analysis than I have done. Special debts of gratitude are due to them. Paul Lyons, Beverley Goring, David Styan, Richard Reid, Anita Fabos, Hitendra Solanki and Annemarie Bennett have read different chapters of the manuscript at different times and have given their thoughtful and perceptive comments. I acknowledge their help with gratitude. I am especially grateful to Asefaw Gebrekidan for allowing me to use his large collections of old and new EPLF/PFDJ magazines, bulletins and government newspapers. In a country where there is an absolute dearth of freedom of speech, press and expression, such sources are indispensable for understanding the policies and directions of the ruling party and the government. Assefaw, your help in this regard was superb. Thank you. The three maps are reproduced with kind permission of Tom Killion from The Historical Dictionary (Killion, 1998). Many more Eritreans in the diaspora have given me help and encouragement than it is possible to mention, but among those who helped, either by answering specific queries, by directing me to whom I should talk to or by telling me their own experiences, are Gebru Tesfamariam, Suleiman Hussein, Sheikh Mahmoud Ismail Haj, Ahmed Nasser, Khalifa Hussein, Petros Tesfagiorgis, Goitom Mebrahtu, Tedros Fessehaie, Dr Jelaledin Saleh, Haile Woldu, Kemal Omer and Mogos Berhane. I would not have been able to write this volume had it not been for their kind cooperation and willingness to share their experiences and knowledge with me. A debt of gratitude is due to all of them. I would also like to thank the staff at the Research and Documentation Centre in Asmara, Eritrea. Our youngest daughters, Reema and Fanus, always ask me two questions: ‘Dad, your manager must be awful. Why does s/he give you so much work?’ They also wonder: ‘If s/he forces you to do so much work, s/he must be, at least, paying well. Why are you always broke?’ These are probably routine questions academics’ children keep on asking their parents. However, the interruptions that took me away from my desk to the pleasure of their company were many. I hope it will always remain so. I am grateful for the forbearance of my family during the preparation of this book.

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Acronyms & Abbreviations

AI AIAI APPRA AUSU BANA BBC BFW BMA CAP CEU CHCs CIA CIDA CPE CS CSSECIDPC DCA DDW De.Ma.Ha.E. DIA DMLEK DoI EAIM ECFE ECP ECS EDA EDC EDP EDRM

Amnesty International Al-Itahad al-Islamya Australian Performing Rights Association Asmara University Students’ Union Association of Demobilised EPLF Female Fighters British Broadcasting Corporation Brot Für Die Welt British Military Administration Current Consolidated Inter-Agency Appeal Committee for Eritrean Unity Community Health Centres Central Intelligence Agency Canadian International Development Agency Citizens for Peace Case Study Committee for Solidarity and Support of Eritrean Children in Internally Displaced Camps DanChurchAid Diakonisches Werk Democratic Movement for the Liberation of Eritrea Dutch InterChurch Aid Democratic Movement for the Liberation of the Eritrean Kunama Department of Interior Eritrean Alliance Involvement Movement Eritrean Christian Fellowship, Europe Eritrean Cooperative Party Eritrean Catholic Secretariat Eritrean Demining Agency Eritrean Democratic Congress Eritrean Democratic Party Eritrean Democratic Resistance Movement

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Acronyms & Abbreviations EEA EEBC EFDM EIA EIDM EIJM EIPJD EIRM EISM EIU ELF ELF ELF-NC ELF-UNO ELF-RC ENA ENDF EPC EPLF EPLMHR EPM EPRDF EPRP ERA ERCC ERCS ERD ERDF ERREC ESCA ESDP ESM ETC EWDFA EWWVA EWWVC FORD FAO FIS FRHAE G15 GAO GC GDP HDI HRI HRW HSISSA

Eritrean Employers’ Association Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission Eritrean Federal Democratic Movement Eritrean Initiative Party Eritrean Independent Democratic Movement Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement Eritrean Islamic Party for Justice and Development Eritrean Islamic Reform Movement Eritrean Islamic Salvation Movement Economic Intelligence Unit Eritrean Liberation Force (Obel Group) Eritrean Liberation Front Eritrean Liberation Front-National Congress Eritrean Liberation Front-United National Organisation Eritrean Liberation Front-Revolutionary Council Eritrean National Alliance Eritrean National Democratic Front Eritrean People’s Congress Eritrean People’s Liberation Front Eritrean People’s Liberation Movement for Human Rights Eritrean People’s Movement Ethiopian Peoples’ Revolutionary Democratic Front Eritrean People’s Revolutionary Party Eritrean Relief Association Eritrean Red Cross and Crescent Eritrean Red Cross Society Emergency Relief Desk Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front Eritrean Refugee and Rehabilitation Commission Eritrean Solidarity Cooperation Association Eritreans Social Democratic Party Eritrean Social Marketing Eritrean Transportation Consortium Eritrean War Disabled Fighters’ Association Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Association Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Cooperation Foreign Office Research Department (UK) Food and Agriculture Organisation Islamic Salvation Front (Algeria) Family Reproduction Association of Eritrea Group of 15 Government Affiliated Organisations General Secretariat (Aman al Ama) Gross Domestic Product Human Development Index Human Rights Internet Human Rights Watch Haile Selassie First Secondary School Asmara

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Acronyms & Abbreviations HTF ICC ICCD IDPs ILFRLP IM IMF IRDPs IRIN LWF MDC NCEW NDRP NIF NPV NS NUEP NUET NUEW NUEYS OAU ODA ODI PAIC PDFFE PDFLE PFDJ PGE PLF PLF I PLF II PMSSA PPP PROFERI RCHRD RSAM SCC SCR SWP TC TPLF UF UNDP UNHCR UNMEE UNOCHA

Hidri Trust Fund Information Coordination Centre Inter-Church Coordinating Committee for Development Internally Displaced Persons International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples Islamic Movement International Monetary Fund Integrated Rural Development Programmes Integrated Regional Information (United Nations) Lutheran World Federation Movement for Democratic Change National Confederation of Eritrean Workers National Demobilisation and Reintegration Programme National Islamic Front Net Present Value National Service National Union of Eritrean Peasants National Union of Eritrean Teachers National Union of Eritrean Women National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students Organisation of African Unity Official Development Assistance Overseas Development Institute Popular Arab and Islamic Conference Popular Democratic Front for the Liberation of Eritrea People’s Democratic Front for Liberation of Eritrea People’s Front for Democracy and Justice Provisional Government of Eritrea Popular Liberation Forces Popular Liberation Forces I (Sduha Eyla Group) Popular Liberation Forces II (Ala Group) Prince Mekonen Secondary School Asmara Purchasing Power Parity Programme for Refugee Reintegration and Resettlement Areas in Eritrea Regional Centre for Human Rights and Development Red Sea Afar Movement Sudan Council of Churches Swedish Church Relief Summer Work Programme Trust Committtee Tigray People’s Liberation Front United Front United Nations Development Programme United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees United Nations Mission in Eritrea-Ethiopia United Nations Office for the Coordination for Humanitarian Affairs

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Acronyms & Abbreviations UNOVER UNTF USAID USSD WFP WoW WYDC

United Nations Observer Mission to Verify the Referendum in Eritrea United Nations Task Force United States Agency for International Development United States State Department World Food Programme War on Want Warsai-Yikaalo Development Campaign

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(© Tom Killion 1996)

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Map 1 Physical and historical provinces

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Map 2 Current administrative regions, roads and towns (© Tom Killion 1996)

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Map 3 Languages and ethnic groups (© Tom Killion 1996)

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One Introduction

A communion of oppression can create a community of passionate intensity. The only question now is, the past being past, will this intensity tolerate diversity once the alien is gone? Too often the habits of discipline, unity, loyalty, violence, which were virtues in the liberation movement become the vices of the new government. Solidarity (for ever) becomes, indeed, an end in itself. The struggle against imperialism [read Ethiopian occupation in our case] has to be continued, long after the imperialists have gone, because the enemy alone creates the unity by which the governing party can hope to perpetuate itself in office. (Crick 2000: 82–3) (emphasis added)

Eritrea in its present shape dates from 1890 when the various Italian possessions on the western shore of the Red Sea were united into a single colony and its present frontiers were defined in a series of treaties concluded between 1900 and 1908.1 Eritrea was an Italian colony until the allied forces at the beginning of World War Two in 1941 defeated its troops. Italian rule was replaced by the British Military Administration (BMA) in April 1941. In April 1949, a civilian British Administration that lasted until September 1952 replaced the BMA. British policy in Eritrea was from the outset based on the denial of the existence of Eritrea as a political entity and of the Eritreans as a people worthy of a state of their own. Consistent with this policy, in May 1943, the Foreign Office instructed its Research Department (FORD): to examine carefully the possibility of making Eritrea into a Jewish colony affiliated, if desired, to the National Home in Palestine, bearing in mind (a) possible frontier rectifications … and (b) the possible establishment of defence facilities for use by UN at Massawa with a hinterland taking in Asmara; whether, and if so how far this solution could be accompanied by the secession of Eritrean territory to Abyssinia in order to provide the latter with an outlet to the sea or compensation for surrender of the Ogaden.2

Based on the recommendations of FORD, the British government took a position on the disposal of Eritrea. This was based on the dismemberment of Eritrean territory and society. The proposal had three key elements, namely, (a) ceding of the whole or a large part of Eritrea to the Emperor of Ethiopia (an ally restored to power by Britain in 1941), in compensation for re-adjustment of the frontiers of

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Introduction British Somaliland and Kenya;3 (b) ceding the western part of Eritrea to the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan;4 and (c) the settlement of Jews in Eritrea with a view to creating a Jewish colony.5 The latter was dropped in 1943 on economic and political grounds. The British proposal of dismemberment of Eritrea along ethno-religious lines was vehemently opposed by the Eritreans in a single voice, including the Unionist Party. Six political parties, namely, the Moslem League, the Liberal Progressive Party, the New Eritrea Party, the Association of War Veterans, the Association of Italo-Eritreans and Hezbi el Wateni Party declared on 25 July 1949: Having considered (a) the political wishes of the Eritrean people which are aimed at immediate independence; (b) the right of self-determination of the people, established and proclaimed by the Charter of the UN; (c) that the whole people of Eritrea, without distinction as to race, religion, or political party object to a partition of the Territory; (d) the statements made jointly by the representatives of the parties and associations in Dekemhare on the 22nd and 26th days of June and in Asmara on the 24th day of July 1949 proclaim that they have constituted Eritrea’s Block for Independence with but a single political programme consisting of: (i) the attainment of immediate independence of Eritrea; (ii) democratic government; (iii) territorial integrity with the present boundaries; (iv) rejection of any plan to partition Eritrea, as suggested by the Bevin-Sforza compromise, or annexation of part of Eritrea to Ethiopia or the Sudan. In any event opposition to any other plan of annexation to any other country or nation.6

The demands of the Independence Bloc according to the Chief BMA administrator were supported by two-thirds of the Eritrean people.7 A representative of the State Department after his visit to Eritrea also concluded, ‘Independence Bloc now represents the majority of the adult population and embraces all political parties save Unionists, which is suffering continuous defections.’8 Eritrea was federated with Ethiopia under the sovereign rule of Emperor Haile Selassie in accordance with United Nations Resolution 390A (V) passed on 2 December 1950. When the symbols of Eritrean autonomy were gradually dismantled and Ethiopia’s intentions of annexing Eritrea became obvious, the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) launched the armed struggle for independence in September 1961. Eritrea was fully incorporated into Ethiopia a year after the armed struggle was launched. In 1970, four breakaway groups formed the Popular Liberation Forces (PLF) which over time developed into the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF). The Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) was ejected from Eritrea by the EPLF in July 1982. In May 1991, the EPLF threw out the last remaining Ethiopian outposts in the country and the capital Asmara was liberated on 24 May 1991. A national referendum was held on 23–25 April 1993 in which 98.5 per cent voted for independence, and after the United Nations Observer Mission to Verify the Referendum in Eritrea (UNOVER) verified the results, on 24 May 1993, Eritrea became an independent state. The important assumption that underpins the central thrust of this book is that in post-conflict, multi-ethnic and multi-faith societies such as Eritrea, the development of a viable and democratic political system is to a large extent a function of freedom of association and freedom of engagement in diverse economic activities. This is because freedom of association and free economic enterprise are the causes and effects of social interaction and trust. They are the glue that interconnects

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Introduction people across the social cleavages of gender, ethnicity, religion, region, race, class and ideology. Not only do freedom of association and enterprise give rise to the production, maintenance and reproduction of social trust and sustainable livelihoods, but they also enable citizens to organise themselves for the pursuit of individual and collective interests or the ‘common good’. They also countervail the power of the state and state officials. Whether a government ruling in a post-conflict, multi-ethnic and multi-faith society is good is largely determined by the extent to which its policies contribute to development, consolidation and maintenance of sustainable livelihoods, social trust and political and civil society associations. This work builds on a more complicated and dense previous book which critically examines the social history of Eritrean society and the political history of the Eritrean war of liberation (Kibreab 2008a). This book begins where the other left off. Its central aim is to try and understand what went wrong in post-independence Eritrea after many promises had been made. The single most important question that is on the Eritrean people’s, their friends’ and other observers’ lips is: how did Eritrea in spite of the high expectations end up in such a blind alley and why? This book is a modest and partial contribution to addressing these nagging and critical questions.9 Because many things have gone wrong in the country, it might not be possible to deal with all the causes and consequences of the broken promises and betrayals in one piece of work. An attempt is therefore made to describe and analyse what went wrong in a number of critical areas – namely, freedom of association, human rights, democratic rights, freedom of enterprise and right to livelihood. The central question to be answered is the extent to which the post-independence condition promotes or undermines freedom of association, human rights, individual freedom and right of livelihood. If the post-independence state is inimical to these core values, the book will attempt to explain why this has been the case. The book, however, will not just be about freedom of association and rights of livelihoods. It is about broken promises and frustrated expectations. It is also about the consequences of these on: democratic transition, politics of inclusion or exclusion, national unity and political stability. As we shall see throughout the book, notwithstanding the ostentatious declarations during the ruling party’s second and third congresses with regard to freedom of association, democracy, pluralism, private enterprise, foreign investment, foreign policy and human rights, by the second half of the 1990s, all was different. The post-independence government’s policies and practices on all these critical issues went back full circle to where they were in the 1970s when the EPLF was guided by Maoist doctrine. The young and impressionable chairman of the secret Maoist party, the Eritrean People’s Revolutionary Party (EPRP),10 Isaias Afwerki, and his close ally and former chairman of the EPLF, Romadan Mohamed Nur, who returned to the field from China at the end of 1960s after eight months’ political indoctrination in the heyday of the Cultural Revolution, heavily influenced the politics of the budding EPLF. Those who worked with Romadan and Isaias in those days say that they tried to emulate many aspects of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, such as the practice of ‘criticism and self-criticism’ and the doctrine of ‘democratic centralism’ to consolidate the power of the leadership and to weaken and denigrate their challengers by labelling them enemies of the revolution and CIA agents.

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Introduction The government made a sharp turn on the make-or-break questions of: human rights, democratic transition, civil society, political parties, private enterprise, multi-party elections, freedom of religion and conscience, freedom of the press and movement, as well as foreign policy after the second half of the 1990s. Some of the critical questions the book addresses are: were the EPLF/PFDJ (People’s Front for Democracy and Jutice) lying in the second half of the 1980s and the first half of the 1990s when they adopted the liberal policy agenda verbatim? Or was there a power struggle inside the EPLF and later the PFDJ that succeeded in both the second and third congresses in taking the front towards this direction but was later gradually weakened from the second half of the 1990s onwards and finally crushed in the second half of 2001? In June 1996, when the Constitutional Commission had just completed its work and the Eritrean people were passionately looking forward to the establishment of a constitutional government, the chairman of the PFDJ, the national assembly and the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, ridiculed the idea of multi-partyism. He called it a western import that was oblivious to the Eritrean reality and accused its supporters in the private sector of thievery, embezzlement, corruption and betrayal of the nationalist cause (1996a: 23). The president at one time even denied the existence of the private sector in the country (Afwerki 1996). The questions that arise are: did he have a change of heart after the mid-1990s i.e. after trying out liberalism in the early part of the decade? Or did he simply lose his way as a post-war leader and fall back on old dogmas because he lacked other ideas and was too impatient to work with others on developing or testing them? These are some of the questions that are addressed throughout the book. Because the presidency and the central office of the PFDJ are at the heart of post-independence Eritrea’s political, economic and diplomatic debacles, it is important to present a brief description of the ruling PFDJ’s organisational structure.

The People’s Front for Democracy and Justice Although the PFDJ11 is often referred to as a political party, its leader and the Head of State, Isaias Afwerki, rejects this label. In one of his interviews with the EPLF/PFDJ’s magazine, Hiwyet, he said, ‘I don’t consider the EPLF [read PFDJ]12 as a political party. It is a national movement.’13 Though he did not elaborate why it is a national movement rather than a political party, it is probably because of its boundless ambition to exercise hegemonic political control over the country’s economic, social, cultural and ideological life. He further said, ‘If the Front considers itself as a political party, the result would be distorting of the country’s and its people’s history’ (Tarik hagern hizbin mbikal iyu saábenu).’14 It is not clear why this would be the case. He further said, ‘The EPLF has been an integral part of the blood and spirit of the people.’15 This suggests that, in his view, the PFDJ is inseparable from the people. He fears that if it becomes a party, it would lose some of its ‘intrinsic features’ that allegedly make it an integral part of the people. The term party also implies transience and the PFDJ does not see itself as being transient. The PFDJ is an organisation that aspires to dominate the country and its people economically, socially, culturally and ideologically. It is a political organisation that operates

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Introduction without any formal and informal constraints. In that sense, PFDJ is not a political party. It is even difficult to call it a political organisation because its actions are not guided or bounded by a constitution. Most political parties operate within institutional constraints, e.g. national laws and their own constitutions. The PFDJ and its leader are constrained by none of this. Neither the chairman of the PFDJ, Isaias Afwerki, nor the few people at its central office, such as Yemane Gebreab, Abdella Jaber, Hagos Gebrehiwet and Zemhret Yohannes comply with the principles embodied in the constitution of the PFDJ. The PFDJ has four offices headed by four individuals who are loyal and directly accountable to the Chairman, who is also the head of state. These are the Political Office headed by Yemane Gebreab, the Organisational and Mobilisation Office headed by Abdella Jaber, the Research and Documentation Office headed by Zemhret Yohannes, and the Economic Office headed by Hagos Gebrehiwet. The first three are described briefly below and the Office of Economic Affairs is discussed in Chapter 6. THE POLITICAL OFFICE The Political Office has a complex web of hierarchically structured and tightlyknit units spreading from Asmara to the capitals of the zobas (administrative regions), districts, sub–districts, and villages. Though its fortunes and its grip on the Eritrean diaspora have been rapidly dwindling since the mid-1990s and more so since the turn of the new century, the Office of Political Affairs has similar structures among the Eritrean diaspora. PFDJ has representatives throughout the capitals of the world, wherever there are concentrations of Eritreans. Most of them occupy the same premises as the Eritrean embassies. The relations between the embassies and PFDJ representatives’ offices abroad are a replica of the obscure relations that exist between the government and PFDJ in Asmara and the rest of the country. Often there is no clear separation between the responsibilities and activities of the embassies and PFDJ offices. This is exacerbated by the fact that the Eritrean embassies, instead of concentrating on diplomatic affairs, incessantly interfere in the affairs of Eritrean diasporic communities. THE ORGANISATIONAL AND MOBILISATION OFFICE The Organisational and Mobilisation Office is responsible for seven regions, namely, Central Region, Anseba Region, Gash-Barka, Southern Region, Northern Red Sea Region, and Southern Red Sea. The seventh region is the rest of the world, that is, the Eritrean transnational communities. The regions are headed by governors who are now subservient to four military generals: the heads of the four command operations whilst the head of the Eritrean diaspora is a commissioner based in Asmara. The Organisational and Mobilisation Office has been establishing an ambitious computerised database for all its members, comprising most adult Eritreans living in the country and a substantial proportion of those who live abroad. Because all other political organisations are outlawed in the country, the PFDJ has an absolute monopoly over the right to organise Eritreans. Statistics on the PFDJ are unavailable but informed sources suggest that there are about 600,000 card-holding members. The PFDJ’s ambition to control Eritrean society is clear from the information

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Introduction it elicits from its members. All members are required to fill in an extensive and intrusive form which reflects the organisation’s ambition to control every aspect of the citizens’ social, economic and political life. The membership form requires new members to give detailed information about their place of birth, place of origin, marital status and life history covering the first nine years after birth, including data on guardianship, schooling, employment, income, and so on. The form urges applicants to give comprehensive accounts of their backgrounds. They are again required to give a detailed account of their life histories between the ages of nine and sixteen. Questions include: ‘Who did you live with?’ ‘Did you work or go to school?’ ‘Did you engage in any political activities?’ ‘If yes, state the name of the organisation.’16

Applicants are further urged to give a detailed account of their life histories from 16 years onwards. The applicant is further asked to furnish details about whether or not s/he was ever imprisoned and why. If this were the case, s/he is required to name her/his prison mates. The applicant is also required to furnish information about her/his health status and whether they suffer from known illnesses, the type of employment they are in, skills they possess, the monthly wages they earn, level of education, and the names of all schools attended, including primary, secondary and higher education. The level of intrusion is not limited to stripping the individual applicant of her/his privacy; applicants are also required to furnish detailed information about their relatives, such as spouses’ names, occupations, salaries, and affiliation to political organisation/s, number of children, and their place of residence. Applicants are also required to furnish detailed information about their parents, including their names, whether they are dead or alive, ages, birthplaces, places of origin, places of work, monthly salaries, and positions held. They are also required to provide detailed information about their siblings – their names, ages, occupations, positions held, salaries, and places of work, marital status, and the number of children they have. One can raise many questions in relation to the intrusive nature of the application form. A person is required to expose their family members to an organisation that they may not belong to or may even be fighting against. What rights do individuals have to furnish information about their spouses, siblings, parents, and adult offspring? These data are entered into a database. Given the government’s and PFDJ’s disregard for individual rights and in the absence of a law on data protection, there is no guarantee against abuse. The reliability of the data is also questionable. This is because many individuals will be in no position to know the salaries and political activities of their family members. Since the PFDJ is the only organisation that is allowed to organise the population with the full weight of the government and the security forces behind it, there are not many Eritreans in the country who can defy its orders to join it. Thus, since there are likely to be no Eritreans without relatives in the PFDJ membership, it can safely be concluded that the PFDJ and the government, as well as the security forces, possess in their database information on the majority of Eritreans within and outside the country, with or without their knowledge.

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Introduction THE RESEARCH AND DOCUMENTATION OFFICE The main responsibility of the Research and Documentation Office is the collection, preservation and making published and unpublished materials available to readers and researchers. Whilst the other three offices of PFDJ – namely, the offices of Political Affairs, Organisation and Mobilisation, and Economic Affairs – are housed in the ostentatious new PFDJ building, with the exception of the head of the Research and Documentation Office, the staff and documentation centre are housed in a different government building. The archives and the documents are kept in a rundown government building. In comparison to the lavishly furnished new PFDJ offices, the documentation centre has very basic furniture and it is visibly underfunded and understaffed. The problem of understaffing is due to national service, as is the case with every other activity in the country. The centre lost its entire trained staff to national service after the border war broke out in 1998. In 2002, the centre was staffed by very helpful individuals who did their best to provide services to readers, while having no training to enable them to do the work effectively. Those who worked in the documentation centre in 2002 and the following years were doing national service and were forced to work without remuneration. In spite of these constraints, the centre does some commendable work in terms of collecting and preserving documents, including a few old and rare ones. The author was positively surprised to find some of the ELF’s old literature, notwithstanding the fact that the organisation is banned in the country. The head of the centre, Zemhret Yohannes, is known for his voracious reading habits and the centre has benefited from this. Although he is one of the president’s cronies and publicists, he is one of the very few people in the country, who is in the right place. One of the people associated with the centre is the multi-talented lawyer and writer, Alemseged Tesfai. He has written two groundbreaking, richly documented, and lucidly written books – Ainfelale (Let Us Keep Our Unity) (2001) and another on the Federation. Notwithstanding the fact that the centre plays a key role in collecting, preserving and making available important documents on Eritrea, its ownership gives cause for concern. In any other country, such a valuable treasury – a national archive – would belong to the state. Any political organisation that sees its position in power as transient would refrain from seeking to own such an invaluable national asset. The ownership of the archives by the Front, in the absence of state-owned national archives, indicates that the PFDJ does not see its power as being transient. Otherwise, why would a political party take over a national archive when the state does not have one? What will happen if another party takes over government in a free and fair future election? What guarantees are there that the PFDJ would either relinquish or make the centre accessible to the public? What if the PFDJ decides to ransack it? Although as noted before, the centre collects some of the ELF’s old literature, the PFDJ, as a partisan organisation, is most likely to collect materials that glorify and reinforce its version of Eritrean history and vilify the history of others. The author raised these issues with several government officials who either thought that these concerns were ‘misplaced’ or said that they could not envisage a time in which the PFDJ would be out of power. In fact, that was the implication of the head of state’s statement, mentioned earlier.

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Introduction

The structure of the book There are eight chapters in this book. Chapter 1 introduces the issues, provides a short summary of the organisational structure of the PFDJ, presents the structure of the book and provides brief descriptions of the contents of each chapter, as well as describing the sources and methods of data collection. Chapter 2 sets the scene by providing a brief description of the promises of the revolution, how these were broken and how the change-seeking forces within the government and the ruling party, the PFDJ, responded to the situation. It summarises the measures taken by the post-independence government to silence critical voices, stifle the process of transition to democracy and to kill any opposition to its rule. Further, it establishes a typology of civil associations and identifies their distinct features (Table 2.4). After setting the international context for the birth of the Eritrean state, Chapter 3 examines the extent to which the new government’s policies towards the voluntary sector were in tune with the changed post-Cold War world situation. This is done by looking at whether the government provides an enabling or stifling environment for autonomous civil and political society associations, including national and international NGOs which, since the 1990s, have become not only the major conduit of international aid but have also been regarded, rightly or wrongly, as key instruments of democratisation. In order to examine empirically the government’s policy towards civil society associations, including NGOs, which the government and the ruling party do not initiate or control, eight detailed case studies are presented. They are: (CS 1) the Eritrean Relief Association (ERA);17 (CS 2) the Regional Centre for Human Rights and Development (RCHRD); (CS 3) the Eritrean War Disabled Fighters’ Association (EWDFA); (CS 4) Bana/ Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Association; (CS 5) Faith-based organisations; (CS 6) ‘Islamists’; (CS 7) the Asmara University Students’ Union (AUSU); and (CS 8) international NGOs. The case studies are preceded by a discussion on the PFDJ mass organisations – namely, the National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW), the National Confederation of Eritrean Workers (NCEW) and the National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS). These are affiliated to the ruling party and the government. The chapter also discusses other national non-governmental organisations and professional associations. Chapter 4 explains why the post-independence government, contrary to its promises or the interests of the country and its nationals, has been pursuing policies and practices that are hostile to all forms of autonomous civil and political associations, including national and international NGOs. The explanations are sought in: (1) the clandestine origin of the Eritrean nationalist movement and the culture of mistrust, suspicion, intolerance and fear of the ‘other’ that developed over time; (2) the EPLF leadership’s excessive preoccupation with the need to avoid the so-called problem of ‘dependency syndrome’ or ‘welfare mentality’; (3) the illusion of sovereignty; (4) the need to avoid competition for financial and manpower resources; (5) an illusion of self-reliance; (6) the incompatibility of civil society with the notion of ‘one people, one heart, one government and one leadership’; (7) the alleged threat to national security; (8) the leadership’s arrogance

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Introduction reflected in the attitude that ‘we know better than the rest’; and (9) the misconceived notion of national unity. Chapter 5 examines: (1) the EPLF (later PFDJ)18 and government policies on the private sector in the immediate post-independence period; (2) it analyses how and why these policies changed over time culminating in the systematic and hostile campaign of stigmatisation of the private sector and the merchant class; (3) after rebutting the government’s claim that the economic crisis and the high rate of inflation in the country are caused by the irresponsibility and greed of the country’s business community, the chapter provides an alternative explanation to the causes of the crisis and the high rate of inflation; (4) in spite of the ostentatious rhetoric of the ruling party’s third congress, by the second half of the 1990s, the government’s policies and practices on the private sector went full circle back to where they were in the 1970s. An attempt is made to explain why this happened. Chapter 6 presents a brief description of the PFDJ’s Office of Economic Affairs. Some statistics are presented to show the extent to which the ruling party’s enterprises dominate every aspect of the national economy and their contribution, if any, to the treasury. The chapter argues that the ultimate goal of the Eritrean government and the PFDJ is to exercise unfettered tyrannical control over the country and its people by becoming the major, if not the only, employers and owners of the sources of livelihood – land, industry, trade, transportation, agriculture, construction, banking and other forms of financial services. It is further argued that the dominance of the economy by the public sector and by the PFDJ, the stifling of the free market, and consequently of the private sector and the embryonic middle class, are the most important instruments by which the government and the ruling party exercise political and social control. The central assumption underlying the chapter is that the head of state and his inner circle within the state and the party do not consider the domination of the national economy by the enterprises of the PFDJ, as well as the suppression of the market, as an end but rather as a means of averting the ‘dangers’ of democracy and freedom whose emergence and consolidation are inextricably linked to a liberal market economy. The chapter also examines in detail the manner in which the ruling party deploys the state’s political power to prevail over the private sector and alternative sources of livelihood. The potential dangers, if any, that freedom of association may pose to an infant state inhabited by different ethnic and religious groups and what ought to be done, on the one hand, to avoid such dangers and, on the other, to turn such diversity into a resource, are among the main preoccupations of Chapter 7. In view of the proliferation of small opposition groups in exile, some of them espousing religious extremism and ethno-nationalism, the chapter raises the critical question of whether freedom of association under such circumstances is likely to undermine or enhance national unity, political stability, and the development of cross-cutting social networks that promote social trust and norms of cooperation. Although it recognises that, in the short term, freedom of association may represent a potential threat to political stability, it argues that, in the medium and long term; freedom of association and the consequent shared democratic values and social norms of trust, respect and empathy produced in the process of participating in vibrant associations and debating common problems and interacting with each other, are the only guarantee of unity, political stability and social harmony.

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Introduction Besides presenting some concluding remarks based on the main findings of the book, Chapter 8 raises some fundamental questions that arise in connection with the government’s and the PFDJ’s betrayal of the promises made during and after the war of liberation. Given that hitherto no leader in modern history who seized power by force has allowed a democratic society to flourish, it asks the question whether the Eritrean people had any good reason to expect the rulers who took over power by force to keep their promises. The importance of this question lies in the fact that the rulers are not accountable to the people and could not also be removed from office by peaceful means when they abuse their power and fail to respond to the people’s needs. The chapter also draws a balance sheet of the postindependence condition by summarising the tragedies that have befallen the country as a result of the autocratic rule of the president and his clique who have, in order to create a favourable environment for their dictatorship, stifled the development of institutions, including the bureaucracy and the civil service, as well as private enterprise and sustainable livelihood systems.

Methodology and data sources Researching post-independence Eritrea is a difficult enterprise. First, the government perceives social science research as a divisive enterprise and social scientists as subversive agents. That is why it is nearly impossible for social scientists to obtain formal research permits in the country. Even Eritrean citizens are not allowed to undertake research activities without research permits. There is no government authority which has a statutory mandate to process and grant research applications. Countries that require their own citizens to obtain a research permit in their own societies are not many. Second, there is a dearth of data and the available data are not easily accessible. The only way to gain access to government sources is through personal contacts in ministries, departments and regions. This is exacerbated by the fact that the government conducts most of its activities orally rather than in writing. Correspondences within and between ministries, departments and regions are not common. Government officials prefer to phone their colleagues rather than communicate government decisions in writing. Most of the president’s orders and decisions are, for example, communicated orally. Not only do his subordinates emulate the president, but in the interest of ‘expediency,’ they are encouraged to communicate on the phone. In fact, a high-ranking returnee official who has now left the country was reprimanded by the president for being ‘obsessed’ with paper work. Third, the fact that there is no freedom of speech, press and association means that there are no alternative sources of information in the country. Fourth, people, especially government officials, are afraid to talk to researchers unless they know the researcher concerned personally or s/he is introduced to them by their own friends or relatives. The question is whether one goes ahead and writes about the situation in Eritrea in spite of the difficulties and limitations of data sources or waits for the situation to change. The author has chosen the former because of the belief that, on the one hand, the production of knowledge is a cumulative process and, on the other, knowledge no matter how incomplete can be a powerful weapon of social change and transformation.

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Introduction The data on which this study is based are derived from diverse sources collected in a series of fieldwork undertaken intermittently in conjunction with other related research projects over a period of ten years between 1992 and 2002 in different parts of Eritrea. Although the author has not been back to Eritrea since 2002, the process of data collection continued through different means up to the end of 2007. Particularly in 1996, 1997, 1998, 2001 and 2002 extended periods of fieldwork were undertaken and in-depth interviews, discussions and focus groups were conducted with systematically selected people, including female and male elders, mothers, religious leaders, peasants, agro-pastoralists, traders, community leaders, employers, workers, unemployed persons, hawkers, street children, members of the agelglot (national service) and the Warsai Yikaalo Development Campaign (WYDC), smugglers (the latter in Talata Asher, Ali Gidir and Tessenei), water and firewood sellers, ex-EPLF and ELF combatants, secondary school and university students, journalists, university professors, teachers, male and female ex-combatants, deportees (from Ethiopia), returnees (from Sudan, Middle East, Europe and North America), bureaucrats, PFDJ members, medical doctors, pharmacists, nurses, leaders of the Asmara University Students’ Union (AUSU), National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW), National Confederation of Eritrean Workers (NCEW), members of the National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS), representatives of UN bodies, international NGOs, local NGOs, government officials at different levels – namely, regions, districts and Baitos, high court judges, prosecutors, police officers, lawyers, diplomats and members of the UN Mission in Eritrea-Ethiopia (UNMEE). During interviews and focus group discussions, male and female members of the different ethno-linguistic groups and religions were represented. Key informants in the diaspora were also interviewed, including leaders and members of the exiled opposition groups. During the course of the fieldwork, the researcher used different forms of what anthropologists call ‘scratchnotes’, that is quickly written notes to record an event as it unfolds, ‘fieldnotes proper’, notes taken during an interview and developed later after leaving the interview scene and ‘headnotes’, comprising memories of and reflections on conversations and informal interviews with an informant or group of informants. The type of notes taken was a function of the nature of the particular environment within which the interview was conducted and the occupation and political stance of the interviewee concerned, as well as the sensitivity of questions. The conversations and interviews were guided by semistructured open-ended questions which varied depending on the nature of the data needed and on the experience, knowledge, occupation, political stance and position of the interviewee or interviewees concerned. In view of the fact that the post-independence situation and public perceptions and expectations were evolving and changing over time, some interviewees and discussion groups were revisited every two or three years between December 1991 and September 2002. The data elicited provided a critical barometer for gauging public perceptions regarding the delivery or betrayal of the promises made during the revolution and in the post-independence period. The month of September occupies an important place in Eritrea’s modern history. In addition to being the first month of a new year,19 it is also the month in which: (1) the Eritrean war of independence was launched by the Eritrean

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Introduction Liberation Front; (2) Eritrea was federated with Ethiopia; (3) Ethiopia abolished the federal status of Eritrea and incorporated it into its Empire; and (4) the shortlived process of transition to a democratic future was stifled when the postindependence government crushed the change-seeking forces spearheaded by former combatants – the Group of 15 (G15). September 2001 also represents a watershed in the history of post-independence Eritrea, as well as in this study. After September 2001, everything changed in the country and this had a considerable impact on the nature of the data collected. Although the data on which this study is based were intermittently collected between 1991 and the beginning of 2008, access and availability were considerably reduced after September 2001 when the government unleashed an assault on the freedom of the press, speech and expression. This was also the period in which the government detained the 11 members of the G15, assaulted every form of change-seeking force and shut down the private press. Until September 2001, most people approached by the author happily participated in the discussions and interviews, answering questions and discussing issues candidly. This was true of even individuals occupying high positions in government. However, most of the interviewees, especially those living inside the country and those in the diaspora, did not want the author to use a Dictaphone because it did not provide for anonymity. Unfortunately, this was also the experience during the first eight and a half months of 2001 when the country experienced an unprecedented degree of freedom of the press and association. When the author tried to convince the interviewees that the Dictaphone would cause no harm and it was only meant to facilitate the process of accurate data collection, nearly all of them said, ‘aifalkan (please don’t), newbella (absolutely no), ab ma’at keteitweni’ (I don’t want to get in trouble). The main reason for this was fear of detection of the tapes at the port of departure, the airport for example. One respondent asked the author ‘what will you do if the security people search your luggage or your bag at the airport when you leave the country? This is risky both to yourself and your informants.’20 After the government detained the eleven members of the G15 in September 2001 and banned the private newspapers and detained journalists and innocent citizens with no charges being brought against them, the political landscape was suddenly polarised and a person was either against or for the government and the ruling party, the PFDJ. Ironically, the polarisation was more vivid in exile than inside the country. When the author returned to Eritrea from July to September 2002, most people he approached spoke forthrightly provided they trusted him or they were reassured by someone they trusted and their anonymities were guaranteed. Data was collected from the archives at the Research and Documentation Centre in Asmara, the Documentation Centre of the NUEW, government archives and numerous reports in different parts of the country. Since there are no national archives in Eritrea, archival materials are kept at the PFDJ Research and Documentation Centre. Although the centre is open to the public, special permission is often needed for many of the documents. Often it is the director of the centre who gives permission, but, for documents considered sensitive, one has to seek permission from the PFDJ head of the documentation and information centre. The centre keeps records of all orders made by a particular researcher and

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Introduction these are passed on to the director and if necessary to the office of national security. This may discourage individual researchers from ordering some ‘sensitive documents’ as the office of national security can monitor, if they want to, what kind of issues a researcher is interested in. Most of the sources used in researching the book were in Tigrinya and available in different ministries, departments, regional headquarters, districts, Baitos and private collections within and outside the country. Publications by the national liberation fronts – the ELF and the EPLF – were also useful sources. The different Eritrean websites, especially awate.com, asmarino.com and the ruling party’s official website shabait.com – constituted indispensable sources of information. United Nations and human rights organisations’ websites were also critical sources of news and information. With the exception of the first nine months of 2001, Eritreans inside the country have not enjoyed freedom of the press and expression. As argued throughout the book, all power has been concentrated on the president since independence and that made his wishes identical with law. All domestic and foreign policies of the country are dependent on his arbitrary impulse. No policy, regardless of its importance, is preceded by the publication of a green paper or public debate. Instead, most government decisions and pronouncements, including declarations of war and peace, are preceded, accompanied or followed by marathon interviews with the president on government radio, television, newspapers or PFDJ’s magazines. Most of the interview materials that are available in Tigrinya have been indispensable in writing this volume and to some extent the one that preceded it (see Kibreab 2008a). The eight case studies in Chapter 4 are based on data elicited from extensive personal interviews conducted with key actors in the respective agencies and documentary sources. The interviews were conducted either in Eritrea or abroad. The study is the result of a long voyage of inquiry that has lasted over a decade and a half.

Loss of illusion On the surface, the scenarios that have been unfolding in post-independence Eritrea are difficult to reconcile with the sensational testimonies of eyewitnesses who visited the EPLF- (now PFDJ) controlled liberated areas in the 1980s. The following quotations are just a few of the many optimistic testimonies written by different people, including academics who visited the EPLF base areas. Abdul Rahman Babu, a Tanzanian former minister, for example, wrote: I have just spent two weeks in the liberated areas, including the recently captured and recaptured town of Barentu. And I am not ashamed to admit that I have been overwhelmed by what I saw. Living, working and eating with these staunch revolutionaries I am tempted to echo the famous quote: ‘I have seen the future – of Africa – and it works.’ This is not an easy statement to make after so many political, social and economic shocks that we went through in post-independence Africa. … But experiences with liberated Eritreans give you confidence in the capacity of the African masses to take history in their own hands during the challenging journey from the realm of necessity to the realm of freedom. (1985: 16)

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Introduction Mr Babu was one of Eritrea’s dear international friends during the darkest period of its history. After having spent two weeks in the EPLF-controlled liberated areas, his paper entitled ‘Eritrea: its present is the remote future of Others,’ expressed an unbounded sense of optimism and indicated that the Eritrean revolutionaries were setting trends which provided fresh hope for the rest of the poverty-stricken and corruption-ridden continent of Africa. It was not only Mr Babu, who was deeply impressed by what he witnessed in the EPLF-controlled and semi-liberated areas of Eritrea. The eminent Africanist, Basil Davidson, after visiting the liberated areas of Eritrea, wrote ‘The Eritrean national movement has to be good news for this whole persecuted region of the African ‘Horn’. This is because it is a valid resistance to an unbridled and undoubtedly brutal dictatorship, because its resistance is conducted with skill and humanity, and because it represents a triumph for the intelligent application of technology and good sense. Emergent Eritrea is now the one composite of stability and capacity for peace in this region of collapsing regimes.’21 Other observers who visited the liberated areas in the 1980s were also invariably impressed by what they saw and consequently expressed a great sense of optimism not only in terms of the country’s and its citizens’ ‘bright’ future, but also in terms of the role model the EPLF leaders could provide to the continent that was blighted by incompetence, corruption, lack of vision, poverty, conflict, debt and lack of respect for the sanctity of human lives, rights and the rule of law. Towards the end of the 1980s, Blaine Harden wrote in the Washington Post: ‘On a continent of millionaire dictators, where broken promises of democracy dovetail with collapsing living standards and unpayable debts, Eritrea’s revolutionaries hold out the possibility of an efficient, self-reliant African nation, run by Africans who have had 26 years to learn from the failures of independent Africa.’22 In spite of their noble intentions, these eulogistic observations seem to have indirectly contributed to the EPLF leadership’s sense of infallibility and their exaggerated image of self-aggrandisement. The author has in a previous book shown that although the EPLF demonstrated an unprecedented ability to create a highly centralised, disciplined and efficient military apparatus, they never showed serious commitment to individual freedom, democratic, participatory decisionmaking and human rights, in spite of their rhetoric. To the outside world, these core values were presented as being the central thrust of the liberation war, but internally, the EPLF leadership developed an oppressive structure that seriously eroded the said core values. Human rights and individual freedom were regarded as luxuries which Eritrea could not afford to nurture. Nevertheless, it is important to read the above stated testimonies contextually. Unlike the liberation wars in Southern Africa, the Eritrean liberation war was not recognised by the Organization of African Unity (OAU) and the United Nations. Therefore, to those who visited the liberated areas in the 1980s, the most important concern was to break the state of isolation of the liberation war by capitalising on the positive things they saw in the liberated areas, such as the impressive provision of health care, education, construction of infrastructure, distribution of food, etc. (see Chapter 4, CS 8). In view of the fact that they stayed in the field for short periods, their tours were strictly guided, their access to rankand-file combatants was limited, and they spoke none of the local languages, their

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Introduction means of looking deeper into issues of individual freedom, participatory decisionmaking and human rights were limited. The central thrust of the above testimonies was that Eritrea would set an exemplary trend to the corrupt and poverty-stricken continent of Africa. However, ironically, the sorry state Eritrea and its people are in at present is largely due to the government’s failure to draw lessons from Africa’s past failures. Instead, the Eritrean leadership has faithfully emulated the policies and contemptible behaviour that have driven the continent into abject poverty, dictatorship and indebtedness. Although it is often said that ‘history does not repeat itself’, the adage is premised on the assumption that men and women learn from past failures and are expected to avoid them in the future. Consequently, if no lessons are drawn from history, nothing can stop it from repeating itself with a vengeance. Thus, most of the blunders and failures that are blighting Eritrea and its citizenry are similar to those which wrecked the lives and aspirations of their brethren in the continent in the 1960s and 1970s. The latecomer to statehood, contrary to people’s expectations, was not spared the autocracy and folly of the incompetent and intolerant characteristics of post-independence African states. Lamentably, the unhappy scenarios that have been unfolding in postindependence Eritrea do not give reason for the hopes and optimisms expressed by Eritreans and their international friends. Ironically, contrary to all rational expectations, in the vital areas of international relations, human rights, rule of law, democracy, justice, human security, freedom of speech and association, there is little that distinguishes the post-independence Eritrean government not only from the regimes that held Africans to ransom in the 1960s and 1970s, but also from the Derg, the very regime it threw out of the country and demonised relentlessly. The current Eritrean situation, which is not substantially different from the way it was in the Derg’s time, is succinctly summarised by Paulos Tesfagiorgis, a veteran of the war of independence and former chairman of the Eritrean Relief Association (ERA). In the acceptance speech for the RAFTO Prize 2003 (Norway) he stated: It is very distressing that the Eritrean government proved itself unwilling even to begin the processes that would lead to stability and democracy. Instead, it moved to monopolise political, social and economic power, and set about systematically trampling the carefully instilled, cherished values of honesty, respect, justice and community spirit which were the hallmark of Eritrea…In the past 12 years since independence, the government has blocked effective citizen participation and halted implementation of the constitution. It closed down all independent media outlets. It summarily arrested political opponents, independent journalists, and even community elders … and countless lesser-known individuals … All this has led to fear, hopelessness and stagnation.23

Upon his return from a visit to Eritrea in December 2006, Edward Denison, the author of Asmara: Africa’s Secret Modernist City and one of Eritrea’s committed friends, described the sorry state the country and its people are in as follows: Observing the death of a nation is an agonising spectacle – slow, painful and tormenting. Fifteen years since independence, Eritrea is among the most impoverished countries on earth. The recent and spectacular decline of Eritrea’s economy has occurred in almost direct proportion to the rise of state control.

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Introduction Eritreans cite many reasons for their country’s sorry condition, but what seems to have changed in recent years is the unanimity in who is deemed responsible. Everyone blames the government, or, more accurately, the PFDJ, Eritrea’s only permitted political party. Today, the decision-makers in Eritrea consist of a closeknit and small group of former fighters, headed by the president and former guerrilla leader, Isaias Afwerki.24

Using freedom of association and right of livelihood and the policies of the government on political organisations, autonomous civil associations and private enterprise as lenses, the book will aim at making sense of the unhappy scenarios that have been unfolding since independence. At the heart of post-independence Eritrea’s tragedy lies the EPLF/PFDJ’s betrayal of the promises they made to the Eritrean people.

Submission to tyrannical power The founding father of the American constitution, James Madison, defines tyranny as: ‘The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive and judiciary, in the same hands, whether of one, or a few or many, and whether hereditary, self appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny’ (2003a: 293). Herein lies Eritrea’s tragedy. As noted before, all power is concentrated in the president’s hands, who in order to create and systematically reproduce the conditions necessary for a highly personalised and tyrannical exercise of power, has destroyed the pre-existing institutions and arrested the development of post-independence institutions. Another scholar, Paul Veyne, gives three definitions of tyranny, namely, (i) a regime in which the tyrant keeps himself in power through violence; (ii) a regime run by a man whose policy runs contrary to the material interests of a section, large or small, of his subjects; and (iii) a regime controlled by a man whose delight in the exercise of power derives entirely from the servitude that he imposes on some of his subjects. (1990: 405)

Veyne’s first definition fits the characteristics of the Eritrean head of state quite well. In addition to naked violence, the president keeps himself in power through a combination of acquiescence, infliction of a general state of fear and insecurity, intimidation and arbitrary detention. The incarceration of people without trial for over seven years, including the detention of elderly citizens in defiance of all Eritrean religious beliefs and cultural practices, and also the disappearances of some citizens all constitute violent means of suppressing dissent in order to perpetuate tyrannical rule. It is not therefore by mistake that the US-based independent advocacy group, Freedom House, has classified Eritrea among the sixteen ‘world’s most repressive regimes’ in terms of violation of civil liberties and human rights.25 The government’s hostility toward human rights, the rule of law, civil society, national and international NGOs, aid agencies and UN organisations, including peace-keeping forces, has affected the flow of resources, including food aid, into the country. This has threatened the economic and physical security of a large majority of Eritreans who live on the ‘knife’s edge of survival’. Chronic hunger is violence and the government is largely responsible for the

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Introduction hunger the Eritrean people are exposed to because, in the context of favourable policy toward civil society, NGOs, aid agencies, human rights, rule of law and private enterprise, the international donor community would have provided the necessary food aid, development and technical assistance to enable the people and the government to help themselves. The government’s action seems to be informed by the belief that it is easy to subdue people that are preoccupied with issues of daily survival. This may be true to some extent because not only do such people lack the time, energy and resources to engage in any collective political action in pursuit of common goals, but they are also risk-averse and therefore unlikely to take part in anti-government political protest. Veyne’s second definition of tyranny is a very appropriate characterisation of the Eritrean regime and the president. Very few Eritreans and outside observers would disagree with the fact that the regime is one ‘…run by a man whose policy runs contrary to the material interests of a section, large or small, of his subjects.’ Not only is the Eritrean head of state intolerant of opposition but he also rules with an iron fist without consultation with and participation of the Cabinet, the executive committee, the central council of the ruling party, or the National Assembly (G15: 2001). Instead, he rules through presidential decrees and orders both of which are key features of a tyrannical ruler. Bernard Crick, drawing on Aristotle, states: Indeed, he [Aristotle] remarks that the man who can live outside the polis is either a beast or a god. God is the only possible being who does not need to consult, having no fellows; God is the only possible being whose command is identical with law and justice. (2000: 23)

The president interferes in every aspect of public affairs and there is no escape from his arbitrary decisions except by ‘voting with one’s feet’. Not all victims of his rule are, however, able to resort to this survival strategy. The president and his government have had to face criticism from various groups and individuals. The G1526 asserted that the government has been reduced to one man’s rule while a group of scholars and professionals who met on 1 October 2000 in Berlin sent a private letter written to the president alleging the same thing. Though the letter was confidential, it was leaked to Eritrean web sites. In the letter which came to be known as the ‘Berlin Manifesto,’ the group, commonly referred to as G13, stated that, during the war of national independence, the EPLF was accustomed to collective leadership,27 but, ‘[A]fter independence this practice was abandoned and replaced by one-man leadership. … No individual leader, however gifted, can be a substitute for values that can come with collective reflection and action in national affairs.’28 Human Rights Watch also observed, ‘Nine years after Eritrea obtained its independence, no institutions existed to restrain government abuses, and presidential rule by decree continued unfettered.’29 The policies pursued at the behest of one man, the president, are contrary to the material interests of all Eritreans except his cronies in the army, his office, a few individuals in the PFDJ Central Office and a few clients among the civilian population.30 The applicability of Veyne’s third definition to the Eritrean regime and its head is debatable. However, several interviewees both in Eritrea and in the diaspora argued that the exercise of boundless power allows the president to derive

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Introduction pleasure from imposition of servitude on his adversaries and those who criticise his policies. They gave many examples to explain their characterisation of the president as sadistic. Some of the examples they gave to substantiate this included: (1) the ‘freezing’ of his critics in order to humiliate them and to destroy their selfesteem and agency; (2) the refusal to inform grandparents, parents, spouses and children whether their detained loved ones are dead or alive; (3) the phasing out of food aid when over 66 per cent of the population live below the national poverty line; (4) the sending of secondary school students to the malaria-infested Sawa Military Camp at a time when parental care is most critical; (5) the recent relocation of the military training camp from Sawa to Wi’a where basic facilities, such as showers, dormitories, water and health care, are either lacking or in short supply and the temperature is often over 45 degree Celsius; (6) the indefinite detention in underground cells and shipping containers without trial, as well as torturing of dissidents, draft evaders and deserters;31 (7) the incommunicado detention without trial of the former leaders of the revolution, journalists, elderly mediators, US Embassy staff and educators at the Ma’had (Muslim) schools in Keren and Asmara (see Kibreab 2008a); and (8) hostility towards the UN peacekeeping mission UNMEE, exposing the country and its people to yet another threat of war and bloodshed.32 One respondent said, ‘Can there be more sadistic measures than these?’ Another respondent mentioned as an example of the head of state’s sadistic proclivities the case of Aster Yohannes, the wife of the incarcerated former minister, Petros Solomon, who was detained at the airport in Asmara on her return from the USA after completing her studies, while her children were said to be waiting outside to welcome her with bouquets of flowers.33 The corollary, in the interviewees’ views, is that, if the president and his regime were not sadistic, they would not have taken such actions against the Eritrean people and individuals. The question to ask, however, is whether these actions are driven by sadism or by cruelty and vindictiveness. However, although there may be insignificant difference between suffering inflicted by sadism and that inflicted by cruelty and vindictiveness, for the victims of such crimes, the differences of the causes of their sufferings are nothing more than semantic niceties. They are all victims of a tyrannical rule. Given the awe-inspiring victory of the Eritrean people in the liberation war, one may be forgiven for asking why such a heroic people have submitted to tyrannical exercise of power? This question although relevant and interesting is difficult to answer conclusively. Gerth and Mills define power as: the probability that men will act as another man wishes. This action may rest upon fear, rational calculation of advantage, lack of energy to do otherwise, loyal devotions, indifference or a dozen other individual motives. Authority of legitimised power involves voluntary obedience, based upon some ideas which the obedient holds of the powerful or of his position. (1954: 195)

This definition offers a number of explanations as to why people may submit to the wishes of those in power. A brief attempt is made to examine the extent to which the current submissive behaviour of the Eritrean people can be explained by one or more of the probable explanations offered by Gerth and Mills. Recently, I met a disappointed and puzzled long-time supporter of the Eritrean

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Introduction revolution who in passing asked a deceptively simple question, ‘How do you explain the submissiveness of the Eritrean people, who surprised the whole world in May 1991 by winning a 30-year war which very few people expected them to win?’ (Plaut 2006).34 Although I tried my best, I am sure the answer I gave was not satisfactory. After all, I hadn’t been able to do so for 16 years. His question, however, gave rise to many others in my mind. One of the questions I asked myself was: Is Eritrea’s unhappy state solely a function of the follies of its tyrannical rulers, or are the people also to blame? Power is by its very nature relational and cannot therefore be exercised in a vacuum. More often than not, it is unquestioning obedience, submissiveness and indifference that breed tyranny or make the exercise of tyrannical power possible. This must be what W. Ireland meant when he said: ‘In considering the insanity of power, we may look at it in two ways, the madness of the tyrant in abusing it and the madness of the people in submitting to it’ (quoted in Kittrie 1954: 195). Thus while there must be a reason, however detestable, for a self-interested tyrant to abuse his power, the real question is why people surrender to tyranny. In the Eritrean case, is it possible that the people’s submission is due to what Gerth and Mills (1954) call, ‘fear’? Still, if the Eritrean people had feared death, arbitrary detention and torture, they could not have defeated the ‘mighty’ Ethiopian state. Given their heroic history of struggle, it is likely that the government would find it difficult to frighten the Eritrean people. As John Steinbeck eloquently stated: ‘How can you frighten a man [and a woman] whose hunger is not only in his [her] own cramped stomach but in the wretched bellies of his [her] children? You can’t scare him [her] – he [she] has known a fear beyond every other.’35 If fear is not a relevant factor, can the submission to tyrannical power be attributed to ‘rational calculation of advantage’? (Gerth and Mills 1954). However, this too cannot explain the people’s submission because there is no advantage to be derived from submitting to the caprices of the president and his cronies. The national economy is on the brink of collapse (Chapter 4, 5 and 6) and, because of its poor human rights records and tyranny, the government only receives a limited amount of development aid. Further, the same government stopped the distribution of food aid in September 2005, although about 66 per cent of the population lives below the national poverty line and the country suffers from recurrent droughts, on the alleged grounds that food handouts undermine its misplaced policy of self-reliance. This is exacerbated by the fact that, first, the civil service has been dismantled to pave the way for non-institutionalised patrimonial administration based on patron–client networks in which the positions of government officials and employees depend on political loyalty to the president and his arbitrary rule. The nationalisation of land and the phasing out of food aid have undermined the livelihood systems of the majority of peasants, pastoralists and poor families in towns and cities. This was made worse by the government’s decision to stop the distribution of food aid which in the past provided a buffer against starvation. Most able-bodied citizens, namely, those aged between 18 and 50, are conscripted into open-ended national service and at a later phase into its concomitant, the Warsai-Yikaalo Development Campaign (WYDC), in which they are required to carry out military service or development work without any remuneration except

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Introduction a pocket money of Eritrean Nakfa (ERN) 145–400 at the end of every month (Chapters 4 and 5). Outside the president’s immediate circle and high-ranking members of the armed forces, no social class derives any benefit. It is, therefore, difficult to attribute the submission of the people to rational calculation of advantage. But ‘rational calculation of advantage’ cannot be limited only to material benefits. In weighing the advantages and disadvantages of surrendering to autocracy, the Eritrean people undoubtedly calculate the cost of resistance and the feasibility of the alternative. The cost of resistance is, inter alia, a function of balance of power. The perception of the people regarding the viability of the alternative is also influenced by the extent to which they believe in the fighting capability and credibility of the opposition groups. The exiled political opposition groups are weak and divided, while some of them are excessively preoccupied with the divisive issues of ethnicity, religion and region. Most Eritreans with whom the author has spoken in the last two decades do not regard these issues as being of vital national importance. The opposition’s uncritical alliance with neighbouring countries, especially Ethiopia, which has refused to accept the decision by the Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission (EEBC) of April 2002, resulting in a state of no-war-no-peace between the two countries, is also a factor that depletes the opposition groups’ stock of social trust and credibility in the eyes of the people. Amanuel Hidrat perceptively argues, Interestingly, they [the leaders of the Eritrean opposition] are all entrenched in a philosophy of short-term thinking with no moral authority, and of course, all their deceptive bids have weakened the anti-tyrannical movement. These leaders, rather than embracing sane ideas that come from the public, slammed their doors to escape from their fear of Trojan horse designed to get accountability back on the table. If they really cared about people’s pain, they would be clamouring to discuss new ideas for change. (2006: 5) (emphasis added)

Under such circumstances, Eritreans may, at least in the short term, consider obedience or submission to tyranny a price to be paid in order to avoid plunging the country into a civil war that they cannot win, on the one hand, or to avert real or perceived external threats, on the other. Another explanation for citizens’ submission to tyranny, according to Gerth and Mills (1954), is ‘lack of energy to do otherwise’. In view of the enormous price they paid in terms of lost lives, property and opportunities, it is not unreasonable to suggest that the people have run out of steam. Although it is true that a people that fought for so long and paid such a heavy price may be weary of conflict and become risk-averse, it could also be argued that a people who fought so hard and paid so high a price in pursuit of freedom would be more inclined to fight relentlessly to defend and safeguard their hard-won victory. Another of the possible reasons that may account for the citizens’ submission to power according to Gerth and Mills is ‘loyal devotion’. There is no doubt that a considerable proportion of the Eritrean people placed a lot of trust in the EPLF government in the immediate post-independence period. As a result, they exhibited undivided loyalty and devotion to the newly created government. But over time, the latter squandered the substantial stock of social capital and trust which legitimised its rule – despite the fact that it had won power by force rather

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Introduction than democratic election. Under such circumstances, it may be foolhardy to attribute the deafening silence and submissiveness that permeate the postindependence situation to the people’s ‘loyal devotion’ to the regime. What of the ‘indifference’ suggested by Gerth and Mills? Since many intellectuals in the diaspora have remained quiet and failed to take a stand against the tyranny that has blighted the lives of those they left at home, this explanation cannot be dismissed out of hand. The responsibility of intellectuals is ‘to denounce injustice wherever it occurs’ (Sartre quoted in Hidrat 2006). As one critical commentator in a similar situation observed: Intellectuals fancy themselves as being ‘objective,’ others even see themselves as being above society, but intellectuals are themselves part of the struggles they are interpreting. As partisans they make choices that determine what they see and what they refuse to see. Sometimes what they did not write about is more important than what they have written. (Abdul-Raheem in Melber 2006: 273)

Although it is definitely true that the silence of the large majority of Eritrean intellectuals in the diaspora is to some extent due to opportunism, careerism and more importantly indifference, it does not explain the submission of those living at home, especially because they are the ones that experience oppression and deprivation on a daily basis. Gerth and Mills note that the reasons discussed above are not the only ones that can account for citizens’ submission to tyrannical power: they insist that there are ‘dozens of other individual motives’. Edward Denison’s recent observation may provide an important clue to the Eritrean people’s submission in spite of their rich history of resistance. After a visit to Asmara a few days before Christmas (2006), he wrote: The daily struggle of feeding oneself and one’s family penetrates every thought. Eritrea’s struggle was once a national one, but today even that seems a decadent pursuit, as personal financial ruin undermines the national project. Long-term aspirations have been replaced by the primeval instinct to survive – everyone for themselves – the mortal struggle that leads to national decay.36

Not only can the necessity to struggle to make ends meet in extremely adverse circumstances force a people to succumb to tyrannical exercise of power but also this sorry state of affairs may threaten the survival of the nation as an independent entity. Since the central aim of this book is to examine what went so woefully wrong in post-independence Eritrea, and to identify the reasons behind the ruling party’s (the former EPLF now the PFDJ) loss of direction and betrayal of the lofty promises of the war of liberation, these critical issues are the central preoccupation of the book.

Notes 1 The Future of Italian Colonies, 22 July 1943, FO 371/35414. Following the Italian defeat at Adowa, a Treaty of Peace was signed between Italy and Abyssinia on October 26, 1896 in which provisional frontiers were established between the Italian colonies and Ethiopian pending their definitive settlement and formal determination (Article 111). This was determined by conventions signed between Italy and Abyssinia on 10 July 1900

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Introduction 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

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and 6 May 1908. These conventions regulated the frontiers between Ethiopia and Eritrea as well as between Ethiopia and Italian Somaliland. Minutes on Green Paper, 4 May, 1943, FO 371/35414. Christopher Eastwood to Arnold Toynbee, 21 May 1943, FO 371/35414. See Foreign Office report, 2 March 1944, FO 371/40601. A Jewish settlement was to be established in Eritrea or Tripolitania. See Tripolitania and Eritrea, Strategic Aspects in Relation to the Disposal to set up Jewish colonies, Military Sub-Committee to Eastwood, 25 May 1943, FO 371/35414. The General Secretaries, Asmara 25 July, 1949, FO 371/73846. Drew to Clement, 28 July 1949, FO 371/73846. Report by Mr Paddock (US Embassy, Addis Ababa) on the Feeling of the Population of Eritrea towards the territory, (n.d.) August 1949, FO 371/73846. I am grateful for Dan Connell’s help in raising some of these questions. On the genesis, consolidation and demise of the secret, EPRP, see Connell (2005). The name of the front was formally changed at its third congress in 1994 from Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) to People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ). From its third congress onwards, the front is referred to as a party. However, its chairman, Isaias Afwerki, who is also the head of state, still refers to it as ‘EPLF.’ For example, in his interview with Hiwyet in 2001, he repeatedly stated that the EPLF was his life. ‘I have always been EPLF and I will remain one for ever.’ This was seven years after the Front had changed its name. After the EPLF changed its name at its third congress in February 1994, there was no longer an organisation by the name EPLF. However, because PFDJ is so discredited, there is now a tendency on the part of the leader and his cadres to refer to their organisation as the EPLF in an attempt to benefit from its past glories. In the eyes of many members of the public I spoke to during several fieldworks in different parts of Eritrea, the name PFDJ is synonymous with incompetence and oppression. This was even true among many former EPLF combatants I interviewed, especially after 2000. Because the PFDJ has lost its credibility, most of the democratic ex-EPLF combatants hate to be associated with it. They do not also consider the PFDJ as being the successor of the EPLF. They perceive the PFDJ as a grave digger of the lofty ideals the EPLF combatants fought and died for. ‘Arbaáte Seát mis president’ (Four Hours with the president), Hiwyet No. 19 (2001), 3: 1–48. Ibid., p. 4. Ibid., p. 4. Hizbawi ginbar hairnet Eritrea Hizbawi mimh, nsy snslsy kotniv (EPLF, Public Administration, Membership Form, (n.d.),. ERA was not an independent organisation. It was the humanitarian wing of the EPLF. However, since the EPLF was not recognised by the OAU or the UN, donor governments were reluctant to work with it. In order to overcome the problem, the ERA was given the veneer of autonomous status. This enabled ERA to build an extensive and highly complicated web of international networks that connected it with diverse international non-governmental organisations and donor governments. After the country’s independence, the government disliked ERA’s international networks and it therefore was not spared from the assault that was unleashed against civil society associations in the country. In February 1994, the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) held its third congress and changed its name to the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ). The post-independence government has, in defiance of Christian religious belief and cultural practices, adopted the Gregorian calendar and as a result January rather than September is supposed to be the beginning of the new year. However, the people have continued to regard September rather than January as being the first month of the calendar year. This of course does not apply to Muslim Eritreans. Personal communication, Asmara, July 2001. Basil Davidson, ‘Hope of the Horn,’ The Guardian, London, 4 April 1988 (emphasis added).

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Introduction 22 Blaine Harden, ‘Eritreans devise camouflage society: rebels’ achievements are many but they still hide in daylight,’ Washington Post, 31 December 1987, extracts of which are reprinted in Eritrea Information, Vol. 10, Nos 1 and 2, 1988, p. 4. 23 Paulos Tesfagiorgis, RAFTO Prize 2003 – Acceptance Speech, Bergen, Norway, 2 November 2003. Available at http://news.asmarino.com/Information/200…/RAFTO _ Paulos Tesfagiorgis_Speech_4.as (4 November 2003) 24 Edward Denison, ‘Eritrea: a cheap holiday in other people’s misery’. 20 December 2006. Available at http://www.opendemocracy.net/democracy-africa_democracy/eritrea_ 4207.jsp (accessed 17 January 2007). 25 Freedom House quoted in UN Office for Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, ‘Horn of Africa: Eritrea, Somalia, Sudan among World’s Worst Regimes’, Nairobi 15 April, 2003. 26 The G15 are a change-seeking group comprising prominent leaders of the war of liberation, and before their incarceration they occupied key ministerial, party and army posts. Because they challenged the dictatorial one-man rule, they have been in incommunicado incarceration without being charged since September 2001. 27 It is important not to overstate this aspect of the EPLF leadership. This was only true in comparison to the post-independence period. 28 Letter to ‘His Excellency Isaias Afwerki, President of the State of Eritrea, Asmara, Eritrea. Berlin 1 October 2000. Posted at awate.com/Documents/Berlin.htm (accessed 16 January 2003). 29 Human Rights Watch, Eritrea. hrw.org (accessed 15 January 2003). 30 The president’s cronies in the PFDJ Central Office are Yemane Gebreab, Hagos Gebrehiwet, Abdella Jaber and Zemhret Yohannes. There are also some in his office, the most notorious sycophant among them being Yemane Gebremeskel. 31 US Department of State Country Reports on Human Rights Practices in Eritrea, released by the Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labour, 2005. The latter was released on 8 March 2006; Amnesty International, Eritrea: Fear of torture/ Incommunicado detention/Arbitrary killings: Thousands of people held at Adi Abeto army prison, 9 November 2004. In July 2005, 161 conscripts detained in W’ia army camp were killed by guards during prison break-up; UNHCR, Draft Evasion in Eritrea, PRL23. 1/Eritrea/RB/, 11 March 2005; US Department of State, International Religious Freedom Report 2002, Eritrea; Amnesty International, Eritrea: Continued detention of prisoners of conscience and new arrests of members of religious groups, 18 September 2003; Amnesty International (2004a) ERITREA ‘You have no right to ask’ Government resists scrutiny on human rights. Available at http://web.amnesty.org/ library/ Index/ENGAFR640032004 (accessed 10 July 2007). 32 Field notes, Asmara, August 2002. 33 Field notes, London, September 13, 2007. 34 Martin Plaut, BBC Africa Editor, London, 13 September 2006. 35 John Steinbeck in The Oxford Dictionary of Thematic Quotations. Edited by Susan Radcliffe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 36 Edward Denison, ‘Eritrea: a cheap holiday in other people’s misery’. 20 December 2006. Available at http:www.opendemocracy.net/democracy-africa_democracy/eritrea_4207,jsp (accessed 17 January 2007) (emphasis added).

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Two The Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights

A good leader is one who fears either God or the law and preferably both. Those in power here, fear neither God nor the law and, therefore, I am saddened but not surprised by what I see unfolding. (An Eritrean elder) The accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive and judiciary, in the same hands, whether of one, or a few or many, and whether hereditary, self appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny. (James Madison 2003a: 293) The revolution is highjacked. Haile (Durué) Woldensae (in Connell 2005)

During fieldwork in Asmara in 1998, I had thought-provoking conversations with a highly knowledgeable and virtuous Eritrean elder. These touched on various economic, social and political issues. The elderly informant said the Eritrean government and the ruling party, the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), had betrayed the trust the Eritrean people placed in them with regard to democracy, human rights and liberty.1 He argued that the leaders of the EPLF (now PFDJ) had made promises they did not intend to keep. He further said, ‘Not only have they cheated us but they have also used us as a means of coming to power.’2 In his view, if the EPLF leaders had not made those lavish promises and if the people had not placed their trust in them, they would have been unable to come to power. In principle, we agreed that making promises that one does not intend to keep and using people as a means and not as an end were morally wrong, socially indefensible, politically corrupt and dangerous. The failure of the EPLF to establish a government of national unity as Eritreans had expected, he added, was one of the major betrayals the EPLF leadership committed in the immediate postindependence period. In the elder’s own words, ‘There can be no peace if those who fought for independence and others are excluded. A family that excludes its own member/s is unable to live in peace, he said, ‘not only because the divided family members were likely to fight each other, but also because their neighbours

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights may take advantage of the division and internal feud … Only a united family is viewed with awe. A divided family is weak and vulnerable just like a divided country.’ 3 This is true of any multi-cultural society since peace cannot be built on a basis of exclusion. He further pointed out, ‘Contrary to all rational expectations, the former leaders of the national liberation movement (now in government) seemed to emulate the objectionable political behaviour and the dictatorial inclinations of their predecessors – the Derg – especially in the areas of human rights and democracy.’4 The author tried to tap into the wisdom of the senior citizen and asked him whether he had an explanation for the alleged anomaly. After pausing for a few seconds, he said, ‘A good leader is one who fears either God or the law and preferably both. Those in power here, fear neither God nor the law and therefore, I am saddened but not surprised by what I see unfolding.’5 In the elder’s view, the leaders fear neither God nor the law because they do not believe in God and regard themselves as being above the law. Their wishes are the law. Hence nothing can stop them from behaving tyrannically or from using their power in the pursuit of self-interest. ‘It is either the fear of God or the law or both that make a leader good, just and fair,’ he said. I asked him whether he was suggesting that if it were not for fear of God and the law or both, people in the country would have engaged freely in criminal activities without restraint. To elaborate the point, I mentioned the fact that, historically, the majority of the Eritrean people have managed to meet their social obligations to their communities, for example, in the sustainable use of common property resources without third party enforcement (Kibreab 2008a, Chapter 3). In view of this, I wondered if his generalisation was applicable to the Eritrean social context. In a highly reflective manner he said, ‘Son, Eritreans have always feared God and respected the law.’ By this he implied that my question was redundant. However, he further said, ‘We are not talking here about any Eritrean. We are talking about persons who are not only in power but also are not accountable to anyone.’6 He pointed out that the Eritreans I had in mind had a lot to lose by not observing communal rules as defined by customary laws and informal conventions. Their wellbeing, their physical safety and livelihood were dependent on the extent to which they behaved appropriately by complying with the social norms prevailing in their communities. Non-compliance is costly economically and socially. He further pointed out that those in power did not depend for their well-being and security on the communities. Therefore, there was not any good reason to expect them to rule the country and its people democratically, justly and fairly. The central thrust of his argument was that, in the absence of a godly or worldly constraint, those who rule by force and not by consent are more often than not likely to abuse their power or use such power in the pursuit of self- or group interest. This, in the view of the senior citizen, was an inevitable outcome of unrestrained power. Although my informant seemed highly cultured and informed, I am not sure he had read or even heard of Plato’s most important work – The Republic. One of the important issues in the book is the ethical question whether justice is an intrinsic human characteristic or it is the fear of retribution that makes people just. In the conversation, using the example of Gyges, Glaucon argues that it is fear of detection and punishment that restrains a human being from breaking the law or from

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights committing crimes in the pursuit of self-interest. The corollary is that in the absence of fear of these, people would break the law and behave unjustly to maximise their own interests at the expense of those of others. The same is true of political leaders who rule without the formal constraint, of a constitution, for example. Glaucon’s argument differs a little from that of the Eritrean senior citizen who feels that it is not just the fear of detection and punishment that prevents a leader from behaving tyrannically. To him, the fear of God is an equally effective constraint that prevents or discourages a leader from ruling undemocratically and treating citizens contemptuously. The important corollary between Glaucon’s and the wise man’s argument is that it is wrong to trust an individual or a government unless there is a well-founded conviction that they fear God or detection and punishment and as a result are prepared to toe the godly or the constitutional line. If the subject in question is a government, the punishment is removal from power. The central thrust of my informant’s argument is that even the limited trust the Eritrean people had in the government was misplaced. This is because the leaders had used power in the pursuit of their own self-interest rather than for the common good. And since they fear neither God nor the law, nothing could stop them from ruling the country tyrannically. In his view, those in power do not worry about detection because, not only are those entrusted with the duty of detecting and punishing criminals subservient to them, but also the leaders are above the law and therefore fear no retribution. Though my informant, who had lost several members of his family during the thirty years war and the tragic border war, was deeply saddened and distressed by the sorry state in which the country and its people were, he did not seem surprised by the dearth of the rule of law. His only worry was the constitution, which at the time of our conversation was and still has not been implemented. The president refused to promulgate it although it was ratified by the Constituent Assembly in May 1997.

The dangers of ruling without ‘brakes’ An Eritrean pastor, Dr Ezra Gebremedhin, in a paper written to celebrate and reflect on the ninth anniversary of Eritrea’s independence and posted on one of the popular Eritrean web sites – Asmarino.com – uses the metaphor of a ‘brake’ to convey a message, not unlike that of Glaucon and my informant – the Eritrean elder. When travelling from his hometown, Uppsala (Sweden) to the Monastery of Östanbäck, he saw on the body of the bus near the entrance the inscription ‘Brakes Checked September 2002.’ Instead of spending the 90-minute journey enjoying the beautiful rural Swedish landscape, Dr Ezra was struck not just by the details and content of the message but also by its location. The sticker was placed in a strategic position to notify passengers that their safety was not left to the caprice of the bus company or to its driver. The fact that the round sticker on which the message was written was issued by a regulatory government authority – ‘Bilprovningen’ (Car Inspection) – was most important. In issuing the sticker, the regulatory body’s interest was not in the bus company, rather, it was meant to win trust by assuring the passengers of their safety. However, if the sticker were issued by the bus owner’s own engineers, the level of passengers’ trust would probably have been low or zero. Since in most

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights cases the market is driven by the desire to maximise profit by cutting costs, there is the need for separation of bus ownership and the power of regulation, in this particular case, inspection of brakes. If bus owners exercised the regulatory power, the desire to maximise profit by cutting costs could potentially lower standards and therefore compromise passengers’ safety. The central thrust of Dr Ezra’s argument is that any social, economic, cultural, political and civic pursuit undertaken without the constraint of a brake is more often than not, likely to lead to abuse or damaging and undesirable outcomes. The corollary of this is that power without brakes or accountability is a short cut to disaster. He states that: Brakes are indispensable for the proper functioning of traffic and for the preservation of life and limbs. Many a life owes its survival to brakes that functioned well on critical occasions. Many a gravestone is a witness to brakes that failed. Many a mother has shed bitter tears and wished that brakes had functioned on that fateful day when a daughter’s life was extinguished. Many an aspiring athlete, now confined to a wheel chair, has deeply regretted those seconds when the brakes of his [her] vehicle were found wanting. As with vehicles in traffic, so too with everyday life! The fact is that deviations in nature and vices in private and national life are natural tendencies and virtues gone wild, for lack of brakes. (Geberemedhin 2002)

To elaborate further, he gives the following examples: Large stretches of impoverished farmland in many parts of the world are a result of cultivation without brakes. The pollution of the environment is, in many cases, the result of the exploitation of nature without brakes. Cancer, often the result of the pollution of our environment, is the multiplication of cells without brakes. Drug addiction is the search for excitement or relief without brakes. Drunkenness is ‘thirst’ without brakes. Gluttony is appetite without brakes. Prostitution (one of the main causes for the spread of HIV/AIDS) is passion without brakes. Tribalism and racism are pride in one’s identity without brakes. Religious fanaticism is piety without brakes. Corruption is the urge to own without brakes. Misuse of authority [power] in high and low places is the urge to control without brakes. (Gebremedhin 2002) (emphasis added)

One of the central arguments in this book is that Eritreans have always been governed by external rulers that recognised no brakes and the outcome has been an unhappy one. One of the most important brakes on political power is a constitution which, on the one hand, creates an enabling environment for vibrant civil and political societies to develop and consolidate and, on the other, prevents tyrannical exercise of power. Every government in the country adopted policies that were inimical to the development, maintenance and consolidation of autonomous associations (see Kibreab 2008a). The exercise of power without brakes has had the country and its people plunged into incessant, violent conflicts. The single most important raison d’être of the thirty years war of independence was to bring about the demise of the governments that ruled without brakes and as a result caused enormous suffering, deprivation, violation of human rights and individual freedom, dislocation, destruction of productive assets and death. Under the leadership of the liberation movements, the Eritrean people fought heroically and succeeded, to borrow Dan Connell’s captivating parable, ‘against all odds’ (quoted in Gebremedhin 2002).

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights By setting aside their internal differences, Eritreans stood together and fought heroic battles that won them the respect and admiration of the world, including those who did not believe in the justice of their cause. Without such determination and unity of purpose, they would never have been able to break down the burden of tyranny and external occupation. During the thirty years’ war, Eritreans were deprived of all forms of democratic rights – freedom of expression, of movement, of association and of fair trial and due process – because the governments that ruled them were not constrained by ‘brakes’. This was reflected in the absence of a constitution and the separation of executive, legislative and judiciary powers, all of which were concentrated in the hands of a single person, first Emperor Haile Selassie and his loyal servants and, later, Mengistu Hailemariam and his entourage, the Derg. Because power was not rightly distributed among the three branches of government, tyranny and abuse of power became part of everyday life. This was not just because the consecutive governments were undemocratic but also because there were no institutional ‘brakes’ or checks and balances. Where there is no democracy and separation of powers, there can be no rule of law and without the rule of law, there is no recognition of the sanctity of human life and individual freedom. As a result, during the thirty years war, arbitrary detention without trial, disappearances without trace and summary executions were rampant in the occupied areas (Dines 1980; Kibreab 1987; Sherman 1980). Thus, the war was fought not only to relegate the government that ruled without ‘brakes’ to the dustbin of history but also to bring about a democratic government that respected human rights, freedom and the rule of law. In short, one that would rule with brakes and consent, and in which democratic rights, such as freedom of expression, movement, association, collective control over decisionmaking, separation of the powers of the executive, legislature and judiciary branches of government – fair trial and due process – would be guaranteed constitutionally. In such a government, state officials would be subordinate to the law and members of the legislature subject to electoral accountability. This demonstrates that independence was not seen by many Eritreans as an end in itself, but as a means to achieving an end. The end included secure livelihood, free enterprise, democratic rights, a representative assembly elected periodically through open and fair competition and equal universal suffrage, accountable government, institutional separation of powers, rule of law, and separation of the private and the public spheres of life. These are the prized core values for which Eritreans fought and laid down their lives. In short, they fought for a government that rules with a ‘brake’, that is a constitution. Let us see the extent to which the post-independence government differed from the pre-independence one. After Ethiopia’s defeat, a provisional government was established and a referendum to determine the future of the country was scheduled for 23–25 May 1993. In order ‘to verify the impartiality of the referendum authorities and organs, including the Referendum Commission, in all aspects and stages of the referendum process; to verify that there existed complete freedom of organisation, movement, assembly and expression without hindrance or intimidation …’ the United Nations, in accordance with General Assembly resolution 47/114 of 16 December 1992, established the United Nations Observer Mission to Verify the Referendum in Eritrea (UNOVER). UNOVER deployed

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights observers in all districts throughout Eritrea covering most of the 1,014 polling stations. The core observer team comprised 21 members representing 21 countries and was joined later by 100 UN observers in which a total of 38 countries were represented. Another 40 observers were deployed to Ethiopia and Sudan to observe the referendum in the two countries. Mr Samir Sambar, the special representative of the UN secretary-general, announced at the end of the referendum: ‘On the basis of the evaluation performed by UNOVER, I have the honour, in my capacity as Special Representative of the secretary-general, to certify that, on the whole, the referendum process in Eritrea can be considered to have been free and fair at every stage, and that it has been conducted to my satisfaction’ (Sambar 1993: 3). During the referendum, over 99 per cent of the Eritrean people voted in favour of national independence. After the announcement of the results by the special representative of the UN Secretary-General, Eritrea was established as an independent country. A government was thereafter formed (see Provisional Government of Eritrea 1993).7 The proclamation stipulated that the government was to comprise three branches: (a) the legislature, known as ‘National Assembly,’ (b) the executive, known as ‘Cabinet of Ministers’, and (c) a judiciary.8 The National Assembly was to comprise members of the EPLF’s central council and 60 other people consisting of 30 members from the regional assemblies – namely, the chairmen and secretaries of all the regional assemblies plus a female member elected by the latter. The other 30 included 10 women and 20 other nationals selected by the EPLF’s central council.9 The National Assembly would elect the head of state who was to be the chairman of the executive and the National Assembly (legislature).10 As we mentioned earlier, one sine qua non of a democratic and accountable political system is the institutional separation of the executive, legislature and judiciary powers. There can be no rule of law and therefore no fair trial and due process in a government where the head of the executive and legislature is the same person and the judiciary lacks independence. The deliberations of the executive, the legislature and the central council are all chaired by one person – the president. There is no office of Speaker. As we shall see later, the crisis that engulfed the country in the immediate post-border-war period was the concentration of such power in the hands of the president and his determination to abuse it by refusing to convene the long overdue regular sessions of the cabinet of ministers, the National Assembly and the PFDJ’s central council (see ‘Open Letter’ of G15; Haile (Durué) Woldensae, Sherifo, Ogbe Abraha, Petros Solomon and Berhane G. Ziabhier in Connell 2005). Not even the ‘National Assembly’ is a representative legislature because its members are not the people’s representatives. They are not elected through open competition and universal suffrage, rather, they are selected by the chairman of the EPLF/PFDJ (head of state) and rubberstamped by delegates in the EPLF/PFDJ third congress (see Connell 2005). Consequently, the legislature cannot hold the executive accountable, since they are one and the same. Stated otherwise, the head of the executive cannot be expected to scrutinise his/her own actions. Article 4 (3) stipulates that the legislature or the national assembly holds its regular session once every six months under the chairmanship of the president as the head of the executive. In a democracy, one of the main functions of the

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights legislature is to ensure that government officials perform their duties in accordance with the law and remain subordinate to it. This, however, requires that the legislature is independent of executive influence. Other important functions of the national assembly or the legislature include the power to approve all legislation, including taxation in addition to scrutinising the actions of the executive. The question that arises is how the Eritrean national assembly can possibly play these crucial roles if the head of the executive chairs its deliberations and can sack any member whenever he deems fit. Such an assembly cannot play any other role than rubberstamping the decisions and wishes of the executive who are all members of the ruling party, including those who come from the regional assemblies. The ruling party is headed by the president. The president, contrary to the terms of the constitution of the party, could also refuse to convene the regular sessions of the legislative body to avoid being scrutinised. As will be seen later, that was precisely what happened in 2001. During its second session held on 7 June 1993, two months before the country’s formal independence was confirmed, the national assembly proposed to create committees similar to the British Parliament’s select committees, and also create the rules and procedures that would regulate such committees and the work of the National Assembly. However, this proposal was never implemented because the head of the executive, the chairman of the national assembly and the ruling party – Isaias Afwerki – did not want to be accountable to anyone. Although the government had enough time between May 1993 and May 1998 to establish a constitutional government resulting from multi-party elections, the border war that broke out in May 1998 against its former ostensibly friendly neighbour, Ethiopia, was retroactively used as a convenient alibi for the government’s deliberate stifling of the process of transition to democracy. This is briefly discussed in what follows.

The border war: a convenient alibi for tyranny The initial exemplary and cordial relationship that existed between the Eritrean and the Ethiopian governments did not last for long. By 1996–1997, there were growing misunderstandings and tensions precipitated by disagreements over economic and political issues, such as terms of trade, use of Eritrean ports, currency and cross-border trade. This was exacerbated by problems of recurrent incursions into Eritrean territories along the Eritrea–Tigray border and the publication of new maps in Tigray claiming large Eritrean territories (Connell 2005). However, as Dan Connell rightly observes, these were triggers rather than causes of the border war. The root causes of the war lay ‘deeper in the contentious experience of the two ruling political movements – the EPLF/PFDJ in Eritrea and the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) in northern Ethiopia. The TPLF was operating within the coalition that it dominated, the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF), and in the tendency they had to deal with each other as secret political movements rather than states. The upshot was a war whose cost to both countries will be felt for generations’ (ibid.: 8). In the battle of May 2000, the Ethiopian army in a surprise attack occupied large swaths of sovereign Eritrean territories in which over half a million people

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights were displaced and nearly a quarter of the country was temporarily occupied. The Eritrean army retreated to defensible positions and halted the advance of the Ethiopian army leading to the signing of a ceasefire in June 2000. On 12 December 2000, the two countries signed a peace agreement in Algiers facilitated by mediators from the United States, the European Union and the Organisation of African Unity. The questions asked by leading members of the leaders of the liberation movement, the army and the government in the aftermath of the disastrous war are eloquently captured by Dan Connell: Could this crisis have been foreseen? If anticipated, could open conflict have been avoided? Once underway, could it have been brought to a halt sooner? If not, could Eritrea have prevented the devastating losses that came with the last round of fighting? And what had happened to this visionary popular liberation movement that it was now so thoroughly out of touch with its surroundings that it neither saw this conflict coming, nor grasped the nature and dimensions of the challenge as it was unfolding? What blinkered vision prevented the Eritrean leadership from recognising that this was not the TPLF of the mid-1990s but rather a Tigrean-led Ethiopia with enormous human and material resources, a considerable edge in the international sphere, and an experience of guerrilla warfare that would produce a very different battlefield strategy than its predecessor? (Connell 2005: 8–9)

In August 2000, less than two months after the ceasefire, the central council of the PFDJ held a closed session in which major differences emerged within the leadership. The differences were also evident in another closed confrontational session of the national assembly in September 2000. In that session, the president was heavily criticised for his role in the war and for stymying the democratic process both before and after the war (Connell 2005: 10–11). The change-seeking force within the leadership forced the president and his cronies in the PFDJ Central Office, particularly Yemane Gebreab and Zemhret Yohannes, to accept the establishment of two commissions – one to draw up a political, diplomatic and military balance sheet of the border war and the other to establish guidelines for party formations and multi-party national elections. But the president refused to convene the national assembly meetings and also those of the central council until early 2002. By this time, the change-seeking members within the government and the party had been purged and held in unknown places. In 2001 a dissident group of fifteen (G15), comprising senior government and PFDJ officials, openly demanded that the government keep its promise on democratisation. After the president ignored their repeated pleas, in an open letter to the PFDJ members, the G15, inter alia, stated, ‘the National Council [Assembly] has no committee, internal rules and guidelines. It does not convene every six months.’ (G15 2001), as stipulated in Article 4 (3) of Proclamation 37/1993. ‘A Comprehensive Manifesto for Reform’ was published in the private press under the pen name Tesfay Sherif on 12 April 2001. The ‘Manifesto’ characterised the Eritrean national assembly as a ‘mere puppet’ and further stated: The National Assembly does not even have an office and does not hold regular sessions. It is presided by the president of the state who calls for sessions to convene whenever he wishes to do so. The purposes of most of the meetings are for enlightenment about developments or for hearing the reports of the cabinet of ministers and for approving them. The meetings have never come out with

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights resolutions with the exception of pointing out, in the concluding communiqué, the importance of the issues that were discussed. There hasn’t been any voting system and the national assembly has never asked [scrutinised] executive personnel or taken disciplinary steps to correct him as a legislative body controlling the executive body would be expected to do. It is only the president that is mandated with the first and last say in the concluding statements of the assembly. I think the basic reason for all these lie in the Marxist traditions of the organisation and the negligence of those in charge towards the magnitude of their responsibilities. Moreover, the strength of the personality of the president and his inclination towards contempt of institutionalisation and towards dwarfing the capacities of his companions as well as his interest in having a say on everything, has greatly contributed to rendering the institution [the national assembly] a mere puppet.

The ‘Manifesto’ further called for the implementation of the constitution and empowerment of the national assembly. This is a fitting description of the factors that have been blighting the country and its people in the post-independence period. People interviewed by the author over a period of twelve years argue that the president’s determination to have the ultimate say in every government decision has stifled the development of state institutions.11 Dan Connell, one of the few outsiders with an intimate knowledge of the EPLF/PFDJ’s history and organisational structure also states, ‘It all came down to a single individual – Isaias – who, like the Wizard Oz, pulled all the strings from behind a curtain of opaque but absolute authority. The result was a system of informal and structurally unaccountable power.’ (2005: 12) (emphasis added). Though the judiciary was supposed to be independent of both the executive and legislature, the head of state and his office interfered with the affairs of the judiciary regularly. This was also noted by the US Department of State’s report on human rights practices which observed that although the law provided for an independent judiciary, ‘the judiciary was weak and subject to executive control’ (US Department of State 2002; 2003; 2004; 2005; 2006; 2007). This interference took various forms. Firstly, the financial and logistical dependence of courts on the Ministry of Justice (US State Department 2002; 2003; 2004; 2005) and secondly, the fact that judges, including those in the high and supreme courts, lack security of tenure. Consequently, they could be appointed, promoted, demoted, transferred and dismissed at any time by the government through the Ministry of Justice. Furthermore, the government established a special court that not only functioned outside the judicial system but also competed with the civil courts, more so because it had the power to review the civil courts’ decisions. The special court reported directly to the president. According to the G15, ‘People are jailed for years without the knowledge and agreement of the judiciary, and independence of the judiciary and rule of law are being violated’ (G15 2001). In August 2001, the chief justice and veteran EPLF fighter, Teame Beyene, was dismissed after he criticised the president and his office for interfering with the work of the courts and also for establishing the special court. In response, Professor Bereket Habte Selassie, an Eritrean constitutional lawyer, commented, ‘In dismissing the chief justice, the president has not only removed a man of great learning, intelligence and integrity from a well-deserved post of honour, he has unequivocally declared war on justice itself ’ (Habte Selassie 2001). In fact, the removal was followed by arbitrary detentions of critics without trial.

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights This goes further to demonstrate the effects of a failure to institute the division of power between the executive, the legislature and the judiciary. Where there is no division of power, there can be no rule of law and where there is no rule of law, there cannot be fair trial and due process. The consequence has been that thousands of innocent Eritreans are locked up in unknown places, some for nearly fifteen years. In its 1997 report on Eritrea, Amnesty International stated, ‘During the year scores of political prisoners were detained without charge or trial. Over 100 political prisoners detained in previous years remained in detention without charge or trial. Scores of detainees who had been held since 1991 were secretly tried and sentenced to prison terms after unfair trials. There were fears that some may have been extra-judicially executed’ (AI 1997). This was what Bereket HabteSelassie called declaration of war on justice. According to Proclamation 37/1993, the maximum duration of the transitional government was to be four years.12 Pursuant to the proclamation that defined the structures, powers and duties of the government, a democratically elected government was supposed to be in place by 1997. Since the government had declared, in connection with the country’s independence, that the establishment of political parties and democratic elections had to be preceded by a constitution, a constitutional commission headed by Professor Bereket Habte Selassie was appointed to undertake this task. The Commission’s draft constitution was ratified by the constituent assembly in May 1997. However, the government failed to have it implemented and the elections that were to be held in 1997 were postponed indefinitely without an explanation. The border war with Ethiopia that broke out in 1998 provided a convenient retroactive pretext for the Eritrean government’s failure to implement the constitution and to hold the promised elections. The fact that the government had no intention of honouring the constitution and election pledges was evident since no preparations were undertaken in terms of drafting of legislation on the formation of political parties and elections. In fact, as mentioned earlier, in one of his interviews, the head of state had stated, in unequivocal terms, that the political organisations that were created during the national independence war would not be allowed to create political parties (Afwerki 1996: 15). This was because, in his view, they would compromise or threaten the survival of Eritrea as an independent state. He maintained that the question of whether there would be political parties could also only become clear over time because it was impossible to expect an alternative political organisation to the PFDJ to emerge in one or two years with alternative political programmes. He added that inasmuch as it was not possible to expect new political parties to emerge in one or two years, it was also impossible to predict what might happen after five years (Afwerki 1996: 15). Coming six months before the promised elections, it was a clear indication that the government’s promise concerning transition to a democratically elected government was hollow. The government’s claim that the reason why there were no multi-party elections was because of the border war was not true. After all, in June 1996 when the president said that the political organisations created during the independence war were not allowed or were unfit to form political parties and new parties could not be expected to mushroom suddenly and therefore the idea of an election was fanciful, there was no sign of enmity or tension at the border.

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights The two governments were the best of friends and the Eritrean president was even considering a confederation between Eritrea and Ethiopia. As mentioned earlier, in response to the pressure exerted by the members of the central council and the national assembly in the meetings held in August and September 2000, respectively, the president and his cronies in the Central Office of the PFDJ agreed to the establishment of two committees headed by Mahmoud Sherifo, the country’s vice-president, to develop guidelines and rules for elections and the formation of political parties. After intensive work, the two committees completed their tasks in March and April 2001. However, Mahmoud Sherifo was sacked on 7 February 2001 after the president tried unsuccessfully to stop the distribution of the draft laws (BBC, 17 April 2001). In April 2001, Sherifo openly criticised the government, accusing the president of being against the establishment of opposition political parties (BBC, 17 April 2001; Tsigenai 6 April 2001).13 Although this was the first time President Isaias was openly defied and criticised in public by one of his closest and most trusted former allies, it was not the first time he was subjected to scathing criticism. The former army chief of staff, General Ogbe Abraha, was ousted in February 2000 as Minister of Labour and Human Welfare for his withering criticism of the president’s handling of the war (Connell 2005). As we have seen, the central council and the National Assembly had also criticised the president albeit behind closed doors in August and September 2000. However, not only did the president ignore the work of the committees, he also failed to call for national elections scheduled for December 2001. As a matter of fact, at the time of writing (February 2009), no elections have been held in the country, no opposition parties have been registered, and independent and legally recognised autonomous civil society associations are completely absent (for the various types and characteristics of civil society assciations, see Table 2.4, p. 48). The PFDJ remains the only legally authorised political organisation in the country. This may be precisely what the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, meant when in June 1996 he said ‘As we see it at the present, what is certain is that the Front will continue to play a dominant role’ (1996: 15). The available evidence leads to the conclusion that the president sees the PFDJ not as a mass movement, but as a personal instrument that he and his supporters use to continue dominating every aspect of Eritrean society. If they get their way, Eritrea could continue that way for an unforeseeable future.

The dissident Group of 15 (the G15) We don’t have political dissidents. No one is jailed because he has a different opinion. Yemane Gebremeskel, spokesman and director of the Eritrean President’s Office, 6 May 2005

During the first half of 2001, the G15 wrote two letters to the president asking him to convene the long overdue meetings of the executive committee, the central council of the ruling party and the National Assembly. When the president failed to respond to the two letters, the G15 decided on 27 May 2001 to circulate an ‘Open letter to the members of the PFDJ’. The letter read,

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights This letter is a call for correction, a call for a peaceful and democratic dialogue, a call for strengthening and consolidation, a call for unity, a call for the rule of law and for justice, through peaceful and legal ways and means. (G15 2001)

The group accused the president of ‘conducting himself in an illegal and unconstitutional manner’ (ibid.). The two letters were thus written to remind and urge him to convene the meetings as required by the existing laws and regulations. In other words, the letters reminded the president to rule subject to some form of restraint or brake. In the open letter the G15 (2001) stated: Regular meetings of the Executive Committee (scheduled to be held monthly) and the Central Council (scheduled to be held every four months) of the PFDJ have not been held. Since 1994, the Executive Committee should have met 84 times; instead, it met only 11 times. Seventy three meetings (i.e. 86.9 percent) which should have been held, were never convened! In the three years of the war with the Woyane [Ethiopian government], the Central Council met only twice, both in 2000; instead of the scheduled nine times! As the chairman decides on all matters between meetings of the Executive Committee and Central Council, he became the sole decision-maker … The negative consequence of this became evident during the Woyane invasion. Transparency, accountability, democratic processes and participatory decision-making were abandoned. (emphasis added)

What the open letter stated clearly was that the president acted as a dictator without restraint or brake by failing to convene the meetings of the executive committee and the central council, throughout the war period. Note also that the national assembly did not meet as regularly as was required by Proclamation 37/1993. The open letter noted that, ‘with the exception of the first Cabinet of Ministers [which] it confirmed in its fourth meeting on 2–4 March 1994, it has never confirmed nor has it ever been consulted about all the ministerial changes made since then. It has never been presented with any national budget. In fact, since there is no budgetary law, the government has so far operated without any budgetary restraint, and continues to do so’ (ibid.). The same was also true of the cabinet meetings.. Out of the scheduled 84 meetings, no more than 20 were held. Further, the G15 accused the president of interfering in the affairs of the sensitive ministries of defence and foreign affairs as well as other government agencies, thereby ‘preventing the creation of stable government institutions in the country’. They went on to claim that the president ‘froze’ and demoted ministers at will without consultation with the national council. For example, during the ten years of independence, four defence ministers, five foreign affairs ministers and six finance ministers were replaced (ibid.). The G15 also accused the president of taking illegal and unconstitutional measures against the committee that was entrusted to draft the law governing the formation of political parties. At the heart of all these problems was a president who worked without any formal or informal brake or restraint. This is clear from the following G15 statement: Because of the weaknesses of the legislative and executive bodies, the president has been acting without restraint [a brake], even illegally. Having been used to taking his unrestricted power for granted, he finds it unacceptable now when attempts are being made to have those bodies work properly as well as correct the weaknesses of the system. The President has become so accustomed to acting freely and as he pleased, he is rejecting democratic dialogue, refusing to convene legally required meetings. (G15 2001)

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights A solution to the country’s crisis according to the G15 would be achieved ‘when the president is governed by the constitution and the law and when the legislature and the executive perform their legal functions’. (ibid.) To the G15, the crisis was exacerbated by the interference of the PFDJ central office in the affairs of the government, contrary to the provisions of the constitution of the front. The central office was accused of taking measures that weakened government institutions and institutional work. The G15 stated, The Central Office has gone so far as to endanger the unity of the PFDJ and the people, as well as the security of the nation, by conducting a dangerous and malicious campaign, without the approval or knowledge of the legislative and the executive organs of the front, against some members of the central council. (ibid.)

During the war of independence, the EPLF’s external security, which was then headed by Petros Solomon, was highly organised and effective, with complex regional and international intelligence networks. Most of the EPLF officials the author talked to during many years of fieldwork suggest that one of the key factors that determined the successful outcome of the war was the effectiveness and efficiency of the department of external security headed by Petros Solomon. After independence, Petros fell out with the president. The latter, seemingly without any regard for the country’s national interest, dismantled the organisation that had taken nearly thirty years to build. Worse still, a substitute system was not created leaving the country without an effective national security institution during the border war, which contributed to the invasion of large swaths of sovereign Eritrean territory. This is clear from the G15’s statement, As no institution or plan for national security exists, the people have become victims of unexpected threats to its security. In the war with Ethiopia, although the enemy lost, the Woyane occupied Eritrea and inflicted incalculable harm on the people, economy and the society. What happened has revealed fundamental weaknesses in the way we function which is in need of correction. (ibid.) (Emphasis added)

On 7 August 2001, when Dan Connell asked Ogbe Abraha about the border war, the latter said that the war was not preceded by any ‘group discussion of strategic questions first. Until now, there is still no national security institution to analyse issues like this [war] with information from all ministries and intelligence sources’ (2005: 101). It is the correction and reform of the political system that the G15 hoped to achieve. As we shall see later, in a distorted irony, the Eritrean government accused the G15 of crimes ‘against the nation’s security and sovereignty’ (AI 2001a) for requesting the president to convene the long-overdue meetings of the executive committee, the central council, the national assembly and the cabinet of ministers (see Haile (Durué) Woldensae, Sherifo, Ogbe Abraha, Petros Solomon and Berhane Gebreghziabher in Connell 2005).

Who are the G15? G15 included the top leaders and founding members of the EPLF and later the PFDJ. Before their dismissal, they held key government positions (see Table 2.1).

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights All of them had fought over 25 years in the war of independence, in various capacities. Because some were founding members of the ELF and later the EPLF, they are people who staunchly believed not only in the cause for which the EPLF and the Eritrean people fought but also in the EPLF itself. After all, they nurtured and cultivated it throughout their adult lives. The president was their trusted ally without whose unconditional support, he would not have been able to amass so much power without any ‘brake’ or restraint. Thus, they knew quite well what was going wrong and did not try to stop it before it was too late. Table 2.1 The Eleven Detained Members of the G15 Name

Positions held prior their dismissal

Ogbe Abraha

Army General; formerly Chief of Staff of the Defence Force, Minister of Trade and Industry, and Minister of Labour and Social Welfare Director in the Ministry of Labour and Social Affairs; executive member of the official National Union of Eritrean Women; EPLF official since 1977 Army Major-General; head of the National Reserve Force; EPLF political bureau member since 1977 Former Ambassador to Germany (to May 2001); previously Minister of Education and Minister of Information and Culture Head of the Arab (Middle East) Department in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, former Ambassador to Sudan Former Minister of Transport and Communication, ViceMinister of Foreign Affairs and head of the Office of the President Regional governor Army Brigadier-General; former head of the Inland Revenue Service (to August 2001) Former Vice-President (dismissed in February 2001); Minister of Local Government, and Minister of Foreign Affairs; EPLF co-founder Former Minister of Marine Resources; previously Minister of Foreign Affairs, EPLF military commander and intelligence chief, EPLF political bureau member since 1977. Former Minister of Trade and Industry (until July 2001); previously Minister of Foreign Affairs during the [border] war and the peace talks and also Minister of Finance, former EPLF head of political affairs and political bureau member since 1977

Aster Fetsehatsion

Berhane Gebreghziabher Beraki Gebreselassie

Hamad Hamid Hamad Saleh Kekiya

Germano Nati Estifanos Seyoum Mahmoud Ahmed Sherifo Petros Solomon

Haile Woldensae (‘Durué)

Source: Amnesty International, Eritrea: Arbitrary detention of government critics and journalists, Al-index: AFR 64/08/2002, 18 September 2002

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights However, once they realised that the president’s tyranny had gone too far, they tried to rectify the wrongs that were threatening the well-being of the people and the political stability of the country. They reached their decision after the president and his allies: (i) breached the promises of the thirty years war; (ii) trampled upon the rights of citizens (freedoms of expression, movement, association, etc.); (iii) established the special court presided over by legally illiterate army officers; (iv) obstructed the development and consolidation of institutions by monopolising the power of decision-making, through the reduction of Ministers to clerks and refusing to convene scheduled meetings of the national assembly, the Executive Committee, the Central Council of the ruling party as well as those of the Cabinet of Ministers; (v) prevented a separation of powers between the executive, legislature and judiciary branches of government; (vi) prevented a separation of the party and the state that encouraged unrestrained interference by officials of PFDJ’s central office in the affairs of the government; (vii) refused to implement the ratified constitution; (viii) obstructed transition to democracy contrary to Proclamation 37/1993 and the National Charter for Eritrea (1994) which stipulated that this should occur within four years from the day the country became independent; (ix) allowed business undertakings of the PFDJ to stifle the private sector (see chapters 5 and 6); (x) took illegal and unconstitutional measures to stifle the work of the committees entrusted with the responsibility of drafting legislation on elections and formation of political parties; and (xi) dismantled the agency of external security as an act of vindictiveness without due regard to the potential threats to national security. According to the G15, the temporary advance of the Ethiopian army into sovereign Eritrean territories during the May 2000 offensive could not be looked at in isolation from the vacuum that was created in the area of intelligence and the systematic marginalisation of the upper echelon of the war of liberation, such as Mesfun Hagos, Ogbe Abraha, Petros Solomon and Berhane Gebreghziabher. They were marginalised because they were critical of the president’s one-man rule. Their places in the armed forces were filled by the president’s own men. To this long list one ought to add the complete stifling of the ‘private’ sphere as distinct from the public sphere in terms of political and autonomous civil society and in terms of the market without which transition to and consolidation of democracy are inconceivable. One way by which the present Eritrean government has been able to concentrate power in its hands, has been by stymieing the development and consolidation of autonomous civil society associations, the private sector of the economy and consequently the middle class. This has prevented the emergence of different power centres and visions that could countervail the dominance of a government that rules heavy-handedly and without brakes.

Securitisation and violation of human rights The G15’s ‘Open Letter’ acted as a wake-up call for open dialogue, honesty and democratic change. However, some of the government’s criticisms and suggestions were rejected outright while others led to their being accused of endangering the security and sovereignty of the country especially by questioning the unbounded power of the president. Once this was tied to matters of national security, the

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights securitising agent, and in this case the president, went on to tell the Eritrean people that he and his government had the duty to stamp out the danger by any means before it was too late (on the reasons why referent objects, such as governments securitise benign issues that challenge their power see Buzan 1991; Huysmans 1995; Waever 1992), the thinking underlying this being that ‘unless the government took a decisive action to avert the danger, not only would the achievements of the thirty years war be lost, but also the survival of the country and the safety of its people be endangered.’ When the president was questioned in an ABC broadcast about the 11 members of the G15 who had been held in incommunicado detention and without trial since 18 September 2001, he claimed. ‘It is not politics. It had nothing to do with views, ideas, opinions but our national security was in danger. We had to take the appropriate measures to defend the nation and its sovereignty.’14 This was beside its being common knowledge that the reason the 11 members had been in detention for nearly seven years was, as Amnesty International put it, ‘for peacefully expressing their opinions’ making them ‘prisoners of conscience,’ (AI 2002).15 The president’s response was a classic example of the behaviour of securitising agents that are inclined to place any threat to power on the security agenda (on this see Balazs 1985; Buzan 1991; Huysmans 1995; Mandel 1994; Schultze 1973; Waever 1992a). The corollary to this is that the measures the government took would have been considered unlawful even by its supporters in the absence of the deliberately constructed ostensible danger to national security. In many cases elsewhere, states invoke the so-called threat to national security and sovereignty in order to justify their illegal actions. Consequently in Eritrea, a country where the people had paid heavily to achieve national independence, national security and sovereignty remained a most prized core value. The government knew this and exploited the knowledge to its advantage. Without alternative sources of information, Eritreans were likely to accept the government’s claim and therefore overlook its violation of the fundamental principles of human rights in order to protect the country’s sovereignty and security, which they believed to be under threat. That is precisely what the government did to the 11 members of the G15 and journalists in the private newspapers (see Table 2.2) that published the G15’s ‘Open Letter’. The government, after three months of hesitation, arrested 11 members of the G15 on 18 September 2001 (see Table 2.1).16 In explaining the measures taken, the government alleged that the G15 ‘had committed crimes against the sovereignty, security and peace of the nation’ (quoted in AI 2002a) (emphasis added). The president also repeated this allegation and further accused them of defeatism, betrayal and treason (see Afwerki 2003a Part 2). When the PFDJ aficionado, Elias Amare, asked the president to explain the reason why ‘the defeatists’, the G15, were not brought to justice, he replied, ‘First, their case is not political. It is about the country’s survival. The actions taken [by the G15] seriously threatened the survival and security of the country. The crime was serious’ (Afwerki 2003). Once the government had securitised the G15 question, the sky was the limit as to what could be done to them to avert the ostensible danger to ‘the sovereignty, security and peace of the nation’. This was in spite of the fact that all the members of the G15 were members of the PFDJ’s central council and therefore automatic members of the national assembly who should have enjoyed

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights Table 2.2 The nine journalists detained in September 2001 Journalist’s name

Position held and name of the newspaper

Said Abdulkadir

Chief editor and founder of the newspaper, Admas; also employee of the Ministry of Information’s Arabic language newspaper, Eritrea Hadisa Chief editor of the newspaper Tsigenai; business studies graduate Chief editor of the newspaper, Zemen (Time); EPLF member since the 1970s Sports reporter on the newspaper, Keste Debena (Rainbow); amateur actor Editor of the newspaper, Meqaleh (Echo); mathematics graduate, University of Asmara Assistant chief editor and co-founder of the newspaper, Meqaleh; physics graduate, University of Asmara; full-time science teacher employed by the Ministry of Education Assistant chief edictor and co-founder of the newspaper, Keste Demena; law graduate, University of Asmara; full-time employee of the Ministry of Justice Editor and co-owner of the newspaper, Setit; dual Eritrean and Swedish citizen as a result of being granted asylum in Sweden in the 1980s; education graduate; writer and theatre producer. The Eritrean government considers all those who meet the legal requirements of Eritrean citizenship as being Eritrean citizens even against their will. Reporter and co-founder of the newspaper, Setit; EPLF veteran since 1977; poet and director of an amateur cultural dance group; studied in the UK in 2000

Yosuf Mohamed Ali Amanuel Asrat Temesgen Gebreyesus Matteos Habteab Dawit Habtemichael

Medhanie Haile

Dawit Isaac

Fesehaye Yohannes (‘Joshua’)

Detained later Aklilu Solom

Hamid Mohamed Said Saadia Ahmed (female) Seyoum Tesfay Seyoum Tesfay

Reporter for Voice of America (VOA) international radio station, arrested July 2003 and forced into military service Sports and news editor, official Arabic television, arrested February 2002 Television reporter, official Arabic news service, arrested in 2002 Freelance photographer Freelance journalist

Source: Amnesty International, Eritrea: Arbitrary detention of government critics and journalists, AI-index AFR 64/008/2002, 18 September 2002; AI Index: AFR 64/003/2004, 19 May 2004.

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights parliamentary immunity from arrest (AI 2002a). However, after hearing a report from the chairman of the national assembly and head of the executive, the president, together with the remaining members of the national assembly, held a rare meeting on 4 February 2002 and agreed, ‘by committing such a crime as defeatism, they have removed themselves from the national assembly’ (ibid.). Because the G15 were never charged and proved guilty by any court of law, it was wholly unexpected that the national assembly would pass judgment on its own members after hearing only one side of the story. Worse still, the story was reported to the national assembly by the main subject of the G15 criticism – the president. Thus, although the 11 members of the G15 were never charged and proved guilty, the national assembly ‘strongly condemned them for the crimes they committed against the people and their country’ (quoted in ibid.). The G15 were accused of committing treason during the border war against Ethiopia (see Afwerki 2003a Part 2; Yemane Gebremeskel 2002). According to Amnesty International, one of the allegations specified in the national assembly resolution was that ‘during the major military setbacks in May 2000, some of them (unnamed) requested the international peace talks facilitators (the United States and Algeria) to convey an offer to the Ethiopian government to remove the president if Ethiopia would stop its offensive’ (AI 2002a). The same allegation was repeated by the president in an interview with one of the members of the mass organisations, Elias Amare (see Afwerki 2003). His spokesman, Yemane Gebremeskel, reiterating the president’s allegations also told the UN Office for Humanitarian Coordination, ‘These [the G15] are people who betrayed the country at a critical time, who tried to oust the president through unlawful means during a time of war, during Ethiopia’s third invasion May (2000), who even tried to establish a liaison with Ethiopia’ (2002) (emphasis added), see also Gebremeskel 2004). Amnesty International says that the government’s allegation was categorically denied by the leader of the US peace talks facilitator, Anthony Lake, who stated, At no point did any Eritrean official ask the American facilitators to become involved in domestic Eritrean affairs or to pass military intelligence to Ethiopia. If they had done so, we would have refused, but they absolutely did not do so. (quoted in AI 2002a) (emphasis added)

Lake, also the leader of the American team in the Algiers peace talks between Eritrea and Ethiopia, wrote in the Boston Globe : Soon after the allegations were made, I told the Eritrean ambassador in Washington, in very blunt terms, that no such thing had happened. I would have known, since I was centrally involved in the talks. No one asked us to pass a message … I have no idea whether the ambassador dared report my statement to his government in Asmara. I have waited. And here is what we have seen. No trial. No word. But many more arrests. Arrests of journalists, of student leaders, of elders, of others who dare speak of democracy in Eritrea. For clearly, that was the offence committed by Woldensae and the others: publicly stating their support for democratic elections and constitutional rule. (ibid.)

On Haile (Durué) Woldensae, a prominent member of the G15, former foreign minister of Eritrea, and leader of the Eritrean delegation to the peace talks in Algiers, Anthony Lake wrote:

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights During more than two years that I negotiated with him, Woldensae was a tough, skilled representative of his country. My American colleagues and I gave him the nickname of ‘Haile Bulldog.’ He, more than any other Eritrean negotiator, understood the art of tough, serious bargaining. Looking across the table at him, it was always impressive to see the old scars on his head, the legacy of wounds suffered in the long war for his country’s independence. (ibid.)

Amnesty International, after a careful consideration and a weighing of the evidence at hand, added the 11 members of the G15 to its list of prisoners of conscience. They argued that the G15 did not ‘advocate violence but were arrested because of their peaceful criticisms of the government. The treason allegations have not been clarified or substantiated’ (AI 2002a). Since 18 September 2001, the 11 members of the G15 have been held in incommunicado detention, without being brought to court or charged with any offence. Two of them – Ogbe Abraha and Hailemariam Woldensae (Durué) – have chronic asthma and diabetes, respectively. The extent to which they have been receiving medical attention is unknown. The detentions that have been taking place in the country are contrary to the requirements of the ratified constitution. The code of criminal procedure also stipulates that detainees should be charged before an open court or be released within 48 hours of arrest. The maximum period the investigating authorities in the country could keep a suspect is 28 days (AI 2002a). The members of the G15 have been held at an unknown place for over seven years without being charged. This constitutes flagrant violation of the detainees’ rights recognised in the laws of the country. Article 15 (2) of the ratified constitution stipulates, ‘No person shall be deprived of liberty without due process of law.’ Article 17 (1) states, ‘No person may be arrested or detained save pursuant to due process of law.’ Article 17 (4) stipulates that every person held in detention should be brought before the court of law within 48 hours of his arrest ‘and no such person shall be held in custody beyond such period without the authority of the court’. According to the Eritrean ‘transitional penal code,’ the maximum a detainee could be held before being charged or released is 28 days. As we saw earlier, there are many Eritreans who have been in detention for over 15 years without being charged. On 18 September 2001, at the same time that the 11 members of the G15 were arrested, the government shut down all private newspapers and publishers and arrested thirteen newspaper owners, editors and journalists who were accused of being Ethiopian agents without any proof (International Federation of Journalists 2005). In an interview with the French Radio English Programme, the president accused the detained journalists of being ‘spies’. When the journalist asked him, inter alia, ‘Some of your international partners and critics alike have voiced concern about press and political freedom in Eritrea under your leadership, and indeed dozens of journalists were detained and the private press shut down. Why should that be the case in these times and yet when one reads the history of the Eritrean liberation struggle, these were some of the things you said you were fighting for?’ The president responded: We uphold the principles of … freedom for peoples…. Unfortunately, this war came in 1998 … It is very natural that during war, during difficult times, people surrender, people capitulate. With all that in the middle of the war an external intervention …

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights [which] went to the extent of abusing the freedom of press … by buying journalists, financing them. It was one way of engaging or conducting psychological war in the middle of the war, dividing society, vertically, polarising society into religious, ethnic, regional, linguistic divisions. These are not even journalists. You cannot say a spy is a journalist. I do not know of any journalist, a professional journalist, who was supposed to communicate objective information about realities and developments to the population under detention. Not at all. (Afwerki 2003) (emphasis added)

These are identical to the president’s and his cronies’ accusations of the G15. For example, Yemane Gebremeskel, reiterating the president’s unsubstantiated accusation, said, ‘The problem with the existing papers was that they were few, most of the journalists were not experienced. They could have been easily manipulated, easily infiltrated, especially if there is money involved’ (Gebremeskel 2004). However, as Amnesty International points out, these allegations were never substantiated. For the names of the detained journalists and the newspapers that they worked for see Table 2.2. The journalists went on a hunger strike demanding that they either be charged before an open court of law or be discharged. After their case won international attention, according to Amnesty International, they were relocated to an unknown place and have been held incommunicado ever since. It is not known how or when the journalists ended the hunger strike. Amnesty International describes the journalists as prisoners of conscience, ‘imprisoned because of their professional work as journalists. As human rights defenders, they placed themselves at risk of government reprisal by publishing articles about human rights and democracy and by asserting the right to freedom of expression and publication’ (AI 2002a). One of the detained journalists, Dawit Isaac, a naturalised Swede, is said to have undergone surgery and was taken to hospital under police escort. Dawit was released on 19 November 2005 after four years in prison, but was returned to prison on 21 November 2005 after he had told his wife and children in Sweden that he was soon going to join them.17 In November 2006, security forces arrested Ahmed Bahja of Eri-TV,18 Senait Tesfay of Eri-TV’s Tigrinya-language service, Paulos Kidane of Eri-TV’s Amharic-language service and Radio Voice of the Masses, Daniel Mussie of Radio Voice of the Masses Oromo-language service, Temesgen Abay of Radio Voice of the Masses Tigrinya-language service, Yemane Haile of the Eritrean News Agency (ENA), Fethia Khalid presenter on the Arabic language service of Eri-TV and Amir Ibrahim, journalist on the same service.19 According to Reporters Without Borders, of the total 139 journalists currently imprisoned worldwide, ‘Eritrea with at least 22 detained journalists, is Africa’s biggest prison for the press and the third biggest in the world, after China (with 32) and Cuba (23).’20 The arrest of the 11 members of the G15 and the 9 journalists was followed by a series of other arrests, including some elders who tried to mediate between the president and his former colleagues, the G15 (HRW 2001; 2002a; 2003b; 2004; 2005; 2006; 2007). All the elderly mediators except one were released at different times after being held incommunicado for nearly three years. The first was released on grounds of poor health and is said to have died under house arrest. Hassen Kekia, a long-standing supporter of the EPLF, remained in an undisclosed location for 5 years until he was released in December 2005 without being charged. The average age of the elderly mediators was 75 years (Awate Team

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights 2002). Hassen Kekia, who was suffering from severe diabetes and walked with crutches was rearrested in May 2005 for unknown reasons before being released again without being charged. According to Human Rights Watch: ‘On the day the United States protested the arrests of the Group of 15 and press closings in early October [2001], Eritrea seized two local US embassy employees in what it said were unrelated arrests’ (HRW 2002b). These were Ali al-Amin and Kiflom Gebremichael. The government has yet to explain the reasons behind the detention but it is commonly understood it was because of translating articles from the private press. Some of the names of government officials arrested towards the end of 2001 are listed in Table 2.3. This list is by no means exhaustive. According to Amnesty International, at least 80 people were arrested in 2001, including the 11 members of the G15 and at least 24 journalists (AI 2002a) but the list could be longer. What is most Table 2.3 Some of the citizens arrested in late 2001 and early 2002 Name

Position held

Idris Abaere

Writer and department head [director] in the Ministry of Labour, arrested October 2001; severely disabled EPLF veteran Meriem Ahmed Wife of a regional administrative head and member of the parliament [National Assembly], arrested with Roma Gebremichael in May 2002 Ali al-Amin Employee in the Political Section of the US Embassy, arrested in October 2001 after protests from the Embassy about the G15 arrests; EPLF veteran Sunebara Demena Businessman (SETAO transport company) aged 79, (Kegnazmatch) arrrested October 2001 after reportedly attempting to mediate between the government and its critics; EPLF supporter for many years in Sudan. Sheikh Sunebara was released after over two years of unexplained detention without being charged. Tesfay Gebreab (‘Gomera’) A pharmacist by training and Director in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, arrested on 23 October 2001; EPLF veteran Kiflom Gebremichael Employee in the Economic section of the US Embassy, arrested in October 2001 after protests from the Embassy about the G15 arrests Roma Gebremichael Wife of G15 detainee Hailemariam Woldensae, formerly Foreign Minster and EPLF veteran (Roma was released without being charged) Miriam Hagos Director of cinemas, Ministry of Information, arrested mid/late 2001, former EPLF film department director Suleiman Musa Haji EPLF veteran aged in his late 60s, arrested in his home town Keren in early October 2001

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights Alazar Mesfun

Economist by training, EPLF veteran and formerly Director General of Inland Revenue. Detained in October 2001. Taha M. Nur Founding member of the ELF and member of the Eritrean Constitutional Commission. He died in detention in Feb. 2008. Abraham Haile EPLF veteran and department head in the Ministry of Agriculture, detained 2003 Ahmed Ali Burhan Former Ambassador to Kuwait, arrested June 2003 Aisha Shaker Deputy mayor of Agordat, arrested December 2003 Aklilu Moges Athlete, detained in Dahlak Kebir island, 2003 Aster Yohannes (female) Wife of G15 detainee Petros Solomon, detained on 12 December 2003 at Asmara airport on return from studying in the USA. Berhe Tesafamariam Engineer, head of the water supply department, (Wodi Mariano) former Eritrean Relief Association (ERA) official, arrested November 2003. Discharged without being tried. Ermias Debessai (Papayo) Former EPLF representative in UK, ambassador to China, imprisoned by the Special Court in 1996, re-detained in November 2003 six months after release Girmay Yohannes (Kurie) Marathon athlete, detained in Dahlak Kebir island 2003 Habtesion Hadgu Brigadier General, former head of the air force, arrested July 2003, previously detained for several months Ibrahim Saseed Director of logistics in the official Eritrean Relief and Rehabilitation Commission, arrested in July 2003. Released without being charged. Lissan ad-Deen al-Khateeb Sudanese opposition activist living in Eritrea for several years, detained early 2003 Mohamed Osman Secretary of Gash Barka Regional Assembly, arrested November 2003 Senait Debessai (female) Sister of Ermias Debessai, former senior EPLF official and a singer in the EPLF cultural troupe, detained November 2003 Solomon Habtom Head of maintenance department in the Ministry of Transport and Communication, arrested 14 June 2003 Tweldemariam Tesfamariam Deputy ambassador in Kenya, detained April 2003 after being recalled in December 2002 Yemane Fessahaye Police colonel (crime prevention department), (Wedi Reggio) detained November 2003. Source: Amnesty International, Eritrea: Arbitrary detention of government critics and journalists, Al-index AFR 64/008/2002, 18 September 2002; AI INDEX: AFR 64/64/003/2004.

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights unsettling, however, is the fact that all the detainees have been held incommunicado, with no charges being brought against them, for more than seven years in some cases, and for over a decade and a half (AI 1997) in others. This is being done in flagrant violation of the government’s own laws and in breach of the promises the ruling party made in the National Charter.

The broken promises Let us judge the actions of the government against the standards set up by the ruling party not long ago. The PFDJ’s National Charter, which was approved by the Third Congress of the EPLF held in February 1994, and when the EPLF also changed its name into People’s Front for Democracy and Justice, promised the following, in unequivocal terms: In independent Eritrea, it is our basic desire to build a stable political system which respects law and order, safeguards unity and peace, enables all Eritreans to lead happy and peaceful lives, guarantees basic human rights, and free from fear and oppression. Because such objectives can only be guaranteed through laws and duly constituted institutions, we must establish a constitutional political system in Eritrea. (EPLF/ 1994a: 20).

The examples cited in the preceding discussions and the evidence provided in tables 2.1–2.3 do not indicate that the existing political system is one that promotes political stability and safeguards national unity and peace. It also does not respect the sanctity of the rule of law and order. Human Rights Watch’s report shows that the situation in the country is going from bad to worse. The report stated: The Eritrean government’s tyranny became more ruthless in 2003. Rule by force and caprice remains the norm, as the government aggressively moves to intimidate the population and to isolate it from the outside world. … The arrests continued in 2005 and included three leaders of the governmentaffiliated labour unions, the only unions allowed to operate in the country. … Prisoners are often held in secret prisons, including underground cells. Because of the large number of arrests, less prominent prisoners are packed into cargo containers or in other overcrowded prisons. In addition to psychological abuse, solitary confinement and abysmal conditions, escapees report the use of physical torture. Prisoners are suspended from trees with their arms tied behind their backs, a technique known as almaz (diamond). Prisoners are also placed face down, hands tied to feet, a method of torture known as the ‘helicopter’. (HRW 2006a)

A government that forces its citizens or any human being to languish in unknown places without bringing any charges against suspects of wrongdoing does not promote political stability, unity and peace, and neither does one that subjects its citizens to gruesome methods of torture care about their well-being. Such a government cannot promote happiness and peaceful public life. The National Charter further points out that the political system ‘must be a democratic constitutional system based on the sovereignty of the people, on democratic principles and procedures, on accountability, transparency, pluralism and tolerance’ (EPLF 1994a: 20). Sovereignty of the people means that they are

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights the source of the power of the state. In practice this should be reflected in participation in collective decision-making either directly or through elected representatives and in ability to elect and hold accountable those who legislate laws in accordance with a supreme law – the constitution. Because the representatives stand for re-election periodically, their dependence on the will of the people is assumed. This would, hopefully, induce them into protecting and promoting the interests of their constituencies. The actions taken by the Eritrean government, as discussed earlier, are not good indications of tolerance, democracy, constitutional accountability, or pluralism. All power is concentrated in the hands of the president. An accountable government does not allow power to be concentrated in one individual. Instead, power would be shared among its executive, legislature and judiciary branches of government. A constitutional, democratic government would also not create a special court in which military officers, with hardly any legal training and without any requirement to apply the law of the country, sit as judges with jurisdiction over criminal cases, including capital offences, and with the power to re-try verdicts passed by the civilian courts (US State Department 2002; 2004; 2005; 2006; 2007). The National Charter states: Thus, for democracy to be true and guaranteed, it is essential to plan the process by which it can properly develop. It is primarily necessary to have people-based institutions – political parties, various grassroots associations, mass media and decentralised governmental agencies. Governmental and non-governmental institutions must exist to ensure public participation from the grassroots to the national level. (EPLF 1994a: 22) (emphasis added)

It is difficult to believe that these are the words of the political organisation that has been presiding over a one-party state by prohibiting opposition political parties. It is also difficult to associate these words with an organisation that has been deliberately and systematically stifling the emergence of autonomous associations and that it did not initiate and cannot therefore control. Contrary to the promises the EPLF made during the war of independence and the immediate post-independence period, the Eritrean government has been inimical to any form of autonomous association – namely, political parties, secular or faith-based non-governmental organisations, civil and grassroots associations. The government and the ruling party have flagrantly breached the pledges made by the National Charter. As we shall see in Chapter 3, only the associations that are initiated and controlled by the ruling party are allowed to exist and thrive throughout the country. Not only is post-independence Eritrea devoid of associations and independent mass media, but also over 24 journalists are languishing in prison incommunicado and without being charged. In spite of repeated promises from those in power to decentralise the government, the latter still remains highly centralised. As long as power is concentrated in the hands of the president, decentralisation is not possible. In fact, the so-called regional governments have been taken over by army-generals who rule at the behest of the president. The National Charter states: The national government must abide by a constitution, be accountable to the people, and have diffused and decentralised power. The development of people’s associations and trade union movements, in general, the development of non-

47

Autonomous and horizontal civil society associations (Type A)

48

Produce conflicts, intolerance (bigotry), polarisation, inequality, discrimination and divergence

Not at all. The converse Yes to a large extent is true

Yes to a maximum extent

Yes to a minimum extent

Yes to a minimum extent Not at all. The converse is true

Yes to a minimum extent

Promote political stability, national Yes to a maximum unity, convergence, and integration extent

Yes to a minimum extent

Not at all. The converse is true

Yes to a minimum extent

Yes to a maximum extent

Create & reproduce conditions for promoting institutional development & good government

Yes to a maximum extent

Yes to a maximum extent

Not at all. The converse Yes to some extent is the case

Religious fundamenLocal level self-help and talist, ethno-national grassroots groups chauvinist, regionalist & (Type D) ideological associations (Type C)

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Yes to a maximum extent

Yes to a minimum extent

Civil associations affiliated to/co-opted by governments, political organisations or parties (Type B)

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Produce bonding social capital Yes to a minimum (inward-looking traits that reinforce extent exclusiveness and homogeneity, inter-group loyalty and cohessiveness. Produce out-group antagonism and otherness)

Yes to a maximum Produce bridging social capital (social trust, norms of co-operation extent and collective action, interaction, shared values, social networks across social cleavages of ethnicity, religion, race, class, ideology), fosters intra-group reciprocal cooperation

Characteristics

Table 2.4 Types of association and their traits

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Not at all. The converse Yes to some extent is true

Yes to a large extent

Counteract state & government officials’ power

49 Not at all

Commitment to liberty and individual freedom

Yes, to a large extent

Not at all

Yes to a minimum extent

Not at all. The converse Not at all. The converse Yes to some extent is true is true

It is part of state structure–through affiliation or co-option

Yes to maximum extent Not at all. Governed by Not at all ‘democratic’ centralism

Promote democracy—civic culture, Yes to a maximum pluralism, diversity, tolerance and extent respect, peaceful conflict resolution

Aim to take over state power

Not at all. The converse Yes to a minimum is true (save in faith and extent ethnic-based states)

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Not at all. The converse Yes to a maximum extent is true

Yes to some extent

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Reinforce state power

Not at all. The converse Yes to a maximum Yes to a large extent. extent (save in Islamic is true and ethnic-based states)

Not at all. The converse is true

Yes to a maximum extent

Not at all. The converse is true

Autonomous from government

Yes to a maximum extent

Yes to a maximum extent

Inclusive (open system of recruitment)

Yes to a maximum extent

Not at all. The converse Yes to some extent is the case

Not at all. The converse Not at all. The converse Yes to a maximum is true extent is true

Yes to some extent

Exclusionist (closed system of recruitment)

Social connectiveness, public Yes to a maximum spiritedness, commitment to public extent cause reflected in civic engagement

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights governmental institutions, are additional manifestations of the development of democracy. Independent, free and responsible mass media is yet another important set of factors for the development of democracy. In short, a democratic government, an active civil society and an independent and reliable mass media are the three pillars of democracy. It is only when these three pillars of democracy are present, and when democratic culture prevails in the whole society that democracy can be alive and guaranteed. (EPLF 1994a: 20) (emphasis added)

One of the main reasons Eritrea is in its present state is the deliberate stifling of the ‘three pillars of democracy’ by the post-independence government. Without the guaranteed right of all citizens to meet collectively in autonomous civil and political associations, buttressed by independent and rigorous mass media, democracy is unlikely to work. Only with these rights can citizens access alternative information on the basis of which they can scrutinise the performance and behaviour of state institutions. Without freedom of association, not only are citizens unable to cooperate with each other but they are also incapable of persuading each other in the pursuit of common good. These three pillars of democracy – namely, a democratic government, independent and reliable mass media and an autonomous and active civil society, have been the major targets of the assaults of the post-independent government. By pursuing exclusionist politics based on ‘the winner takes all’ approach to governance, the post-independence government has stifled political transition to democracy. As previously mentioned, only the ruling party – the PFDJ – is legally recognised. A democratic government is not only impossible without opposition parties but also without periodic elections. The Eritrean government prevented two planned elections in 1997 and in December 2001. By shutting down media houses and imprisoning the journalists for no other reason but championing for human rights and democracy (AI 2002a&b; 2004a&b; 2005; 2006), the government has thwarted the development and consolidation of an independent and responsible mass media. By assaulting all forms of autonomous civil associations systematically, the government has arrested the development and consolidation of democratic and tolerant cultural norms and values. By throwing out of the country international non-governmental organisations that were involved in diverse programmes and activities in 1997 and 2005, and by prohibiting national non-governmental, faithbased and secular organisations, the government has deliberately and systematically stifled the development, maintenance and consolidation of vibrant associational life (see Chapter 3). By so doing, it has indirectly prevented the development of trans-ethnic, trans-religious and trans-regional social networks that cut across social cleavages such as religion, ethnicity and region. One of the most damaging consequences of this measure has been the weakening of commitment and allegiance to the civic order. This is contrary to Eritrea’s national interest. The reasons the government adopts policies and practices that are detrimental to Eritrea’s national interest contrary to the promises made during the war of liberation and the goals set by the National Charter and its own laws is not easy to understand. However, upon reflection, a few plausible reasons come to mind. First, could it be that the president was too busy to read the National Charter draft before it was approved by the third congress of the EPLF? If this were the case, what is happening in the country is not surprising. However, those who know the

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights powerful urge and obsession of the president with the desire to control everything may find this explanation implausible. Second, if this were not the case, could it be that a change-seeking majority in the EPLF’s central council prevailed upon the president and his supporters at the third congress when the Charter was adopted? In view of the president’s overbearing nature and his domination of the EPLF, this explanation may also be dismissed as being highly improbable. But a consideration of the unmistakable similarities between the betrayed promises of the National Charter and the demands and criticisms of the G15 could provide an answer. Is it plausible to speculate that the National Charter was the brainchild of some of the key elements in what later came to be known as the reform movement of the G15? Could it also be that the reform movement – the G15 – was a continuation of the change-seeking force that prevailed at the third congress of the EPLF? After reading and reflecting on Dan Connell’s Conversations with the key leaders of the reform movement – the G15 – namely, Haile (Durué) Woldensae, Mahmoud Sherifo, Petros Solomon, Berhane Gebreghziabher and Ogbe Abraha, it is easy to come to the conclusion that the National Charter and the Macro Policy document were their brainchild. If this is true, it is safe to say that the president’s and the PFDJ’s central office’s backsliding on the promises of the revolution and the resolutions of the third congress are manifestations, on the one hand, of the defeat of the champions of democracy and, on the other, the triumph of autocracy. The third conceivable reason is: could it be because that the president has become a tyrant and wants to exercise power without restraint, that he has, in fact been systematically undermining the promises and the goals of the National Charter? After all, most people in power, if unrestrained, are inclined to turn into tyrants regardless of their past history. As Daniel Defoe has put it, Nature has left this tincture in the blood That all men would be tyrants if they could. (Defoe 2000: 302) [1712–13]

Given the absence of institutional checks and balances in the post-independence situation, Isaias seized the opportunity to consolidate his tyrannical rule. What facilitates a ruler to become a tyrant is the absence of a ‘brake’ – to borrow Keshi21 Ezra Gebremedhin’s eloquent metaphor – a constitution, an independent judiciary, an independent and rigorous mass media and vibrant and autonomous civil and political societies without which there can be no constraint on autocracy. This is because only a democratic constitution can guarantee freedom, the rule of law and human rights which are the sine qua non (absolute necessity) for securing control over the process of collective decision-making. Only vibrant civil and political society associations and an independent mass media can enhance the development and consolidation of pluralistic power centres that countervail the development and consolidation of tyrannical rule. It is not a coincidence that the ratified Eritrean constitution has been collecting dust for over ten years because Eritrea’s president refused to promulgate it after its ratification by the constituent assembly in 1997, perhaps to avoid any constraints on his tyrannical rule. It is unrestrained power that has led to concentration of power in the same hands and, as James Madison observed, that is what gives rise

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Broken Promises, Demand for Change & Violation of Human Rights to tyrannical rule (Madison 2003a: 293). Though the counterfactual is not a satisfactory substitute for empirically grounded analysis, it is still reasonable to assume that, had the ratified constitution been implemented, the country and its people would probably not be in the sorry state in which they now find themselves.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19

20 21

Field notes, Asmara, 18 April 1998. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Proclamation 37/1993 published on 19 May 1993. Article 3 (1[a, b, c]). Article 4 (2). Article 4(3) R1, Tessenei, 24 November 1997; R2, Asmara, 3 January 1996; R39, Asmara, 5 January 1996; R51, Barentu, 19 November 1997. In order to safeguard the safety of individual interviewees, their names are withheld. They are identified as Respondents. See Proclamation 37/1993, Article 3 (2). Tsigenai was a private newspaper which was closed down by the government together with the other private newspapers in September 2001. Eritrea – Death of an African Dream. Broadcast: 25 May 2004. Transcribed version, http://zete.delina.org/zete/203.asp?quSri=203 (accessed 26 May 2004) (emphasis added). Eritrea: dissidents silenced’ (2001) available at www.indexonline.org/news, 26 September 2001 (accessed 6 January 2003). Three out of the G15 – namely, Mesfun Hagos, the co-founder of the EPLF, formerly Regional Governor and Defence Minister, Haile Menkerios, one of the most able intellectuals of the EPLF fighters and formerly Eritrean Representative to the United Nations in New York and Adhanom Gebremariam, formerly Attorney-General and Ambassador were abroad and escaped arrest. Another recanted and escaped arrest. Reporters Without Borders, EU asked to intercede following Dawit Isaac’s reimprisonment, 8 Dec. 2005. Available at http://www.rsf.org/article.php3?id_ article= 15864 (accessed 6 December 2006). Ahmed Bahja was released shortly after he was detained. Reporters Without Borders, At least nine journalists arrested in new round-up by security services, Eritrea, 22 November 2006. Available at http://www.rsf.org/article/ php3?id_article=19864 (accessed 6 Dec. 2006); see also Reporters without Borders, Eritrea Annual Report 2007, 2 February 2007. Available at http://www.awate. com/ portal/content/view/4461/6 (accessed 4 February 2007) Reporters Without Borders, At least nine journalists arrested in new round-up by security services, Eritrea, 22 November 2006. Keshi in Tigrinya means priest – a term of honour and respect.

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Three Associational Life in Independent Eritrea

I do not approve of political parties behaving as if they possess a monopoly on knowledge, truth, and the solutions to problems. I do not think that parties should be an end unto themselves, just as the power for which they compete is not. Parties and power are only the means to fulfil the goals of the common good. Parties should listen to the multi-faceted opinions of a pluralistic civil society, as expressed by all individuals, groups, and organisations, including educated people, experts, academics, and intellectuals. They should not ignore or slight those to whom they may not be directly linked. Self-indulgent parties that do not become aware of this life-giving environment will weaken and wither becoming mere elevators to authority. (Václav Havel 1996: 15) There are nasty people in every country, stupid people, insane people, people who should never be allowed to get anywhere near power. Just killing nasty people doesn’t help: they will be replaced. We must try to tailor our institutions, our electoral systems, so as to minimise the chance that such people will rise to the top. (Richard Dawkins 2003) If I meet a powerful man, I ask five questions: What power have you got? Where did you get it from? In whose interests do you exercise it? To whom are you accountable? And how can I get rid of you? (Tony Benn, former British MP quoted in Aaronovitch 2003)

The central aim of this chapter is to examine the post-independent government’s policy towards autonomous civil society associations and therefore towards democracy and freedom. Firstly, the chapter provides the international context within which Eritrea achieved national independence and examines the extent to which the new state was able to adapt to that context. An important measure of this is the extent to which the government provided an enabling environment to autonomous civil and political society associations. These include national and international NGOs, which by the late 1980s had become the darlings of the international financial institutions and donors. After a discussion of the mass organisations affiliated to the government and the PFDJ, as well as national NGOs and professional associations, the chapter presents eight case studies on formal civil associations in the country: the defunct Eritrean

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Relief Association (ERA); the Regional Centre for Human Rights and Development (RCHRD); the Eritrean War Disabled Fighters’ Association (EWDFA); BANA (association of demobilised EPLF women fighters); the faith-based organisations and the non-sanctioned smaller Christian churches; Islamic organisations; the Asmara University Students’ Union (AUSU) and international NGOs. Eritrea’s formal independence in 1993 came at a time when donors were becoming disillusioned with bilateral and multilateral development aid and increasingly sought to support the growth of the private sector, including civil society organisations. This may have been because of many reasons, including aggressive global free market liberalism which evolved in the aftermath of the Cold War and the growing awareness of donor-supported corruption and clientelism, especially where civil society, undermined by colonialism and oppressive states, had not proved resilient enough to provide a counterweight to state structures based on nepotism, tribalism and patronage (World Bank, 1989: 182; Escobar, 1995; Abrahamsen, 2000). A New Policy Agenda led by the World Bank emerged at the end of the decade. This ‘new orthodoxy’ (Leftwich, 1993: 605) focused on ‘good governance’, a highly contested concept (Abrahamsen, 2000; Leftwich 1994), civil society and development and it was embraced by donor governments, bilateral and multi-lateral international organisations and, initially, by civil society.

The international context: the new policy agenda This part discusses the extent to which the Eritrean government endorsed the neoliberal policy agenda that dominated the discourse on international development. It was based on a strong belief that ‘good governance’ and democracy were essential preconditions for development, both referring generally to a liberaldemocratic political regime predicated on human and civil rights and efficient and accountable government. This new orthodoxy was to a large extent initiated by the 1989 World Bank report, Sub-Saharan Africa: From Crisis to Sustainable Growth, which was launched in response to the Bank’s frustration with the failure of structural adjustment programmes (Goetz and O’Brien, 1995; Lancaster, 1993; Leftwich, 1993, 1994) which imposed new conditionalities on loan recipient governments (Barya, 1993). The report is important because, for the first time, ‘the Bank’ adopted not only a politicised analysis of development and poverty, but it also called for accountability from those who exercise political power. Intrinsic to the ‘good governance’ doctrine was the belief that the private sector and the market must play the lead role in development, representing a new opportunity for the expansion and consolidation of civil society, including NGOs and leading to the spectacular increase in the number and influence of NGOs and private companies in many developing societies (Bratton, 1994; Fowler, 1993; Goetz and O’Brien, 1995; Meyer, 1992).1 According to the World Bank, NGOs address ‘the problems of developing societies and the needs of their poorest members in a manner not matched by governments partly because they help the poor directly without the costly bureaucratic intermediation of donors and recipient governments and without the danger

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea of assistance ending up in the pockets of the rich, the military, or the corrupt’ (World Bank, 1989: 182). Since the 1980s, sub-Saharan Africa has witnessed an explosion of civil associations and social movements reinforced by the free market ideology that underpinned structural adjustment programmes and the anti-state conditionalities that accompanied them. At the time of Eritrean independence, many oppressive regimes were in retreat in the face of popular demands for democratic change (Bratton 1994; Harbeson 1994; Diamond 1994; Chazan 1992; Fowler 1991; Hadenius and Ugla 1996; World Bank 1989). The regional political environment for the new country was thus propitious and President Isaias Afwerki was even hailed by the then US president Bill Clinton as one of the seven continental leaders at the forefront of a new African dawn. The strengths of non-state entities are assumed to be their strong links with grassroots organisations, cost-effectiveness and adaptability (Bratton 1994; Diamond 1994; Harbeson 1994). In addition, they are perceived to strengthen civil society and foster pluralism. Thus, the phenomenal growth of NGOs world-wide has largely been a resource-led process that resulted from greater official aid being channelled through them (Fowler, 1993; Meyer, 1992; Robinson, 1991). The corollary of the new orthodoxy is that if NGOs are seen as agents of democratisation, more development aid is likely to be allocated to countries whose policies promote the growth and consolidation of civil society associations. By the same token, states which pursue policies that are inimical to their development are either likely to be excluded or to receive a minimum share of donor funds.

State and civil society in Eritrea and the PFDJ mass organisations It is impossible to distinguish among the government, the party and the mass organisations. You see the same person one day acting as a government official, the other day as PFDJ’s cadre and the next day as the NUEYS’ (National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students) leader.

Semere Kesete (2004b) As seen in the preceding chapter, at its Third Congress in February 1994, Eritrea’s ruling (and only) party, the EPLF and the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ)2 adopted a National Charter which echoed the prevailing neoliberal orthodoxy verbatim, pledging the creation of ‘a stable political system which respects law and order … guarantees basic human rights, and it is free from fear and oppression’ (EPLF 1994a: 20). The charter also called for the establishment of a constitutional political system: ‘Because such objectives can only be guaranteed through laws and duly constituted institutions, we must establish a constitutional political system in Eritrea’ (ibid.). As seen earlier, none of this has taken place. The National Charter also calls for ‘people-based institutions’ as a precondition for the development of ‘true’ democracy. It is stated that It is primarily necessary to have people-based institutions – political parties, various grassroots associations, mass media and decentralised governmental agencies.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Governmental and non-governmental institutions must exist to ensure public participation from the grassroots to the national level. (1994a: 22)

The National Charter does not define the term democracy but one of the accepted principles of the concept is the entitlement to ‘popular control by citizens over their collective affairs and the exercise of that control’ mediated through civil and political associations (Beetham 1994, 1999: 91). In modern complex societies, participation in government is realised through the exercise of ‘the right to stand for public office, to elect key public officials by universal equal suffrage, to hold government accountable and to approve directly the terms of any constitutional change’ (ibid.). The theoretical base of the National Charter was liberal democracy but the following case studies demonstrate that the government in fact undermined civil and political society associations and the mass media, suppressed free speech and undermined the rule of law. Donors and international financial institutions see development as being a function of good government and prefer to channel aid through civil society associations rather than through governments. This is because NGOs are seen as more efficient and closer to the people and also as pluralising and democracy enhancing (Barya 1993; Fowler 1991; 1993; Leftwich 1994; Van Rooy 2001; UNDP 2002; World Bank 1989). It would be reasonable, therefore, to expect any government seeking to maximise its share of development aid to adopt policies and practices that are favourable to the development and consolidation of civil society associations, including national and international NGOs. Most people had expected the EPLF/PFDJ government to embrace the pluralism civil society associations and NGOs (national and international) bring and to build on its previous friendly relations with international NGOs to tap into not only their financial and intellectual resources and expertise but also their links with donor governments and institutions.3 However, in spite of the obvious dividends from the pursuit of open and auspicious policies on civil and political associations, and in spite of its declared goals, the Eritrean government adopted a counterproductive stance contrary to the promises of the National Charter and the constitution. As the following case studies will demonstrate, post-independence Eritrea is devoid of autonomous civil and political society associations. The government has prevented their development and also their consolidation. Further, the government assaulted the few autonomous and semi-autonomous civil society associations that were formed in the post-independence period and systematically cultivated and promoted the Type B associations formed during the armed struggle (for a description of the various types of associations see Table 2.4, p. 48). These associations are not only affiliated to the EPLF/PFDJ, but they are also led by the leaders of the ruling party. Consequently, independent Eritrea is dominated by three Type B associations; the National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW), the National Confederation of Eritrean Workers (NCEW) and the National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS) (Tesfai, n.d. ). One of the main reasons the government stifles the development of autonomous associations or suppresses existing ones is to ensure compliance with its policies. An example is the National Union of Eritrean Peasants (NUEP) which, during the war of independence, was equally if not more important than the other EPLF mass

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea organisations. NUEP held its first congress in March 1978. As peasants, agropastoralists and pastoralists represent 80 per cent of the country’s total population, the association was essential in the liberation struggle. However in 1994, the government abolished the NUEP without an explanation. The author’s attempts to seek official justification were unsuccessful but informal sources indicate that the main reason was its alleged potential opposition to the government’s strategy of modernisation of rural areas, and its land policy based on state ownership and expropriation of existing property rights regimes and the customary laws that regulated them. The government perceives smallholdings as reducing overall productivity which impedes investment, while customary land titling is said to discourage rational allocation of land to economic activities in which profit maximisation supplants emotive and traditional land use. During informal conversations, different government officials have argued that peasants allocate land on the basis of communal membership rather than possession of capital and farming skills, and investors cannot gain access to land unless they can trace their origin to the communities where the land in question is located. The government’s long-term aim is to transform the smallholdings into mechanised agricultural projects and the ‘backward’ smallholders are seen as a transient phenomenon awaiting to be dispossessed and transformed into wage labourers (Kibreab 2009). Therefore the government banned NUEP because it did not want to validate the peasantry by allowing them to have a union on an equal footing with women,4 workers, students and the youth. Moreover, an organised peasantry could represent a powerful political force that would fight hard for its own survival. In 1994, the same year NUEP was abolished, the government promulgated a new land law that vested ownership of all land in the state, repealed all pre-existing land rights and reduced individual title to usufructuary rights (see Proclamation 58/1994). This runs counter to autochthonous land rights which, as in most traditional societies, posit land as a cultural rather than an economic resource. In rural Eritrea, to be landless is to be devoid of social identity, and so the new law denied the peasantry, pastoralists and agro-pastoralists their customary rights of self-determination and the political means by which to exercise that right – their union. These anti-autonomous civil society proclivities by the EPLF leadership were discernibly obvious during the war of independence. However, at that time, most members of the EPLF mass organisations, including the intellectuals, kept quiet instead of raising their voices against the homogenising stance and undemocratic practices until the end of the war. They hoped the post-independence government would adopt civil society-friendly policies and practices or at least loosen its grip on mass organisations. The available evidence shows that the EPLF/PFDJ government betrayed these expectations and missed a rare window of opportunity to democratise and institutionalise collective decision-making in civil and political society associations and participation in government. Alemseged Tesfai, to take one example, states, ‘In Eritrea, three legally recognised associations dominate organised civil society. These are, the NUEW, the NCEW and the NUEYS. As carry-overs of the mass organisations of the EPLF from the days of the struggle, all of these are today the affiliates of the PFDJ, and generally follow its official line’ (Tesfai n.d.: 21) (emphasis added). The NUEW, the NCEW and

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea NUEYS are integral parts of the state and the ruling party and cannot be considered in the realm of civil society. Any organisation that is affiliated to a ruling party and which follows ‘its official line’ is automatically disqualified from the realm of civil society ( Bratton 1994; Chazan 1992; Diamond 1994; Harbeson 1994). Not only are the mass organisations affiliated to the PFDJ, but their leaders are also PFDJ leaders. For example, the president of the NUEW, Lul Gebreab, who took over from Askalu Menkerios, the minister of social affairs, is a member of the PFDJ Central Council; so too was the former chair of the NUEYS, Muhyadin Shengeb, whose secretary-general is Ali Abdu, acting minister of information.5 The warden of the high security Red Sea Prison, where 11 members of the dissident G15 group are allegedly being held incommunicado, Yusuf Sayiqh, was also a member of the NUEYS and is a member of the central council and a close confidante of the president. The minister of tourism, Ahmed Ali Haj, the minister of agriculture, Arefaine Berhe, the ambassador to Italy, Zemede Tekle, the Ambassador to Germany, Petros Tsegai and to China, Tsegai Tefatzion are former leaders of the EPLF student and workers associations in Europe and North America. The Ambassador in Brussels was also a member of the PFDJ mass organisations in the US. The president’s closest allies who seek to justify the government’s violation of human rights and suppression of freedom of association and expression, and the rule of law are recruited from the EPLF mass organisations in USA, Europe and the Middle East. They include the head of the PFDJ’s political office, Yemane Gebreab, the spokesman of the president’s office, Yemane Gebremeskel, head of the PFDJ’s economic affairs office, Hagos Gebrehiwet and the president’s former senior advisor on macro-policy, now Minister of National Development, Woldai Futur. The head of the organisational and mobilisation Office of the PFDJ, Abdella Jaber, was also a member of the EPLF mass organisations in Kuwait. The EPLF mass organisations were and still are incubators of authoritarianism. Gebremeskel and Futur, for example, have been repeatedly pre-judging the cases of the G11 and the journalists who have been held in incommunicado detention for over seven years without being charged. For example, Futur told reporters in Asmara, ‘… the government’s position that the closure of the private press and the detention of the dozens of political leaders and journalists in 2001 was … necessary in order to ensure the country’s national security’ (Futur quoted in IRIN 2003) (emphasis added). In an interview with the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA), Yemane Gebremeskel was asked to comment on the G11 detainees. He said that theirs was a ‘clear cut issue’: ‘These are not political detainees in the sense that these are not people who have been imprisoned because they expressed, as some say, alternative ideas on how the country should be governed etcetera. These are people who betrayed the country at a critical time, who tried to oust the president through unlawful means during a time of war’ (Gebremeskel 2004). In his view, these are criminals, not prisoners of conscience. With regard to the incommunicado-detained journalists, the president’s office spokesman said, ‘most of the journalists were not experienced. They could have been easily manipulated, easily infiltrated, especially if there is money involved’ (Gebremeskel in IRIN 2004) (emphasis added). The G11 were detained, inter alia, for accusing the president of ruling by decree instead of a constitution. The G15’s opening sentence of the ‘Open Letter’ to the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea PFDJ members reads, ‘This letter is a call for correction, a call for peaceful and democratic dialogue, a call for strengthening and consolidation, a call for unity, a call for the rule of law and for justice, through peaceful and legal ways and means’ (G15 2001). The group further stated, ‘It is obvious that our country is in a crisis. This crisis is the result of the weaknesses of the PFDJ and the Government, and the invasion of our country by the enemy [i.e. the Ethiopian government]’ (ibid.). The G15 further added: Our aim is to find remedies for the weaknesses of the PFDJ and the government so that people can participate in discussions and decisions over important national issues to enable Eritrea to come out of this crisis, to pave the road for a peaceful, legal and democratic transition to a truly constitutional government, and to establish guarantees for Eritrea to become a peaceful and stable nation where democracy, justice and prosperity shall prevail. (ibid.)

The journalists were detained for giving voice to the G15 and the Eritrean people. Amnesty International has described the eleven detained G15 members and the thousands of other innocent citizens detained without trial as prisoners of conscience and has been calling for their release (AI 2004a). The Eritrean government has responded to their appeal and those of Human Rights Watch as well as donor governments such as the US, EU and the UN, by saying that they have no right to make such demands (ibid.). Yemane Gebremeskel, the spokesman of the President’s Office, has stated, ‘… they [the G11] are guilty of crimes which are very grave and nobody can be absolved from a crime …’ (Gebremeskel quoted in IRIN 2004). Among the people who languished in unknown places for nearly three years until August 2004, were four elderly mediators who were over 70 years old. In the context of the Eritrean socio-cultural milieu, age is one of the most important sources of reverence, and any fair-minded and properly socialised Eritrean would have found the incommunicado incarceration of these elders without trial for nearly three years, morally unsettling and abhorrent. If it were not for the government’s suppression of the types A and D associations in favour of Type B ones (for typology of civil associations see Table 2.4), its human rights violations and its lack of respect for the rule of law would have aroused public outcry and consequently organised resistance. But not only is the government’s cavalier attitude towards these tolerated by the national mass organisations, but its draconian measures against any form of autonomous civil society organisation are enforced by them as well. This anti-democratic stance has not only stifled the process of democratic political change and national unity, but has led to donor apathy, if not hostility. Eritrea is a drought-prone, food-insecure country that has suffered immense damage to its social and economic infrastructures as a result of the 30-year war of independence, which also displaced millions of people within the country and abroad. Reconstructing the war-torn economy and reintegrating the refugees who returned from Sudan could only be undertaken with massive international support but as Eritrea met none of the preconditions of good governance set by Western donors, it was not regarded as a priority country. Diplomatic incompetence and lack of funding were some of the main reasons why the country’s ambitious Programme for Refugee Reintegration and Rehabilitation of Resettlement Areas in Eritrea (PROFERI) failed (Kibreab 1996b; 2002b; 2003c; 2005c).

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea In an attempt to gain access to international funds, the government rebranded its mass organisations, the National Union of Eritrean Women and National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students and the National Confederation of Eritrean Workers (NCEW), as NGOs. This policy failed because the NUEW, NUEYS and the NCEW are clearly government-affiliated organisations (GAOs) and discussions with representatives of various donors, multilateral agencies and international NGOs have made it clear to the author that they were not convinced of their autonomy. Most sources said that they were aware that the leaders of these socalled NGOs were members of the PFDJ leadership and therefore affiliated to the PFDJ and the government. They are also largely funded by the government.6 The NUEW has, however, been able to raise some funds from the international community because of the high priority donors give to gender issues, but there is a growing sense of disillusion with the organisation’s lack of autonomy and its detachment from Eritrean women. The organisation, for example, has never challenged the government on the burning issue of women’s recruitment in national service and the complementary Warsay-Yikaalo Development Campaign (WYDC). National service in terms of military training was introduced for the first time in July 1994, while the WYDC was established on the whim of the president in mid-2002 without an enabling legislation. All Eritreans aged between 18 and 40 are legally required to undertake National Service (NS), which involves six months of military training followed by twelve months of community service.7 It is deeply unpopular, not only because the NS recruits are sent to the inhospitable and malaria-ridden lowland areas, but also because the length of service is often extended, sometimes indefinitely, without notice (Kibreab 2009a; HRW 2009). When war with Ethiopia broke out in May 1998, those who had completed NS were recalled and those who joined the military service then have not been allowed to leave. To add insult to injury, in May 2002 president Afwerki announced yet another open-ended obligation, the WYDC. This requires every Eritrean, aged between 18 and 40, including those who are already doing NS, to work for the government (this includes the ruling PFDJ) without pay. This is now extended to 50 for men. As Eritrea has no pension scheme, many people fear they may reach retirement age without having earned an income. Moreover, because both obligations involve the young and the able-bodied, many rural communities are left without a capacity to work on the land, exacerbating endemic food insecurity and increasing the country’s reliance on international food aid. As a result, the projects are therefore loathed and feared across Eritrea and their impact, as we shall see later, on women has been particularly devastating. The NUEW, instead of lobbying for a reduction in obligations, has argued for gender parity in both the NS and the WYDC. Interviewees representing the NUEW, including the president, Ms Lul Gebreab, repeatedly told the author that ‘there can be no equality without equal participation and that many Eritrean women “can’t wait” for their turn to participate’ (Gebreab 2001). In the context of the rigorous censorship that marks the Eritrean postindependence condition, it is impossible to distinguish between gossip and truth. As a result, uncorroborated stories of suicide, fatal malaria infection and sexual abuse are rife in the services. In fact, many people are said to even choose to marry people they do not love or to become pregnant rather than undertake the obligations. Although rumours of sex abuse abounded, a series of interviews with

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea different female and male participants of the NS and the WYDC dismissed the rumours as unfounded and insisted that occurrences of rape were unknown. Nearly all the female interviewees said both men and women are armed which acts as a major deterrence. However, both male and female interviewees said that sexual harassment was common with military commanders who use their power, among other things, to threaten to assign non-compliant females to lethal frontline assignments. Some women succumb to such pressure but others defy such threats by accepting even the most dangerous assignments.8 The data the author elicited in a series of discussions with the leaders of the NUEW show that they are aware of allegations of sexual abuse, but either dismiss them or blame the women. Their patriarchal attitude is all the more surprising given that the NUEW is led by intelligent, assertive women who understand the many forms of sexual abuse, which can range from outright rape to subtle innuendos which play on formal hierarchy or internalised inequality. The question of how these women could betray their more vulnerable sisters hinges on the treatment they would receive were they to raise their heads above the parapet and dissent. Dissent in contemporary Eritrea means at least torture and incommunicado detention (see AI 2004a,b&c, 2005; US Department of State 2004, 2005; Human Rights Watch 2006) – being ‘frozen’ to use the popular PFDJ’s term. One such person is the courageous former chief justice, Teame Beyene, who was dismissed from office in August 2001 when he questioned the president’s interference in the civil courts and scathingly criticised and condemned the establishment of the special court. Forced conscription of women in the two campaigns is controversial in relation to ethnicity and religion. Because some groups limit women’s participation in public life, conscription places them in an invidious situation as they must either transgress group norms or break the law. Either way, they are punished, with sanctions ranging from stigmatisation, inability to find a husband (with concomitant economic implications) and, in extreme cases, ostracism. The government has failed to legislate against these informal means of control, despite its stated intentions to protect women who ‘agree’ to meet their national obligations. It is important, however, to guard against blaming the cultures of the different groups; rather, the government is to blame for failing to tailor its policies to accommodate prevailing cultural norms. Some women who undertake NS are considered unmarriageable as they are regarded as ‘loose’ and ‘morally corrupt’. Given their lack of education and marketable skills, without a husband, these women are condemned to a life of grinding poverty. They therefore find themselves in a lose-lose situation, but ‘their’ union, the NUEW, does nothing.

National NGOs From the outset, the Eritrean government rejected the idea of autonomous civil society. In 1992, it issued a legal notice requiring all national, non-profit-making humanitarian NGOs to register with and apply for permission from the ministry of interior.9 Any organisation or association failing to do so would be barred from humanitarian activities.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The humanitarian organisations and associations were given only about 14 days10 to submit the necessary documentation and for most small, grassroots groups this was simply not enough time – even the larger organisations attached to the Catholic or Evangelical churches had a hard time fulfilling the order. Moreover the decree did not specify the criteria for acceptance or rejection of a permit to operate. This left officials from the ministry of interior with unlimited discretionary powers to accept or reject applications. Worse still, there was no provision for appeal. The Order 5/1992 was thus more than anything else a means of collecting information on national NGOs. It had only two articles, one requiring records of financial and other resources (movable and immovable) and the other spelling out the consequence of non-compliance. The organisations that filed their applications on time were invariably told they could not be issued with permits because there was no legislation on NGOs but they were allowed to operate without formal or legal recognition until 1995.11 Until the border war with Ethiopia (May 1998 to June 2000), the only organisations that could be referred to as NGOs were faith-based, except for the Eritrean Red Cross Society (ERCS). After the formal cessation of hostilities in June 2000, donor support to the nearly one million internally displaced persons resulted in the establishment or revival of at least eight local NGOs (ERREC/UNOCHA, 2001). These were the Eritrean Catholic Secretariat (ECS), the Eritrean War-Disabled Fighters’ Association (EWDFA), Citizens for Peace in Eritrea (CPE), the Eritrean Red Cross Society (ERCS), the Family Reproductive Health Association of Eritrea (FRHAE), Haben, Vision Eritrea and the Committee for Solidarity and Support of Eritrean Children at IDP Camps (CSSECIDPC). These organisations were not legally recognised or registered but the government decided to turn a blind eye to their existence in the aftermath of the border war not just because of the essential work they did but also because the economic crisis in the country has crippled what social services existed through official channels. The ECS was actively involved in supporting the poor, especially during the independence war. However, as we shall see later, its voluntary activities were brought to an end in 1995 when the government banned faith-based organisations from engaging in emergency relief and development activities. One of the abovenamed local NGOs, Haben, founded by a returned member of the diaspora, is now banned and its founder and director has left the country to work for an international NGO in Kenya. The EWDFA was established in 1993 to provide vocational training, counselling and credit to disabled war veterans (Iyasu 2004a). The CPE was established by expatriate Eritreans in 1999 to campaign on behalf of Eritreans and Ethiopians of Eritrean origin deported from Ethiopia between 1998 and 2000. It was the first human rights advocacy organisation allowed to operate in the country, but it was limited to campaigning against Ethiopian human rights abuses only. Nevertheless CPE courageously took a stand against Eritrean government human rights violations, following the detention of Asmara university students in Wi’a camp, in the eastern lowlands. When two students died, CPE unequivocally condemned the arrests in an open letter to the government and called for the immediate release of all the students.12 However, that was the first and last time it raised its voice against the Eritrean government’s violation of citizens’ fundamental human rights.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The other five (later, four) organisations were implementing partners of the UN agencies or international NGOs. They were not concerned with civic and human rights issues and since some were set up by individuals close to the ruling party, they were irrelevant from the point of view of civil society, being neither pluralising nor democracy enhancing. They were not allowed to lobby on behalf of their constituents (although only the faith-based organisations and the ERCS actually have constituencies). The Eritrean Catholic Church has not only distanced itself from the government, but has also openly criticised the government’s human rights record (Catholic Bishops of Asmara, Keren and Barentu 2001). Some organisations affiliated to the government and/or the ruling party were also listed in the ERREC/UNOCHA database as national NGOs in 2001 and 2003, but not in 2007 (see Tables 3.6, 3.7 and 3.12 later in this chapter). These are Eritrean Social Marketing (ESM), which is part of the National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students; the National Confederation of Eritrean Workers/Eritrean Solidarity and Cooperation Association (NCEW/ESCA); the National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW); and the National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS).

Professional associations Eritrean professional associations are ostensibly autonomous but each is under the patronage of a line ministry and must obtain permission from that ministry before making an application for registration with the ministry of the interior. Thus, an association for doctors, pharmacists or nurses would require a letter of support from the minister of health. For teachers, a letter of support from the Ministry of education would be a requirement. Lawyers would need to obtain a letter of support from the minister of justice, and so on. If the concerned ministry does not want its policies and practices scrutinised by an autonomous civil society association, it is in its interest not to issue such a letter of support. However, a letter of support from the relevant line ministry does not guarantee permission for registration. Some groups have not been granted permission to register, notwithstanding the fact that they have submitted letters of patronage from the relevant ministries. Several individuals interviewed by the author in Eritrea indicated that, although applications are filed with the ministry of the interior and the relevant line ministries issue letters of support, the decision is taken elsewhere, i.e. in the president’s office (see the following case studies). The registration process is, of course, an effective means of controlling civil society associations. If an association’s legal recognition is dependent on continued ministerial support (which can be rescinded at any moment), it is almost inevitably going to practise self-censorship. One of the most important distinguishing features of Type A and Type B civil associations is autonomy from government control (see Table 2.4). Consequently, if an association’s legal recognition is dependent on a ministry’s support, its survival is also dependent on the said ministry’s continued patronage. An organisation operating under such restrictions cannot counterbalance unfair or inappropriate policies and practices on the part of the government or government ministries. The government’s way of rejecting applications for registration by groups that

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea receive letters of patronage is interesting. Instead of acknowledging the applications and then refusing them, the government simply ignores them. For example, a group of professionals who wanted to create an association for listed buildings has been unsuccessful; and so have attempts by a group of foresters to create an association of forestry. This is not due to genuine incompetence but rather due to insidious ignorance. Eritrean lawyers have not dared to seek a letter from the ministry of justice to set up an association as this would perforce have to engage with human rights issues in the country, including basic rights such as Habeas corpus. Since independence, notwithstanding numerous arbitrary detentions without charge, only two applications of Habeas corpus have been filed in the high court – one related to the detention of the president of the Asmara University Students’ Union, Semere Kesete. This was granted, although the police failed to comply with the high court ruling. The author asked several high court judges why Habeas corpus applications are rare in a country with many licensed lawyers and many cases of detentions without charge. The response was that the adversarial judicial system hinders judges from issuing a writ of Habeas corpus, but must rely on petitions from lawyers. This means that lawyers do not dare to challenge the government over detention without trial. Without an autonomous law society, the lawyers lack institutional support to reinforce due process of law. The dismissal of the former chief justice, Teame Beyene, has further blunted the sword of justice in Eritrea. He was dismissed in August 2001, as mentioned earlier, for criticising the president and his officers’ interference in the affairs of the judiciary and the creation of the special court. The medieval court, manned by legally illiterate military officers, directly accountable to the president, need not apply the country’s substantive and procedural laws when cases are heard. The special court was also authorised by the presidential decree that created it to hear cases adjudicated by the high court. Many Eritrean professional groups in exile played a key role during the war of independence by raising awareness and money. Their attempts to form autonomous professional associations in the country have been ignored or systematically stifled, with the exception of the Eritrean Nurses’ Association (ENA), the Eritrean Employers’ Association (EEA), the National Union of Eritrean Teachers (NUET), the Association of Pharmacists, the Association of Engineers and Architects, the Eritrean Business Women’s Association, and the Association of Musicians. However, most of these existed in name only. Currently, most of them do not even exist in name. Most of these so-called professional associations were led by members of the PFDJ and their ability to influence government policy was either non-existent or extremely limited. For example, when the government decided to relocate all Grade 11 students (aged15–16) to the Sawa military training camp in 2003, in the western lowlands, the NUET was not consulted, and when they found out, members that protested were labelled as misguided and opposed to development and social change. One of the most important roles of autonomous professional associations is to counter or influence government policy in the particular profession concerned. This can be achieved through the provision of technical advice, negotiation, lobbying, compromise and, if necessary, industrial action. The Eritrean pharmacists association’s experience provides a good example of

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea its inability to influence or criticise government policy which resulted in a poor and costly delivery system of medical services in the country. Eritrea has had an acute shortage of essential medicines throughout the post-independence period. One of the main reasons for this is the monopoly of the market by a government agency. The shortage is, to a large extent, due to inefficiency on the part of the said government agency, because it operates in a shielded environment and in a secure market. Notwithstanding the fact that its imported products might be substandard and its distribution networks inefficient and costly, this agency has a market in which it has no competition. Thus, the agency has no incentive for efficiency, leading to drug shortages and probably high prices fixed by an agency that enjoys not only an absolute monopoly of the national market, but also regulatory power. Another reason for shortages, especially during and in the aftermath of the border war, is a lack of foreign exchange, a result of excessive spending on imported weapons and the suppression of private enterprise. During the war of national independence, combatants who were pharmacists in collaboration with diasporic Eritreans and foreign solidarity groups established the Association of Pharmacists in the liberated areas. In the post-independence period, the association’s main task should have been to protect and promote the interests of the members, to advise, lobby and even put pressure on the government with regard to policy on standards, practices, supply and distribution of medicines. In short, the main job should have been to influence or countervail the government’s policies and practices in the areas that impinge on the profession and pharmaceutical products. However, a pronounced dearth of autonomy and freedom of association has meant that the association has been unable to challenge government policy in this area effectively. A series of discussions held by the author with some members of the association revealed knowledge of the fact that the most effective way of overcoming supply shortages and prohibitive prices was market liberalisation. If the market were liberalised, state monopoly would cease and competition would lead to increased supply to match demand and consequently price reductions. Such a development would benefit the private sector, consumers and the government itself through savings of foreign exchange. In order to compete effectively, the government agency would be forced to allocate its scarce resources efficiently, failure to do which would bring ruin. The involvement of the private sector would release the government’s foreign exchange and consequently ease pressure on the treasury. The government could then allocate the foreign exchange to import other badly needed goods and services. Further, since the financial and technical capability of any state in a war-torn society is dependent, to a large extent, on the vitality of the private sector, the involvement of the latter in the import and distribution of pharmaceutical goods and services would enable it to acquire knowledge, competence, and experience, all of which are indispensable resources for post-war recovery. This would also enable the private sector to establish networks with international businesses, a move which could, in the long run, lead to increased investment not only in this branch of industry but also in other industries and areas of economic activity. Additionally, increased private sector involvement could lead to the expansion of taxable income which would, in turn, result in increased government revenues. In the context of good governance, increased revenue means better schools,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea healthcare, water supply, physical infrastructure, food security, and so on. At present, prices for medicines are fixed arbitrarily by government decision. Liberalisation of the market would lead to increased supply and consequently to lower prices. Lower prices would mean a greater accessibility of medicine. This would result in an improvement of the health of the labour force. Since productivity is positively correlated with the condition of health of labourers, the whole country could benefit from improved competitiveness on the export market. Such a policy reform benefits the private sector, the treasury, and the families of working men and women. The interest of the members of the association of pharmacists would be best served by these changes. However, their association has been unable to influence the policy of the government in this area. This brief discussion of the pharmacists’ association represents the tip of the iceberg. This powerlessness is typical of professional associations in Eritrea. Interviews with professional associations’ members revealed that some felt there was nothing they could do to influence government policies – and four individuals interviewed independently said that the professional associations exist just in name. ‘We do nothing except partying once a year,’ is one comment which echoed the sentiments of many.13 However, in spite of such limitations, professional associations play an important role in terms of connecting their members. The dismissal by the government on dubious grounds of a considerable number of university lecturers and professors at Asmara University is another classic case. Soon after it threw Ethiopia out of Eritrea, the government targeted the only university in the country for attack. It appointed one of its combatant cadres as a president of the university. The person appointed as a president had never before worked in university administration. He was a lecturer for a short time at Haile Selassie University in Addis Ababa and then left for the USA for further studies, but did not stay long. Instead, he joined the EPLF and was a combatant probably since the mid-1970s. If the aim of the government were to improve academic excellence, the appointment of a guerrilla fighter who had been detached from academia for over two decades and a half and, worse still, traumatised by the horrors of war, was not a right choice. However, improvement of academic excellence was not on the government’s list of priorities. The government’s priority was to control and destroy the autonomy of the university and academic freedom. The new president accomplished this mission successfully. In order to destroy the autonomy of the university, in the early 1990s, the government dismissed many professors and lecturers on the alleged grounds that they had either collaborated with the Derg or were committed to ‘sub-national projects’ – regionalism. None of the accused was given a fair hearing nor did the government present any evidence to substantiate its allegation. Some of the dismissed professors and lecturers were members of the National Union of Eritrean Teachers (NUET). When they were dismissed and lost their livelihoods, they turned to their union for financial support. However, the head of state security, Naizghi Kuflu, warned union officials that they would be prosecuted as individuals if they extended any material assistance to the dismissed professors.14 As we shall see in one of the case studies presented below, the government was not satisfied with the erosion of the university’s autonomy and academic freedom. The only university in the country is now dismantled and reconstituted into militarised vocational schools distributed in different parts of the country.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea

The government’s assault on civil society organisations The moment it became a formal state, Eritrea’s government moved against the weak civil society organisations, except those directly affiliated to it, that it had supported – even established – during the independence war. One such organisation was the Eritrean Relief Association (ERA), the humanitarian wing of the EPLF, which had been instrumental in saving the lives of hundreds of thousands of people because of the extraordinary cross-border relief operation it mounted during the darkest days of the independence war (Duffield and Prendergast, 1994).

Case Study CS 1 Eritrean Relief Association: Salvation, tension and discord ERA was set up in 1975 as the non-partisan humanitarian wing of the ELF and the EPLF, to publicise consequences of the war and to appeal for external assistance. Dr Bereket Habte Selassie and Redazghi Gebremedhin initiated the idea of creating a relief agency. Their work was greatly facilitated by the late Osman Saleh Sabe who met them in Aden, Yemen in March 1975 (Habte Selassie 2007). They also met the then ELF leader, Ahmed Nasser, in Aden who supported their efforts and wished them well (ibid.). However, soon after, according to Habte Selassie, the hardliners in the ELF tried to undermine the agency in making by creating their own rival relief agency. It seems as if this took place without the knowledge and approval of Ahmed Nasser because Habte Selassie states: He [Nasser] did not imagine, anymore than we did, that the hardliners in the ELF leadership would decide a few weeks later to create a rival relief entity in the name of the ELF, a decision that would create problems for ERA’s relief mobilisation efforts for the better part of 1975. Ibrahim Totil’s agreement that ERA, sponsored by the EPLF, could work for all Eritrean refugees and displaced persons was rescinded by those in the ELF leadership who put factional and personal ambitions above national interest. (Habte Selassie 2007)

According to Duffield and Prendergast (1994: 24–5), after a few months of operation, the original Board was forced to resign when the ELF opposed ERA’s autonomy. They further stated that the ELF then established its own humanitarian wing, the Eritrean Red Cross and Crescent Society (ERCCS). However, in December 1975, the EPLF asked ERA to re-establish itself. This was prompted by the failure of the OAU and the UN to recognise the EPLF, thereby making donor governments reluctant to collaborate with it. The EPLF permitted ERA a facade of autonomy to enable it to build an extensive network of supporters, including international NGOs and donors. After independence, the government and the ruling party, jealous of ERA’s international network, and despite the continuing need for humanitarian aid in the war-shattered country, set about assaulting the association and undermining its stability. It is not an exaggeration to say that when ERA was dismantled, the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea massive stock of social capital built up over more than two decades by dedicated international civil society associations, including NGOs and ERA’s management, was wiped out. The EPLF leadership’s suspicion of ERA, and particularly of its former chairman, Paulos Tesfagiorgis, dates back to the Front’s Second Congress in 1987. By the late 1970s, the EPLF was dependent on diaspora contributions and international NGOs, the latter channelling resources through ERA. As ERA and its chairman’s popularity increased amongst the international aid and donor community, it became a thorn in the flesh of the EPLF leadership. ERA had been allowed a veneer of autonomy to bypass the lack of formal recognition of the EPLF. However, this lack of formal recognition may have contributed to EPLF xenophobia and therefore held back the development of other civil society associations in the country. Over the years, the Eritrean population relied on ERA, the only organisation that seemed to address their immediate concerns in the context of Ethiopia’s genocidal policies. Notwithstanding the admiration and respect ERA earned amongst its international partners, some sceptics still questioned the extent to which it was an integral part of a military organisation. Further, the EPLF got suspicious of ERA’s relationship with foreign parties – and feared its ‘potentially democratising’ influence. Given the EPLF’s obsession with security and its hostility to autonomy, the global networks of ERA were, according to the former ERA chairman, Paulos Tesfagiorgis, ‘constant sources of anxiety and worry to the EPLF leaders’ (Tesfagiorgis 2003). ERA funds could be availed to the front, but only after procedural requirements were complied with to ensure accountability with donors. The EPLF leaders resented this and they repeatedly tried to bypass administrative controls on the accountable disbursement of funds. This put ERA under enormous pressure, especially because the chairman, Tesfagiorgis, was also a member of the EPLF and also of the secret Eritrean People’s Revolutionary Party (EPRP) and therefore subject to the group’s vagaries of democratic centralism, which prohibited questioning of the party line. Paulos Tesfagiorgis was the EPRP’s representative throughout Sudan. ERA’s chairman was thus caught on the horns of a dilemma – the need to remain loyal to his party and the need to maintain an ostensible cover of autonomy to win the trust of ERA’s global partners and thereby guarantee a continuous flow of resources into the liberated and semi-liberated areas. In fact, the level of trust that existed between ERA’s directors and its international partners was such that ERA was able to adopt a flexible and unorthodox system of coating of accountability that enabled resources meant for civilians to flow into military zones. As Ethiopian assaults on civilian and military targets intensified, most of ERA’s global partners turned a blind eye to what went on behind the scenes, either because they had taken unpronounced political positions in favour of Eritrean independence or due to their loyalty to, trust of and friendship with ERA’s directors. According to Tesfagiorgis, the EPLF secretary-general, Isaias Afwerki’s, hostility to the idea of civil society and the right of association in post-independence Eritrea was clearly discernible during the liberation war. In 1987 the EPLF second congress elected Isaias Afwerki, the then chairman of the secret party, as the Secretary-General of the Front. Immediately before the Congress, the secret

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Marxist-Leninist party within the EPLF met to discuss the shape of Eritrea following the expected inevitable independence.15 Tesfagiorgis, the head of ERA, wrote a discussion paper on the role of civil society associations in independent Eritrea and gave it to Afwerki who said discussion on the topic was premature. According to Tesfagiorgis, from then on, the EPLF leadership set out to undermine ERA’s facade of autonomy and in late 1989 the organisation was ordered to shut down its offices in Khartoum and relocate to the EPLF offices in the same city. ERA defied the order but the directors wrote a protest letter to the EPLF leadership. They argued that it was important to maintain the facade of autonomy to enable international partners to collaborate in cross-border humanitarian operations. This infuriated the EPLF leadership who visited Khartoum a few months later to meet with Tesfagiorgis in the ERA offices. During the meeting, it became clear that the rationale behind the relocation order was to undermine ERA’s veneer of autonomy and also control of the funds flowing into ERA’s coffers. The EPLF leaders ordered ERA to tell all donors to transfer contributions directly to the EPLF’s bank account in Rome although this meant an end of support for humanitarian operations in drought-stricken Eritrea and an end to ERA’s credibility with international donors. Tesfagiorgis was also ordered to Rome to a meeting with Afwerki, Ali Said Abdella (the EPLF head of foreign affairs) and its head of the European office, Ermias Debessai. At the meeting, the EPLF leadership repeated their order for ERA to tell donors to pay money directly into the EPLF accounts and announced that, from then on, ERA was to be under the management of the EPLF European office. Tesfagiorgis was not allowed to question the command (Tesfagiorgis 2003; 2004). Tesfagiorgis was deeply concerned, first because of the risk of losing NGO support to the Eritrean cause and second not just by the uncertain international status of the EPLF but also because its accounts – often containing millions of dollars – were held in individual names.16 Tesfagiorgis initially defied the EPLF leadership and refused to hand over the financial control of ERA to Debessai. But in late 1989, ERA was ordered, to close down its office in Khartoum and to move to the liberated area in Eritrea. Again ERA’s directors were against the idea, arguing that communication with their partners would be difficult if not impossible. They also felt that the move would position ERA on the side of the EPLF, and compromise the veneer of the humanitarian principle of neutrality. Tesfagiorgis therefore refused to budge but he was eventually forced to leave ERA and go into exile in Canada, where he pursued his studies. He returned to Eritrea after independence to become a thorn in the side of the new government. In an interview in London in 2003 Tesfagiorgis argued that the EPLF saw ERA as an impediment to the Front’s strategy of self-reliance. That strategy in itself was questionable given Eritrea’s natural climatic and environmental constraints as well as the damage to the land and livelihoods after 30 years of war. Self-reliance has two critical constituent elements; popular participation in problem solving and reciprocity (Duffield and Prendergast, 1994: 20) The first is critical in providing a structure to mediate civilian productive capacity and the latter for enabling mutual cooperation. With the resources provided by ERA, the EPLF was able to provide social services such as health care, education, clean water and productive inputs such as agricultural credit, seeds, oxen and food. This generated immense

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea credibility and social capital for the EPLF in the liberated and semi-liberated areas – social capital that was itself based on that generated by ERA in partnership with international donors. Thus, ERA’s support was one of the most crucial factors in the eventual victory of the Eritrean fighters and civilians. This was, as Duffield and Prendergast point out, not just military and logistical but also psychological: ‘due to the international isolation of Eritrea … foreign relief assistance became an important psychological boost for the stressed civilian population’ (ibid.: 28). This demonstrates that the assistance provided by ERA constituted a central pillar of the EPLF’s self-sufficiency strategy. The main reason for the EPLF leaders’ actions to undermine ERA therefore probably had less to do with self-reliance but more with the desire to assert hegemony over resources, ideas and people. ERA’s access to donor resources and global networks of cooperation and even protection were seen as constituting a potential threat to the EPLF leaders’ ambition for hegemony over every aspect of Eritrea’s political life, not only during the war but also after independence. These decisions were evidently motivated by myopic partisan interests and by a lack of strategic thinking. In retrospect and in the light of the EPLF/PFDJ’s anti-civil society policies, the actions fall into a clear pattern of behaviour marked by intolerance and control freakery.

Case Study CS 2 Suppression of the Regional Centre of Human Rights and Development17 This case study will further elaborate the Eritrean government’s hostility towards autonomous civil and political society associations. The suppression of the Regional Centre of Human Rights and Development (RCHRD) demonstrates how the EPLF/PFDJ leaders’ reneged on all the promises they made during the war of independence. The war was not fought for symbolism but for bread, liberty, democracy, justice, equality, fairness, rule of law, and freedom of association, none of which can be achieved without popular control of collective decision-making mediated through autonomous and vibrant civil and political society associations. The RCHRD was established by Paulos Tesfagiorgis, the former chairman of ERA, to create an enabling environment for the development of civic culture through seminars, workshops, training, debates and a trilingual (Tigrinya, Arabic, English) newspaper. When he returned home from Canada in 1991, Tesfagiorgis approached the secretary-general of the EPLF and the head of the provisional government of Eritrea (PGE), Isaias Afwerki, with the idea of establishing a centre of human rights and development. Afwerki told Tesfagiorgis that the country was facing a serious shortage of manpower and that since one of the aims of the centre was to create a national research capacity, the centre would be expected to contribute towards human resource development. The president encouraged Tesfagiorgis to go ahead. He later developed a concept paper outlining the aims of the centre. The aims included,studying the effects of development on rights; developing and implementing programmes to enhance civil society; promoting human rights and development issues in Eritrea and the Horn of Africa; and setting up research facilities to contribute to knowledge generation, understanding and evaluative skills on issues relating to human rights, democracy, civil society and development.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea A copy of the concept paper was submitted to the president who gave his written approval of the plan. Tesfagiorgis filed an application in April 1992 to the then Department of the Interior (ministries were established after the Referendum on Independence in April 1993) to register the centre. The department of the interior’s (DoI) Legal Advisor asked him to sign a document, which he was told applied to all national NGOs.18 This committed every national NGO to informing the DoI of the date and venue of board meetings; submitting copies of all correspondence with any foreign or expatriate organisation to the DoI; and submitting copies of all publicity materials to the DoI before distribution. It was unclear whether these measures were inherited from the Derg or put in place by the EPLF, but Tesfagiorgis refused to sign. He argued that such a document undermined the very purpose of the centre and the requirements were incompatible with the principles of democracy. The legal advisor asked him to put this in writing, which he did. He addressed the complaints to Naizghi Kuflu, the DoI vice-secretary. After reading Tesfagiorgis’ statement, Kuflu instructed his staff to process the application. He also wrote official letters to the Commercial Bank of Eritrea and to the Department of Inland Revenue to facilitate the establishment of the Centre. In April 1992, the Regional Centre for Human Rights and Development (RCHRD) was legally established with a head office in the premises of Norwegian Church Aid (NCA), one of the most important partners of ERA during the war of independence, in Asmara. RCHRD established an international board of prominent international human rights lawyers and experts on development. The centre’s activities were divided into two short- and long-term phases. Its priority was to create an enabling environment for the development and consolidation of associational life throughout the country. But it was deemed necessary to first build institutional capacity. An Eritrean expatriate expert on civil society was approached to design and develop a programme for strengthening civil society associations in the country. He happily accepted the challenge and relocated to Eritrea. After some months of fieldwork, he drew up a comprehensive programme that focused on activities such as open debate, education, training, seminars, workshops and public lectures. At the centre, a decision was taken to produce a regular newspaper in Arabic, English and Tigrinya specialising in issues pertaining to civil society. The department of information, culture and sports gave a licence to publish the newspaper. A need to create human capacity was noted and the centre engaged a Norwegian expert who concluded that it was necessary to build a new printing press. An exploratory meeting was held with the department of education (DoE) to assess the need for such a facility; the DoE was enthusiastic because it also needed to produce schoolbooks and other teaching materials. The centre also consulted Woldeab Woldemarian, one of the central figures of modern Eritrean nationalism,19 to suggest a name for the newspaper. He came up with the name Netsa Eritra (Free Eritrea). Experts prepared a proposal for funding and many donors expressed willingness to finance the project. The move to establish a human rights and development centre in Eritrea was perceived by many as a sign of hope in a continent blighted by corruption and dictatorship. The centre began by training journalists to produce a trilingual paper, the first in the country. The centre approached international journalists who came

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea on assignments to Eritrea and the response was sympathetic. Taking advantage of the thirst for open debate and dialogue that marked the post-independence period, the RCHRD also organised seminars and workshops. WORRYING SIGNS? Soon, however, doubts about the government’s acceptance of the RCHRD as legitimate would begin to show. The centre had achieved a high profile and was very popular with donor governments and organisations within and outside the country. Tesfagiorgis was able to tap into the network of contacts with international NGOs and donors established during his days as ERA chairperson to mobilise financial and logistical support. Many organisations and agencies also celebrated the RCHRD because they believed that it could play an important role in the democratisation process and in the development of autonomous civil society associations in the post-independence situation. The RCHRD moved to its own new and bigger offices in late 1992, but a few weeks later, the centre received a letter from Kiflu, the vice-secretary of the DoI, who had authorised their licence, informing Tesfagiorgis that the application they had filed could not be processed because there was no legislation covering activities such as theirs and their application would therefore be suspended. Tesfagiorgis protested arguing that the RCHRD was already registered and that Kuflu had written the authorisations himself. When it became clear that he was going to get nowhere, Tesfagiorgis asked to see the president, who was in Israel at the time. He presented his case to the then DoI secretary, the late Ali Said Abdella. Abdella promised to look into the matter and asked Tesfagiorgis to return the next day. However, he then refused to see him and Tesfagiorgis called Kuflu who asked him to return the following day. On arrival, he found Kuflu in the company of two men from the National Security Department who accused him of not respecting the EPLF ‘because you know us’.20 Naizgi Kuflu ordered the immediate closure of the centre and on the same day security officials raided the offices and sealed all the filing cabinets and drawers. For the next 45 days, the national security department investigated every communication – letters, faxes, minutes, accounts, receipts, bills – to find out how every penny was obtained and spent at the centre. The aim was to find incriminating evidence. Over time this has become an entrenched culture of the PFDJ leadership. Whenever they want to discredit their opponents, they send investigators in the hope of finding incriminating evidence of corruption. That was what happened to Ogbe Abraha, former chief of staff and later minister of trade and industry and Petros Solomon, former minister of defence, foreign affairs and fisheries (see their interviews with Connell 2005). The RCHRD system of accounting and record-keeping was up to date because, when it had occupied NCA (Norwegian Church Aid) premises, the NCA’s financial director had handled all the financial transactions and NCA auditors had checked the accounts. After relocation, the same method of accounting, recordkeeping and auditing continued being used. Consequently, although the security people spent 45 days fault-finding, they were unable to find any faults – except for a missing receipt of a monthly electricity bill worth 20 Ethiopian Birr 21 (US $2). Even this was irrelevant because failure to pay an electricity bill would have meant the automatic discontinuation of the service and since this had not happened, the bill had obviously been paid. At the end, when Tesfagiorgis asked for a copy of the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea report, his request was refused on the grounds that Kuflu had not authorised it. The government did not want to risk bad publicity by banning the centre. Instead, they allowed it to die by leaving it in a state of legal limbo and waging a subtle war of slander. To the government, an outright ban was not a good idea at the time because the centre was training 460 men and women, representing all Eritrea’s ethnic groups, as part of the citizens’ referendum monitoring project. The trainees were being prepared to work with international civil society groups in monitoring the upcoming referendum on independence and it was supported by donors, the diplomatic community and international civil society associations. Even though the referendum commission liked the project, they did not want the credit to go to RCHRD and asked the latter to work in conjunction with the University of Asmara. Although nearly all the work was performed by the centre, the credit would be attributed to the univerisity. In late 1993, Tesfagiorgis was invited to an international conference in Addis Ababa. Although the two governments were on good terms and goods and people could cross borders without hindrance or requiring visas (see Tekle 1996), he was stopped at Asmara Airport as he boarded the plane and forbidden to leave Eritrean territory. He became so incensed that he confined himself in his parents’ home for three months to cool down, reflect on what had gone so woefully wrong and consider the next course of action (Tesfagiorgis 2003). DISCUSSION WITH THE HEAD OF STATE After three months, Tesfagiorgis called the president’s office and asked for an appointment. He felt that Afwerki was faking ignorance of the RCHRD case in order to be able to make use of him in the future. After all, the two men had worked closely together for decades in the field. According to Tesfagiorgis, when he went to see the president, Afwerki was evasive and tried to steer the conversation to macro issues rather than the precise topic at hand. When pressed, however, he admitted that the Swedish delegation to Eritrea had been very positive about the RCHRD and that he, the president, had told Kuflu to tell Tesfagiorgis to ‘slow down’. This reaction raises a number of questions. First, why would positive publicity of a national organisation be a problem? Second, was it reasonable for the president to view RCHRD as a competitor? This misplaced jealousy is characteristic of the Eritrean government but it is not just about image; the Eritrean government wants to make sure that donor funds are channelled through official organs rather than civil society organisations. The president reassured Tesfagiorgis that the government backed RCHRD, but he also asked him to take a job as the head of an unspecified governmental commission. Tesfagiorgis turned down the offer, but accepted to work with the constitutional commission. He actually was one of the key figures in drafting the first post-independence constitution that has never been promulgated since its ratification by the constituent assembly in May 1997. The government’s arbitrary position on human rights and democracy, which varied according to the perceived benefit or threat to itself of the organisations involved, was illustrated by its reaction to the request by the director of the international human rights internet (HRI) to establish a research and resource centre in Asmara in conjunction with RCHRD – this at a time when the latter was slowly

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea being strangled to death. The government allowed HRI to collaborate with the RCHRD in spite of the fact that the RCHRD were completely prohibited from engaging in any other activity. In 1994, Asmara hosted a regional conference on human rights and democracy in which the RCHRD was mandated to follow up the recommendations. However, this new project was doomed to fail because the government was fundamentally opposed to any organisation that was committed to human rights and democratic values. At the end of the year, the government officially closed down the Centre and confiscated all its assets; project money was returned to donors. The nonquantifiable assets of the RCHRD were lost to Eritrea. These included expertise from one of the region’s most experienced human rights experts, a wealth of knowledge and networks of the sector across the world and, most importantly, the social capital of trust in an individual and an organisation.

Case Study CS 3 The Eritrean War Disabled Fighters’ Association The Eritrean War Disabled Fighters’ Association (EWDFA) was an autonomous non-governmental association established in 1993 to help fighters disabled in battle and their families achieve self-sufficiency through the provision of training, credit and occupational counselling (on the relationship between disability and poverty see Elwan 1999; Thomas 2005). EWDFA also aimed at defending the rights of disabled fighters and promoting public awareness on disability. In January 2004, EWDFA had 25,000 members, of whom 18 per cent were women (Iyasu 2004b). The autonomy of EWDFA is disputed by the exiled former director of Mitias, Amanuel Mehreteab. He told the author: ‘EWDFA has never been an independent non-governmental organisation. The government claims like that but it was not true.’22 In 1993, the government established a rehabilitation centre for the moderately disabled fighters at Mai Habar. The latter is a small town outside Nefasit, 25 kilometres from Asmara on the highway linking the capital to Massawa. There was also a paraplegic centre at the military base, Kagnew Station (Asmara). The disabled fighters had great expectations of peace. Although disabled, the fighters were aware of their rights and because they had also imbibed the rhetoric of justice and equality, they were able to push for their right to an autonomous association in the immediate post-independence period. This knowledge may explain why their association was often at loggerheads with the government officials in the office of demobilisation and rehabilitation of ex-combatants (Mitias). In 1994, rumours (an indication of lack of press freedom) that Mai Habar was to be disbanded and the fighters sent home without compensation, were in circulation. According to the former director of Mitias’ account, in the second phase of demobilisation (1994), the heads of the corps were instructed to send the disabled combatants from their rank and file to Mai Habar. No guidelines were given as to who was a disabled combatant, who could not work and who could work and therefore should be demobilised. In the absence of a directive, the military commanders, using their own discretion and evaluation, sent the ones they thought were unfit to serve in the armed forces. These included pregnant

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea women, the aged, disabled combatants who worked on the front as ‘radio operators, electricians, motor-winding, etc.’23 The former director of Mitias, Amanuel Mehreteab, said, I had clearly drafted a letter to the military commanders instructing them to send disabled combatants who could not stay in the army and had no skills. The aim was to demobilize the ones who could not be assigned to the civil service. The ones who were severely injured would be the responsibility of the government. We expected to get not more than 3,000 combatants at the maximum. However, over 10,000 combatants were sent to Mai Habar and these were only from three corps. When I heard the news, I went to Mai Habar and observed the bad situation of the disabled combatants. It was raining and some of the disabled combatants were suffering from infections. I returned to Asmara and discussed the situation with the head of EWDFA. We agreed to convene a meeting with the combatants assembled at Mai Habar and informed them that the military commanders of the corps had made a mistake in sending them to Mai Habar. We told those who possessed some skills and were able to work to return to their previous assignments. We also told the aged and the pregnant women that they were in the wrong place. They should return instead to their respective units until further notice. We also informed the remaining disabled combatants that a medical officer would determine the gravity of their disability. They were further informed that those who were identified as severely disabled would be sent to the association of the disabled combatants. The ones with mild injuries would be sent to Mitias to be demobilized.24

The confusion that permeated the situation in Mai Habar was a reflection of the general post-independence condition in which the EPLF leadership in spite of their spectacular military success and brilliant war-time record of organisational skills and acumen, seemed to grope in darkness when they ascended to state power. They did not seem to know how to move forward. This was due to lack of experience and unwillingness to cooperate with the highly experienced non-combatant Eritrean civil servants, who worked with the Italian, British and Ethiopian administrations. This was exacerbated by the fact that the president and people around him rejected any technical assistance offered to them by donors and NGOs, as well as diaspora Eritrean intellectuals. Amidst this chaotic situation, the EWDFA demanded a meeting with president Afwerki, confident that their former comrade-in-arms would accede to their request for a meeting. However, by this time, the ex-guerrilla leader was detached from the poor and from the field and was unwilling to meet them. When informed of this, the EWDFA felt betrayed and the members decided to march from Mai Habar to Asmara on 11 July 1994 and hold a demonstration in the capital. The government told the EWDFA that they would not be allowed to march but the exfighters resolved to go ahead. They were met by armed police and the director of Mitias, Amanuel Mehreteab, at Nefasit. Mehreteab tried to persuade them to disperse, but was taken hostage and tension mounted on both sides. Some of the ex-fighters threw stones at the police and the police responded by firing live ammunition into the crowd of disabled fighters and some were said to have lost their lives in the shooting. News of the event percolated into the capital via diaspora websites and news sources. The government mass media did not report the incident and therefore people in Western Europe and North America were better informed than those in Asmara about the incident. This was because the official news agency ordered a

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea clampdown on reporting. There were obviously casualties, but the government-run press failed to report objectively and ex-fighters themselves were too scared and reluctant to talk about it. The reluctance of the official news channels to discuss the event created a fertile ground for rumour multiplication. At one time, cafés in Asmara were buzzing with stories of a ‘massacre’ at Mai Habar, but the government did little to put the record straight. Eritrea was and still is a small country and almost everyone had a relative disabled during the war. This meant that very many Eritreans were affected by the event and also by the rumours. The EWDFA leaders of the demonstration were jailed. The head of the EWDFA is said to have been killed in ongoing internal feuds25 which some suspect were incited by government agent provocateurs. Instead of empathising with the disabled veterans, the head of state derided them saying, ‘We cannot afford to slaughter sheep for you every morning’ (quoted in Antonio Tesfay 2003).26 President Afwerki’s comment on the disabled fighters, which implied that the men and women who had not only given their limbs, but were living in an appalling limbo of poverty and unemployability as a result, were sponging off the state, is a clear statement of his contempt.27 But the government may actually have been afraid of the fighters, who were organised, politically aware and who, unlike the rural peasantry, had a voice in the EWDFA. The government’s fear was intensified by the respect the EWDFA commanded with the Eritrean people – in other words, a wealth of social capital built on legitimacy and respect. Like any responsible civil association, the EWDFA tried to influence the government’s policies through negotiation, lobbying, discussions and public meetings. The government, however, found EWDFA threatening because it had legitimacy and was probably the only organised body not fully controlled by the government and the ruling party. It was also not controlled by foreign donors so the government could not accuse it of being a foreign agent. By 1994 the EWDFA were raising serious issues of national concern, many of which were being spoken about in the privacy of a bar near the military barracks at Kagnew Station frequented by disabled ex-fighters. Although the 11 July 1994 was still taboo, disabled ex-combatants at the bar which a friend and I called ‘The Tabloid’ constantly expressed their deep grief at the failure of the public and their former comrades to even acknowledge that the tragic incident had occurred. When asked about the legality of the demonstration, one fighter asked, ‘Did I sacrifice my leg and my right eye to bring about a country where I would not even be allowed to demonstrate peacefully and to cry loudly?’28 Another said, ‘Do you think all the sacrifices were made nezom gu’zuiat ab nai koresha sltan n’mkimat (to put these amoral individuals at the helm of power?).’29 One other disabled ex-fighter added, ‘It is not the death and injury of my comrades that disturbs me, but rather the extent to which the president has abandoned the goals we all fought and died for.’30 Asked to state what these were, he said ‘democracy, freedom, respect and equality’. Mai Habar is significant in a number of ways. Firstly, the incident exposed the intrinsically intolerant nature of the EPLF leadership. A demonstration by unarmed war-disabled veterans at a time when the country was at peace and in a state of euphoria did not constitute a threat to the government or the nation. Second, the event set in motion a discernible pattern of suppression of any form of protest by civil society associations against the government. Third, the government wanted to

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea use it as an example to deter other groups from open dissent. The message was ‘if we can treat disabled ex-fighters like this, we can also treat students/workers/ women the same, if not worse.’ It seems as if the people have got the message. The violent response to the peaceful demonstration may be easier to explain if placed in context. On 18 May 1993, the central committee of the EPLF held a meeting in which it was decided to ‘prolong its term for four years and become members of the National Assembly’ (Berhane Gebreghziabher cited in Connell 2005: 84). The central council also decided to receive no salaries for a further four years. Immediately after the referendum in April 1993, the PGE unilaterally declared that all combatants would be required to serve another four years without pay in whatever job they had when the fighting stopped. They had already served two years without pay. The decision was taken without any consultation with the combatants. This was announced the following day and on 20 May 1993, the fighters stationed around Asmara revolted spontaneously and demanded that the head of the PGE, Isaias Afwerki, come to their barracks to answer their questions. The president met with the fighters’ representatives who accused the EPLF leadership of abuse of power, and after several hours of bitter debate, at 3 pm, the fighters drove into the city in armoured vehicles and tanks and occupied the key ministries and the university. They ordered banks, businesses and government offices to shut for the day. The fighters ordered the president and his entourage to walk to Asmara Stadium. They also asked all public transport to ferry fighters from all parts of the city to the stadium. The stadium was soon filled to capacity, and the meeting, although organised spontaneously, was disciplined and determined. Many of those interviewed interpreted the attendance and discipline as a sign of support for the protest. Standing in the stadium surrounded by angry, disciplined and well-armed fighters, the president expressed ‘sympathy,’ and promised to allocate 50 million Ethiopian Birr (US $7 million) to address some of their most pressing needs. He also agreed to establish a commission of inquiry to look into the allegations of abuse of power and corruption, as well as to convene a third EPLF congress immediately (Iyasu 2004c; 2005; 2006).31 The protest took place on 20 May 1993, just four days before the scheduled celebrations for independence. This was to be a big event, with hundreds of international guests and hundreds of thousands of Eritreans returning from exile. The combatants were therefore under enormous pressure to exercise restraint to avoid spoiling the day Eritreans had been awaiting for nearly half a century. Disabled fighters, one after another, thus stood up and urged the organisers to come to an understanding with the president so that things could return to normal and the preparations for the big day could resume. At 7 pm the president accepted all the fighters’ demands unconditionally and they agreed to return to their barracks. The president took a taxi back to his office. However, once safely behind closed doors, the president went on air and viciously attacked the fighters terming their actions as ‘illegal’, ‘misguided‘ and ‘infantile‘ (eshelawi m’nkskas). The fighters once again felt betrayed as the president reneged on all the promises made at the stadium not so long ago. Months later, a vicious and rancorous campaign against the alleged ‘ringleaders’ of the protest was unleashed. It targeted even those in remote areas, although they were not among those who

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea attended the meeting at the stadium. The government detained anyone who showed any sign of sympathy with the protesters. In total, between 200 and 300 fighters were detained in Adi Qala prison, an Eritrean Robben Island, where Eritrean nationalists were incarcerated by Ethiopian authorities during the independence war. The detainees were held without trial for two years before being sentenced by a kangaroo court – literally in the dark, without being given a chance to even see their judge. Some of the accused were dishonourably discharged from the EPLF while others were given custodial sentences of up to twelve years. After serving part of their sentences, all the detainees received an amnesty and were ordered to return to their respective divisions where they were subjected to what was known as ‘punishment of conscience’ (nay hilina mektsati) and stripped of all rights, such as pocket money (the name given to the 50 Birr monthly remuneration), participation in meetings and annual leave. In short, the government humiliated them by treating them as social outcasts. This is the background to the government’s violent reaction to the demands of the war-disabled fighters in July 1994. An Eritrean proverb that says, ‘if a person has been bitten by a snake, he panics over a piece of rope’ (btemen ztenekses b’lhtsi tedahle) explains this better. The EPLF leaders were scared by the events of 20 May 1993 and were thus determined not to take any more chances. Afterwards, the president and the clique around him became not only more detached but also paranoid and intolerant. The event was extraordinary in that the fighters had no intention of overthrowing the government or disrupting the peace although all the ministers and high-ranking military officers were under their control. Their intention was to shock the leaders into introducing reforms by appealing to the very democratic principles that the war had been fought for. The fighters questioned the leaders on several issues, including their detachment from the common people and fighters; abuse of power, privileges and corruption; betrayal of the goals of the struggle; the imposition of another four years of service without pay; and demands for an EPLF Congress. According to many interviewees, all of whom had participated in the meeting, the fighters felt enraged and disempowered mainly by the behaviour of ‘their’ leaders following the end of hostilities in 1991. Their grievances were economic as well as political. By 1991 most fighters and their families were desperately poor. During the war, it was common for four, five or even ten siblings to join the struggle as soon as they were physically able – which deprived families of an able-bodied workforce. In fact, some families were so impoverished that some combatants went home to find their mothers begging on the streets. Thus many of the fighters wanted to enjoy a justly earned peace dividend and to start earning money to reconstruct their shattered lives. According to Petros Solomon and Berhane Gebreghziabher, who held ministerial positions, the PGE was utterly confused and did not know how to address the problems faced by fighters, especially the disabled: Immediately even two or three months after independence, there were demands from the fighters … for their subsistence and even for their families – for pocket money or for anything going, for tea even. They didn’t have anything. Unless you have well-to-do family who can help you or you are in a position where one way or another you can get some money … in Asmara and other towns,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea the fighters didn’t have anything. … Then they tried to ask for some money to go and see their families. So we didn’t respond to this. We didn’t meet to discuss this. All of us. All of us. Actually it is the leadership, starting from the President, who should be responsible to respond to these questions (Berhane Gebreghziabher in Connell 2005: 84) (emphasis added).

In spite of these pressing and potentially explosive situations, the leadership or the central council never met between May 1991 and May 1993. It met for the first time on 18 May 1993 (ibid.). According to Petros Solomon, between 1991 and 1993, the PGE lacked not only a strategy for dealing with the disabled fighters’ situation and the demands of all other fighters, but there was also no discussion about the country’s future and as a result, ‘Problems were drifting and you react when they hit your head’ (in Connell 2005: 85). Soon after independence, a directive to relocate all seriously injured fighters to Keren without any plan had been issued. The authorities in the city could not cope with the situation and all those involved, including the disabled fighters, became frustrated. ‘And then when [Isaias] was frustrated, he said, “send them all to their units, to the corps”’: You are talking about people who cannot see … handicapped, old-aged, who cannot even work behind the lines in the departments. They were sent to the corps. … It was hell, literally. It was hell, it was hell, it was hell. … You are talking about something like 15, 20 percent immediately becoming dissatisfied with the way things are run and having grudges and getting confused because they don’t know what their future looks like. (Solomon in Connell 2005: 85)

In view of this, the fighters’ revolt on 20 May 1993 was not surprising. Also the fighters were unhappy with their leaders’ failure to convene an EPLF congress that would have given them a chance to participate in the direction of the organisation, and even change the leadership. This must have been a very difficult time for the fighters, moving from the intense highs of combat life to the banal inertia of paying bills, buying new clothes for growing children and adjusting to civilian life. They had been out of a cash economy for so long and had become institutionalised. Yet, very little thought had been given to the need to reinvigorate the participation of ex-fighters once hostilities ceased as a means of post-traumatic stress relief. The failure of the leadership to consult the fighters was interpreted not only as an act of betrayal but, more importantly, as a ‘breach of EPLF customary practice’. Several interviewees pointed out that during the war, whenever there was an important policy shift, the leadership would consult with the rank and file.32 This departure from practice in a matter of two years was seen as a symptom of corruption, degeneration and abuse of power. The leadership, said one interviewee, was too busy ‘drinking and womanising’.33 Finally, most fighters interviewed were also angered by their leaders’ arrogance, seeing it as a sign of creeping hierarchy in the EPLF. One interviewee said, ‘The leaders felt that they were too important to waste their time to explain the background of the decision’.34 Another felt that the leadership were too embarrassed or scared to face the fighters.35 This growing gulf between the fighters and the leadership was all the more startling given that the EPLF had a reputation for egalitarianism. Fighter and leader, it was said, ate from a common pot and shared

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea everything. This seems to have gone with the attainment of independence. As one fighter said, ‘The leaders are enjoying themselves, but we are living in squalid conditions. They are eating a steak and we live on lentils as we did in Sahel.’37 Whether all or some of these allegations were true is irrelevant. It is enough that the fighters thought they were honest and the leaders did nothing to prove them otherwise. These perceptions might have arisen to some extent from the fact that many post-war fighters interviewed by the author, especially females, saw their experience in Mieda (field) through rose-coloured spectacles – the good old days in the trenches where everything, including, as one fighter put it, ‘life’ was shared. In the absence of formal centres providing therapeutic services or a conducive environment that would have enabled ex-combatants to deal with post-traumatic stress, many of the traumatised dealt with their vulnerability by reliving the good old days. Although statistical data are hard to come by, the mental hospital in Sembel was full of traumatised fighters whose families could not cope. According to one ex-combatant, those in Sembel represented the tip of an iceberg. He said, ‘All of us, including the people in power are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Until we realise this and seek professional help, I am afraid we [ex-combatants] will cause some irreparable damage to the country.’37 Case Study CS 4 BANA/Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Association The government’s change of policy towards autonomous organisations is also illustrated by its treatment of the Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Association (EWWVA). The government first tried to co-opt this autonomous organisation and absorb it into the ‘official’ women’s organisation (NUEW) and finally into the government department for demobilised fighters, Mitias. When these attempts failed, the government dismantled the organisation without any consideration whatsoever for the real needs of women fighters that it was supposed to address. Eritrean women played a key role in the 30-year war of national independence (see Table 3.1). They actually made up about 30 per cent of the EPLF’s fighters (Alayli 1995; BRIDGE 1994; Burgess 1985, 1989; Cowan 1983; Mama 1992; NUEW 1980; 1995; Wilson 1991; Wolde Selassie 1992). For example, in 1980, the NUEW stated: Today no less than about 30 percent of the EPLF fighters are women. Women fighters are involved in all aspects of social production. They are engaged in agricultural and handicraft industry, they work in machine shops, electrical workshops, weapons repair, etc. they participate actively in military operations. In the EPLF, there is no work that is reserved for men only. The EPLF also expends much effort to increase the political consciousness of women fighters taking into account their disadvantageous social background. Hence they are given priority to go to the Front’s Cadre School. (NUEW 1980: 24)

It was further noted: ‘The Eritrean woman is no longer considered subordinate to the man, but has an equal right, equal say in land redistribution and in the newly set-up people’s assemblies. In fact, in the land reform that is being carried out, distribution of land is made no more on household but on an individual basis’

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Table 3.1 The role of women in the EPLF Field of work

Participation in percent

Frontline combat fighters Public administration Industry Transportation Health Construction Agriculture Electronics National guidance Finance Communication

23.0 35.0 29.5 25.9 55.2 19.6 19.8 25.0 1.7 9.5 33.1

Source: Research and Information Department of the National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW), 1989 in Wubnesh W. Selassie, ‘The Changing Position of Eritrean Women: An Overview of Women’s Participation in the EPLF,’ in M. Doornbos, L. Cliffe, Abdel Ghaffar M. Ahmed and J. Markakis (eds), Beyond Conflict in the Horn: The Prospects for Peace, Recovery and Development in Ethiopia, Somalia, Eritrea and Sudan (Trenton, NJ: The Red Sea Press, 1992), pp. 67–71.

(ibid.: 25). Traditional Eritrean societies of all religions and ethnicities are patriarchal and before the war, gender-based divisions of labour were strictly observed (Kibreab 2003c; 1995; 2008b). However 30 years of fighting and displacement loosened restrictions on women’s participation in public life when male leaders of the independence struggle realised that the task of defeating an external enemy would be unachievable unless everyone was involved. In 1977 the EPLF national democratic programme assured women ‘full rights of equality with men in politics, economy and social life’ (EPLF 1977). Women, therefore, joined the Front and took up ‘masculine’ roles such as tank drivers, mechanics, electricians and unit leaders (NUEW 1995). To some extent, this effected some changes in the perceptions regarding gender-based division of labour, although it would be wrong to claim that sexism within the liberation forces was successfully eradicated altogether. However, women were exposed to new experiences and this had a transformative effect, albeit limited, in creating new hopes and expectations as well as providing new threats to male hierarchies. Independence brought with it a need for demobilisation to create a professional army. Strangely, the criteria for demobilisation were gendered. In 1994, the Eritrean government, in collaboration with its international partners, decided to demobilise about 52,000 fighters, most of them (75 per cent) women, although women constituted just about 30 per cent of the Front. The question that begs an answer is the criteria used by the government to determine those to be demobilised and those to remain employed. GENDERED DEMOBILISATION Ex-combatants who joined the Front one year before the end of the war were demobilised first. Evidence derived from ERREC’s archives shows38 that many of these were female, single mothers, pregnant, divorcees or widows. Most had little or no education or vocational skills and some others were physically ‘unfit’. Nevertheless, interviews with the demobilised women, as well as an examination of

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea case studies,39 show that an overwhelming majority were demobilised against their will. The main reasons were lack of education and skills, single motherhood and pregnancy. However, a class dimension to the demobilisation process ought not to be dismissed, especially in view of the fact that educated and skilled female fighters were not demobilised because of motherhood or pregnancy. Also unaffected were male fighters with children and those whose wives were pregnant. The prevailing gender ideology at the time assigned all reproductive work in addition to biological reproduction to women. This may have influenced the criteria for demobilisation which to a large extent represented a return to the patriarchal past. This was done notwithstanding the fact that the EPLF’s literature is replete with promises that in an independent Eritrea under their leadership, the traditional gender-based division of labour would be relegated to the dustbin of history (EPLF 1977; 1987c; 1994a). While going through the demobilisation registers, the author came across an extraordinary reason for demobilisation: ‘hafisa’ (she has become fat), or ‘hifsi’ (overweight). This demobilisation policy was implemented in 1994, a time when most fighters were engaged in civilian duties. As a result, it is not clear why being overweight would have prevented a woman from participating in national reconstruction. When questioned, several female ex-fighters said that ‘hifsi’ or ‘hafisa’ was a generic excuse used to get rid of women without due cause. Both male and female ex-combatants knew of the existence of this criterion but they were noncommittal. This is an indication of how fundamental sexist mores have been internalised, even amongst the allegedly ‘most progressive’ forces in Eritrean society. CONSTRAINTS ON THE REINTEGRATION OF FEMALE EX-FIGHTERS Most female ex-fighters came from rural areas and they therefore faced various fundamental problems of reintegration. There were several factors that discouraged female ex-fighters from returning to their villages and constrained their reintegration into rural Eritrean communities.40 First, most of them were very young – even pre-teen41 – when they had left their villages and both they and their communities had changed fundamentally over the years. Many of them had lost all connection with their families as a result of death or displacement or for lack of opportunity or literacy. Second, life at the front had transformed their lives and their experiences had not prepared them for traditional rural life. They had been part of a community of fighters where greater rights and responsibilities were accorded to women and where the ever present threat of death saw life being lived intensely and fully. In spite of all that, they received no support to overcome the gendered constraints – in fact the government did not even acknowledge the existence of such constraints. The women were simply dismissed, paid off and left to fend for themselves. Most interviewees resented the return to rural life, which they equated with poverty, social isolation and subordination to men. Eritrean rural society is conservative: pre-marital sex, let alone pre-marital motherhood, is taboo. Consequently, in some of the conservative communities, ‘fallen women’ and their families may be stigmatised. A woman was regarded as having lost her virginity – and female fighters had an undeserved reputation for sexual licence – not just for being without a male relative as chaperone but also for having taken on male roles

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea in combat. Moreover, an unmarried woman was automatically expected to return to parental dependence, or its equivalent if her parents were dead, even after two or three decades away in the field. And marriage was not an option for these women who were perceived as old in societies where the socially-constructed marriageable age was as low as thirteen in some communities. The situation was made worse by men’s attitude. When asked if they would consider marriage to an ex-fighter, most unmarried men in rural Eritrea interviewed by the author, except for those who were ex-fighters themselves, said no. Some argued that female ex-fighters were too old – over 25 – and others said that ‘these are women who were sleeping around with different men in the trenches and valleys’. Some said that they would not want to marry someone who had killed a man because, ‘she may refuse to respect and obey me, and if I try to beat her or shout at her, she could attack or even kill me.’42 These views are sexist, but they reflect part of the reality on the ground. THE CONSEQUENCES OF SEVERANCE PAYMENTS Demobilisation terms specified that each fighter was entitled to a severance payment of 10,000 Ethiopian Birr (about US$ 1,100). This had unforeseen consequences for women. The former fighters had spent many years in the trenches or liberated areas and had never handled cash and so had no understanding of its value. Since the payment was not preceded or accompanied by advice and training on issues such as savings or investments, most ex-fighters were either conned out of their money or they went on a spending spree. Considering that women are more socially vulnerable, many were also conned by unscrupulous men who married them to get control of their money. Although the conmen were punished severely if caught, their ‘wives’ lost their only hope of a livelihood. Ironically, when women who were aware of their lack of capacity to handle money, as well as their vulnerability as ‘rich’, unprotected women, asked for monthly payments of their money, their request was ignored by both the government and by ‘their’ union, the NUEW. It was said that such an approach was ‘costly’ to administer. THE FOUNDING OF THE ERITREAN WOMEN WAR VETERANS’ ASSOCIATION Most of the data for this section were gathered during an interview with Meriem Omer in London on 14 June 2004. She explained that most female ex-fighters felt voiceless and powerless, and as one of them, she was convinced the time for change had come. After returning from studies in London, she discussed the issue of severance payments with women ex-comrades and decided to set up an association for pooling, managing and investing women’s severance payments in diverse income-generating activities. Friends and colleagues were enthusiastic and although Omer had no previous experience, she and her friend, ex-fighter, Abeba Woldehaimanot, gathered a group of people who wanted to help.43 The group, which included the female minister of justice, was carefully chosen for expertise and connections. The selected two lawyers, Seyoum Haregot and Teferi Berhane were familiar with the Ethiopian civil code. This was important because Eritrea then had (and still has) no law on civil society or voluntary organisations. They advised that, since the Ethiopian law on cooperatives was still in force, the formation of a cooperative rather than a civil society association was

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea good. Thus a cooperative, the Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Cooperative (EWWVC) was formed, pending the drafting and ratification of Eritrean laws on civil society associations. The cooperative aimed at pooling each member’s 10,000 Birr to be used in initiating income-generating projects and to provide training in marketable skills to enable members to compete in the labour market with other jobseekers. Since some members had acquired skills during the war but had no papers to prove their qualifications, another aim of the cooperative’s objectives was to upgrade and validate the skills and knowledge brought by the women from the field. This was to be done by establishing certification schemes in collaboration with line ministries, such as the Ministry of Health. Omer returned to London in September 1994 to complete her studies and to raise funds for the cooperative. In her absence, her two colleagues met President Afwerki, who liked their ideas and referred them to the government’s legal advisor, Eden Fasil. The latter told Omer’s colleagues that their cooperative should form a private limited share company using the pooled severance payments as start-up capital since Eritrea did not have a law on voluntary organisations and cooperatives. Teferi Berhane, a lawyer sympathetic to the idea of a women fighters’ cooperative, drafted the company’s articles of association and by the time it was registered with the authorities, it had a membership of 935 demobilised women and a start-up capital of 1.5 million Birr. The company was called BANA, which means ‘ray of light’ or ‘hope’ in Tigrinya. BANA’s directors approached NGOs for funding but they were told it would be impossible to donate funds to a private company and so, on the advice of lawyers Haregot and Berhane, a non-political association in accordance with the Ethiopian civil code, which was still in force in Eritrea, was established. The lawyers duly drafted a constitution for the BANA directors who went to the ministry of the interior to have it registered. When approached, the minister of interior, Ali Said Abdella, referred them to his legal advisor, Amanuel Paulos. Amanuel completed the procedures of registration within ten days and therefore in 1995 the Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Association (EWWVA) was not only formed but was also certified. BANA’s directors decided to retain it as a private limited company independent of EWWVA. The Association was eagerly welcomed and soon had a membership of 1000. A Canadian national, Lauren Black, with years of experience with the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA), Oxfam, Canada and ERA, volunteered to work for the association. Within no time, a three-year programme of projects and fundraising proposals had been developed. Meanwhile Omer, who was fundraising in London, had collected over £80,000 (US$100,000) in cash from private donors and grants from the major NGOs Christian Aid and CAFOD. The EWWVA opened a bank account in Asmara and the funds were duly transferred. The laws under which the EWWVA and BANA were registered required that the two organisations have separate management boards of five individuals.44 Because demobilisation disproportionately affected women with low or nonexistent levels of education, BANA’s management board was made up of nondemobilised women fighters. To comply with the law, three EPLF fighters were asked to serve. BANA hired a project manager and a parttime accountant at market rates. Two board members, Omer and Woldehaimanot, received the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea nominal EPLF ‘pocket money’ honoraria (50 Birr a month). This was equivalent to US $7. Although EWWVA and BANA were constitutionally separate, in order to facilitate fund raising, they were known by the collective name, BANA. It was, however, fully understood by donors in Eritrea that the private limited company, BANA, was the ‘commercial arm’ of the EWWVA, a relationship similar to that of ERA and the EPLF. EWWVA fundraised and BANA implemented projects for demobilised female fighters. Activities ranged from running a driving school to establishing a fish market and bakery, as well as training in nursing, carpentry, taxi driving and receptionist. The choice of projects was important in that truck and taxi driving and carpentry are traditionally considered male occupations in many countries, including Eritrea. Training in these skills therefore is not only a money-making venture but also makes a symbolic contribution to breaking down socially constructed gender barriers to participation in national development and economic growth. International donors responded enthusiastically to the project which was seen as addressing crucial donor concerns by supporting women’s empowerment, demobilisation, income generation and education. Further, the association was multi-ethnic and addressed the needs of the most vulnerable members of society. As a matter of fact, it was the only genuinely autonomous organisation operating in the country at the time. In under a year, Danish Church Aid donated two fourwheel drive vehicles and OBS, a German NGO, funded the training of 80 women drivers. The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) constructed a modern fish market, while Africare, an American NGO, provided US$85,000 for its recurrent costs. US NGOs, Grassroots International and Ecological Tourism donated US$10,000 and US$45,000, respectively; Oxfam-UK donated 35,000 Birr; Oxfam-Canada C$6000; and the Canadian Embassy in Asmara donated 105,000 Birr to set up a bakery. Other private sector supporters included one of the biggest bakeries in Addis Ababa, Showa Dabo, run by an Eritrean, which agreed to train women and subsidise the purchase of flour and other raw materials. The founders of the EWWVA were delighted by the response to their project but they were also aware of what happened to RCHRD, and they were worried that this could arouse jealousy in official circles. They were, however, hopeful that because they were providing financial and technical support to former fighters, the ruling party and the government would not dismantle their organisation. It had projects designed to provide on-the-job refresher training in community health centres (CHCs), especially in remote areas, to enable these women to gain proper certificates. The Minister for Local Government, Mahmoud Sherifo, had even agreed to allocate land for the CHCs and BANA reached an agreement with the Asmara School of Nursing to provide training for the women. The BANA share company, with 1.6 million Birr including interest in savings, was exploring possibilities of investing its members’ funds. The directors settled on Eritrea’s biggest textile industry, Barattolo, which was on the decline and also reached an agreement with South Korean and Eritrean investors to establish a modern carpentry workshop near Asmara, to be managed by the more experienced South Korean partner. The costs of feasibility studies for the two projects were met by EWWVA. In February 1996, EWWVA’s licence was renewed by the Ministry of the Interior and the association embarked on more ambitious and comprehensive

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea projects. However, their optimism was short-lived. In March 1996, Omer received a call from the then president of the NUEW, Askalu Menkerios, suggesting that EWWVA join the women’s union. Omer declined, saying that EWWVA was an independent organisation. When this tactic failed, the government tried a more aggressive approach. According to Meriem Omer, the director of Mitias, the government department dealing with demobilisation, summoned EWWVA’s board of directors to a meeting. He claimed that there was conflict among the members of EWWVA’s board of directors. The claim made the founder members suspicious, fearing that official interest in the alleged internal tensions of an independent organisation were part of a strategy to take over or subvert a successful civil society organisation. After all, Mitias’ only link with EWWVA was that the organisation was made up of former fighters. However, they had been demobilised more than three years earlier and any relationship with the government department was simply nonexistent The founder members’ suspicion was confirmed when Mitias’ director, Amanuel Mehreteab, informed them, according to Meriem Omer, that the government had the right to take over any association relating to demobilised EPLF fighters and that any EWWVA project had to be approved by Mitias. The EWWVA directors were also told in unequivocal terms that they could not hold any meeting without Mitias’ director’s approval. The directors responded with the argument that as a legally registered independent association, they did not have to obey a government department’s instructions. During the meeting, the directors realised that the three EPLF fighters employed by the EWWVA were sympathetic to, if not planted by, the government and sided with the director of Mitias. The meeting ended without an agreement and demands for another were rejected by the EWWVA on the grounds that, as an independent association, it had no need to involve Mitias in any internal problems. The then Mitias director, Amanuel Mehreteab, is now in exile. When asked to comment on this, he said that he was not part of the conspiracy that undermined EWWVA.45 In an e-mail correspondence and telephone conversations with the author, he said that he was first approached by Meriem Omer and Abeba Woldehaimanot, who informed him of their intention to help their colleagues, the demobilised female fighters, before they spent their severance payments. He said that his immediate response was positive. ‘This is a noble idea and if you can help in organizing them, I will be grateful.’ He further said, ‘My only advice to them was that the group must not be big otherwise, it will be unmanageable.’46 He added, ‘I assigned Biri Tewelde from our gender unit to help them register demobilised ex-female combatants.’ Some time after, he visited Meriem and Abeba in their office and he found out that 1,085 demobilised female ex-combatants had signed in to join the new association. ‘I was alarmed and told my staff “no more registration until further notice.” I called Meriem and Abeba to my office and told them if they continue registering, it will be a disaster. It will be unmanageable.’ This he said was ‘an advice from a concerned individual not an imposition’.47 According to Amanuel, ‘Meriem and Abeba discussed the issue of BANA with President Isaias, who told them to go ahead without any clarification concerning how the new organisation would be related to Mitias or the NUEW.’ He added that soon after,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Meriem brought a document to my office that they were registered as an association [representing] … all demobilised female combatants. As head of Mitias, I asked the head of the state for clarification and the response I got was, ‘If the work you are doing is not enough for you, we can assign you other thing.’ After I got this response [from the President], I just left it [there]. BANA was getting a lot of support from [the] donor community, for it was portrayed [perceived ?] as [an] alternative to the party-affiliated Women’s association [NUEW]. Within six months, they had raised more than US $1.8 million. So from the start, Mitias supported BANA. … when we were organising skills training, I instructed Tekle Mengistu, head of the programme, to allocate a specific number [of places] to be filled by members of BANA.48

Although I sent the whole case study to Amanuel, he commented neither on the conflict between EWWVA’s board members nor about his role in its resolution. According to Meriem, some time later a member of the EWWVA advisory board and also a government official, called Omer and informed her that the president’s office was planning to call a meeting to resolve the ‘conflict’ among EWWVA’s directors. It seemed ridiculous that a head of state could concern himself with the alleged goings on of a small, financially transparent, civil society organisation. The president’s office did indeed call a meeting, chaired by presidential spokesman, Yemane Gebremeskel. In attendance were the directors of the EWWVA and Mitias, and the government’s legal advisor, Eden Fasil. In his address, Gebremeskel said there was need to merge the EWWVA with Mitias because it dealt with ex-fighters. In response, the directors of EWWVA argued that its members had been demobilised and had received severance pay and therefore were not EPLF members or civil servants. The president’s office ignored this argument and instructed the EWWVA to suspend all activities until further notice. Gebremeskel also demanded that BANA’s planned conference, legally a private company separate from the EWWVA, be co-chaired by Mitias. This was in spite of the fact that the government department had not been involved in the preparation of the said conference. The conference took place in April 1996.49 A few days before the meeting, Omer asked Gebremeskel if the president planned to shut down the EWWVA and was told that this was unclear. A few days after the meeting, the president’s office banned the independent EWWVA and seized its funds and assets. The order was as usual communicated by telephone, an action that ensures deniability and is inimical to institutional development and accountability.50 The presidential spokesman informed the EWWVA (orally) that the association was being shut down because there was a duplication of work between it and the NUEW and between it and Mitias. This was untrue since the association dealt with a specific group of people who were neither civil servants nor PFDJ members (that is, not NUEW’s constituency). According to the former director of Mitias, ‘BANA was closed [down] under the instruction of president Isaias for it was seen as an alternative to Hamadea [NUEW].’ However, in spite of this, he seems to blame Omer for her failure to maintain ‘a low profile’. He said, ‘My suggestion … to [them] from the start was [that they should] … have [maintain] low profile until the company is on its two feet and use the good office of Mitias to train their association members.’ He further added, ‘But Meriem pushed it to the extreme and was stopped.’51 It is not clear what he meant by that. He was probably referring to the constricted boundaries of government policies which in his view were pushed by Meriem to

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea breaking point. Although Amanuel denies culpability, it seems that, at least then, he must have thought that the banning of the association was justified because its directors ‘pushed to the extreme’ and therefore had to be stopped. However, now he realises that the reason why EWWVA was banned was not because its directors had pushed the boundaries too far but rather the government was opposed to any grassroots organisation. He said, We can [now] understand in hindsight that the government had never been in support of grassroots organisation. If the organised female combatants are empowered economically, then they will have voice and that is not wanted by the current government.52

Both the former directors of EWWVA and Mitias now agree that EWWVA was banned because the Eritrean government is opposed to the development and consolidation of independent civil society associations that are not affiliated to the government and the ruling party. The closure reflected the government’s ambition of monopolising every aspect of the country’s social, economic, and cultural life through refusing to recognise the right of autonomous or independent civil and political society associations. It was foolhardy to believe that an independent association would duplicate the work of a government department or the ruling party’s women’s organisation. The second reason why EWWVA was ordered to close down, according to the president’s office, was that it was competing for funds with Mitias and the NUEW. It did not occur to the government that donors gave funds to EWWVA only because they believed in it as an autonomous civil association and not a government department. In fact, by closing down an association that had gained the respect of international donors within a short time, the government forfeited substantial resources and conspired against its own and its citizens’ interests. A week after the order to close down EWWVA, Gebremeskel, Fasil, and the director of Mitias went to EWWVA’s office and ordered Omer to send letters to all NGOs and donors informing them that the association had decided to shut the office. EWWVA directors argued that what the President’s Office director was forcing them to do was morally wrong. Further, they said there was no justification for the government’s action and that was why they were ashamed of admitting it to donors and impoverished female ex-fighters. Refusing to give up, the government ordered the deputy commissioner of ERREC to write the letters stating that the directors of the EWWVA had decided to dissolve the association of their own accord. Omer was ordered to co-sign the letter and all those attending the meeting were repeatedly warned against revealing anything but the ‘official reasons’ for the closure of the EWWVA. The association’s directors requested that unused funds be returned and the government grudgingly accepted. The EWWVA handed over all property and assets to ERREC and all its projects collapsed. Case Study CS 5 Government clampdown on faith-based organisations Until the enactment of the draconian law on NGOs in 2005, the only existing legislation on the sector was that enacted in July 1995, i.e. Proclamation 73/1995 concerning religious institutions and organisations.53 For the first time in the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea country’s history, faith-based organisations were required to register with the authorities and submit detailed financial records within two months after Proclamation 73/1995 was passed and again in the first month of every year. Noncompliance with the provisos of the Proclamation is considered a criminal act punishable with up to two years imprisonment or payment of a fine of up to Birr 10,000, and repeated offences can lead to permanent closure of the faith-based organisations concerned. Proclamation 73/1995 provides for a secular state and stipulates that the state is prohibited from interfering in religious affairs, inasmuch as faith-based organisations are forbidden from interfering in national politics. Unlike other laws enacted by the government, Proclamation 73/1995 does not contain precise definitions of the terminologies and activities proscribed. This malign inconsistency may have been intended to give the authorities unlimited interpretive space in dealing with faith-based organisations. For example, unless the term ‘politics’ is contextually defined, most acts of civic engagement by faith-based organisations can be interpreted as being political. Consequently, a religious organisation providing therapeutic services to victims of torture, or relief to families of prisoners of conscience, can easily be accused of engaging in political activities in defiance of the law. The two major religions in the country are Islam and Christianity. Thus in a multi-faith society such as Eritrea, a viable political order is inconceivable without a secular state. The government’s policy contains commendable laws guaranteeing freedom of religion and conscience54 and prohibiting government interference in religious affairs.55 However, Proclamation 73/1995 presents difficulties in separating the institutions which define social behaviour and external acts from those that regulate social behaviour and internal thoughts. The Proclamation has provisions prohibiting not only political activities but also those which constitute spiritual and pastoral missions. For example, faith-based organisations and religious institutions are banned from advocacy, campaigning, protesting and preaching on social justice issues, all of which are central functions of most faith-based institutions championing a better world. The terms ‘campaigning,’ ‘protesting’ or ‘preaching’ are also not defined in the law, which states that, ‘The right of all Eritreans to freedom of religion and conscience is guaranteed and protected.’ This circumscribes the said right and renders it almost unattainable. True freedom of religion and conscience, as well as civic rights, are only possible in the context of constitutional democracy. A statement by the Eritrean Catholic bishops (Catholic Bishops of Asmara, Keren and Barentu 2001) asserts that rights directly emanate from freedom of religion and conscience. These include the freedom to express an opinion and religious beliefs, to teach such beliefs, and to disseminate literature and assemble in order to promote those beliefs. The bishops argue that since the right to know the truth and to make the truth known to others stems from freedom of religion and conscience, for these to become viable, there must be freedom of speech, writing and the press. They state, ‘Truth, transparency, and freedom are pillars in the construction of a democratic and just society’ (ibid.). They see freedom of religion and conscience as functions of the ability of citizens to search for and critically evaluate the validity of alternative truths. Their statement clearly shows how vague the boundary is between religious and political freedom. That being the case, the proscriptions of Proclamation 73/1995

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea clearly violate and undermine the freedom of religion and conscience as guaranteed in the first sentence of the preamble. Whilst it is legitimate for the government to seek to separate state and religious institutions, its prohibitions disable the fundamentals of Christianity and Islam. For a church, mosque or religious congregation to exercise moral authority, it should be able to pray openly on behalf of those that are subjected to unjust treatment and also to openly condemn and advocate against acts that violate the tenets of their faiths, for example, human rights and human dignity. The law prohibits faith-based organisations from the provision of social services and involvement in development projects as these are deemed the responsibility of the people and the government. However, faith-based organisations are allowed to fund development projects or social services as long as they do not participate in the planning, designing and implementation of the activities involved. They are also forbidden from acting as agents of foreign governments and organisations in the provisioning of assistance and delivering social services. For example, the Catholic and the Evangelical churches in Eritrea, in spite of their rich experiences in the provision of emergency and development aid and education, and with their long-standing historical and spiritual links with the Vatican and the Scandinavian countries, respectively, cannot distribute food or any other form of aid neither can they build schools. The legal restrictions must be seen as being in line with the government’s overall strategy of reducing NGOs to ‘cash cows’ and its policy of ‘national execution’. Article 7 of Proclamation 73/1995 strictly limits the rights of faithbased organisations to fundraising. Further, any income from foreign sources is subject to prior government approval and permission is only granted if the government deems the request ‘reasonable’ (a term that is left undefined). Those whose applications are rejected do not have the option of appeal. Despite ostensible separation of state and religion, the government has established a department of religious affairs within the national security framework of the ministry of the interior to monitor the activities of faith-based organisations, mosques and churches. In the mid-1990s, the department was headed by a military officer, although he was later replaced by a civilian ex-fighter. Currently, the department is headed by the son of the late pro-Ethiopian clergyman, Keshi Dimotros, who has been playing a key role in implementing the government’s repressive policies, including the removal and incommunicado house arrest of the most revered and courageous patriarch, Abune Antonios, and other prominent leaders of the orthodox and evangelical churches. EXCESSIVE PREOCCUPATION WITH FAITH-BASED ORGANISATIONS A question to ask is: why did the government need to enact a special law banning the activities of faith-based organisations instead of passing general legislation to regulate the activities of the whole voluntary sector? At the end of the war for independence, there were no secular national non-governmental organisations in the country. Rather, there were only faith-based organisations affiliated to the various Christian churches and Islam. Not only did these organisations have a long history predating the birth of the Eritrean state but they also had huge numbers of followers. At the time, they were nominally autonomous from the state. As a result,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea the government’s ambition for hegemonic control could not be realised without stifling the autonomy and activities of the faith-based organisations. Most of the faith-based organisations, particularly those belonging to the Catholic and Evangelical churches, and the Muslim organisations, had connections with powerful and rich global and regional organisations such as the Vatican, Evangelical Churches in Scandinavia and some rich Islamic foundations, including the Wahhabis in the Gulf States. The Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia allegedly directly or indirectly funded some of the Islamic voluntary organisations.56 Thus, in order to exercise unfettered control over all forms of organised life throughout the country, curbing the autonomy of the faith-based voluntary organisations, as well as the task of de-linking them from their international patrons, was a priority. Although it was unjustifiably alleged that some Protestant missionary organisations were proselytising in the western lowlands under the guise of giving relief, the ban came at a time when relations with Sudan were tetchy and the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement was actively engaged in sporadic armed incursions in the border areas (Gunaratna 2002; Kibreab 2008a; Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005), in the Eritrean government’s view, executing the National Islamic Front’s proxy war against the nascent Eritrean state. Although, under those circumstances, the last thing that the country needed was European and Arab zealots or their missionaries pushing Christian and Islamic fundamentalism along with food aid, in reality this was probably used as a pretext to ban faith-based Islamist voluntary organisations which were allegedly said to be a conduit for Wahhabist ideology and sympathisers of the Eritrean Islamic Jihad movement which was based in Sudan. Documentary evidence regarding the actual motive underlying the government’s decision to ban faith-based organisations from provision of emergency relief and development is hard to come by. Probably the main danger it wanted to avoid was the influence of Wahhabism, the National Islamic Front in Sudan and the EIJM. However, instead of targeting the Islamic faith-based organisations, the government opted for a blanket ban of all faith-based organisations. The government may have reasoned that singling out faith-based Islamic organisations would have appeared discriminatory and was politically dangerous. Generally, the government is suspicious, if not loathsome, of all faith-based organisations, and its blanket ban may be an actual reflection of its overall dislike of the organisations whether foreign, national, Islamic or Christian. The urgency of controlling the organisations was reinforced by the increased armed incursions of the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement (EIJM) based in Sudan that enjoyed the full backing of the Sudanese National Islamic Front (NIF) and other international Islamic political movements (Al-Fadl 2001; Gunaratna 2002: 151–2; Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005; Sidahmed 1997).57 For example, in one of his interviews with Voice of the Masses in April 2003, the Eritrean president claimed that some faith-based organisations were engaging in terrorist activities under the guise of providing emergency relief to the victims of drought (Afwerki 2003). Though he did not name them, it is not difficult to deduce that he was referring to Islamist organisations with alleged direct or indirect links with the EIJM, and therefore with the Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia. Although the author has no evidence to show that, prior to their prohibition, the Islamic voluntary organisations in Eritrea were being fully or partially funded by the Wahhabis, there is evidence to show that many madrasas (Islamic schools) and fundamentalist organisa-

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea tions worldwide are funded by the Wahhabis and are used as ‘centre[s] for indoctrination in bigotry and violence’ (Lewis 2003:110). Bernard Lewis, for example, states: In some Muslim countries … the Wahhabi-sponsored schools and colleges represent for many young Muslims the only education available. By these means the Wahhabis have carried their message all over the Islamic world and, increasingly, to Islamic minority communities in other countries … Organised Muslim public life, education, and even worship are to an alarming extent, funded and therefore directed by Wahhabis, and the version of Islam that they practice and preach is dominated by Wahhabi principles and attitudes (Lewis 2003: 111; see also Allen 2006 )

The Eritrean government, as we shall see later, by strictly limiting or banning or controlling the activities of the faith-based organisations, and by rigorously monitoring their activities and sources of funding, and by scrutinising their budgets and expenditures wanted to make sure that the EIJM and the Wahhabis did not infiltrate mainstream Islam and the faith-based organisations within the country in the name of voluntarism and charity. Since the government did not consider it politically safe to target particular religious organisations, the first targets were only those faiths and faith-based organisations with global links. At least until the mid1990s, the Eritrean Orthodox Church which represented a majority of the Christians in the country was not affected, simply because it did not have global links. To the Eritrean government , it did not represent a direct or indirect threat. In fact, the government subsidised it to the tune of ERN (Nakfa) 2 million a year and had accorded it unique privileges such as building, at the taxpayer’s expense, its new, luxury headquarters in Asmara. It was also exempted from the 19 per cent tax for de-nationalising property confiscated by the Derg regime. The Awqaf (Islamic charitable foundation) and the Roman Catholic Church were denied such privileges. This effectively created a schism among the faiths, which the government could exploit to assert control over their respective congregations. In fact, some prominent Muslim community leaders, such as the late Fitworari Hidad Karar and Sheikh Sanabera Demena, were detained incommunicado partly for their objection to unequal treatment of the Awqaf. The financial incentives were given to the Orthodox Church as a means of exercising political control. In return, the government expected absolute loyalty and subservience. Consequently, when the Orthodox Church leaders protested against the government’s gross violations of human rights and tried to assert the church’s autonomy, the government did not hesitate to take drastic and illegal action. In fact, Abune Antonios, the Patriarch, was ‘stripped of his administrative functions by the government, restricted in his movement and placed under virtual house arrest’ (AI 2005). Although there are no details about the reasons for such dramatic measures against the patriarch, Amnesty International observes, ‘He is reported to have favoured reform within the church, called for release of the detained Orthodox priests, and opposed government interference in church affairs’ (ibid.). Such a measure against the most revered institution was previously unheard of in the history of the Eritrean Orthodox or other churches in the country. The Patriarch has been under house arrest since 13 January 2005. Three other prominent leaders of the Orthodox Church have also been in incommunicado detention since November 2004, without being charged. These are Keshi 58 Dr

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Futsum Gebrenugus, the only psychiatrist in the country, Dr Tekleab Mengisteab (medical doctor), Keshi Gebremedhin Gebregiorgis, a prominent theologian, deputy administrator of the Patriarchial Council and father of seven children.

SUPPRESSION OF NON-COMMISSIONED SMALL CHRISTIAN CHURCHES Freedom of religion and conscience are explicitly guaranteed by the government’s laws, which also prohibit state interference in affairs of faith.59 Nevertheless since 1994, and especially since 2001, the Eritrean government has been clamping down on the smaller evangelical Christian churches and some Muslim groups that operate outside mainstream Islam (US State Dept, 2003; AI, 2004a; HRW, 2004). The government has also been clamping down on a branch of the Orthodox Church – the Medhanye-Alem Church in Asmara. In its first political programme in 1977, the EPLF promised to ‘safeguard every citizen’s freedom of religion and belief’ but also to ‘strictly oppose’ what it called ‘imperialist-created’, ‘counter-revolutionary faiths’, such as Jehovah’s Witnesses, Pentecostal Christians and Bahai.60 Followers of such faiths could not, it was declared, be accorded the same rights as other Eritrean citizens. This contradictory and intolerant position was adopted when the Front was in its most radical Maoist phase. This hostility was, however, abandoned, at least in writing, at its second congress in March 1987. At the congress, the EPLF embraced multi-party democracy and dropped the clauses prohibiting any faith however ‘imperialist’ or ‘counter-revolutionary’.61 However, the government’s policies and practices are as contradictory as the promises of the EPLF thirty years before. This is demonstrated by the fact that a year before Proclamation 73/1995, Jehovah’s Witnesses had been deprived of their civil rights and freedom of religion because, as a faith, they had refused to vote in the national referendum on independence and to participate in national service (AI, 2004b). Furious at the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ action, a presidential decree revoked their business licences, dismissed those working in the civil service and prohibited future civil service employment, denied them the right to identification cards, passports and exit visas, and even evicted them from government houses. In a move that could have led to physical violence in the tense and emotive period prior to the referendum, the labour office circulated a questionnaire in Asmara and its vicinity asking employers to identify Witnesses in their employment (USSD, 2001). Eritrea is one of the poorest countries in the world and urban livelihoods are fragile. For example, in 2003 it was ranked 161st out of 177 countries in the Human Development Index (UNDP 2004). The corresponding figure for GDP per capita was 168. The country’s GDP per capita value (purchasing power parity [PPP]) in 2003, was US$849 (ibid.). The corresponding average for sub-Saharan African countries was US$1,856. In 2005, Eritrea was ranked 161st in the Human Development Report, with HDI value of 0.444 (ibid.). According to UNDP’s Human Development Indicators (2005), except for life expectancy, Eritrea has lower values on adult literacy rate, combined gross enrolment, elementary, secondary and tertiary, GDP per capita (purchasing power parity), education index, GDP index and HDI than the average for sub-Saharan Africa.62

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea It is against this backdrop that the government revoked the trading licences and employment of the Jehovah’s Witnesses faithfuls depriving thousands of people food and livelihood security. The denial of ID cards and passports was to severely restrict their basic rights of association, movement and equality before the law. In Eritrea, failure to possess an ID card is a serious offence. The ID has become an indispensable proof of identity in connection with the arbitrary giffa, the rounding up of people aged between 18 and 50 on suspicion of having deserted or evaded national service and the WYDC, a crime that carries a three-year jail sentence. The 1995 proclamation on national service provides a maximum penalty of five years to those who escape abroad in order to avoid national service.63 However, in times of emergency, general mobilisation and war, punishment for draft evasion and desertion penalties according to the Eritrean Transitional Penal Code are more severe – namely, (i) ‘rigorous imprisonment of up to 10 years for draft evasion,’64 and (ii) ‘rigorous imprisonment from five years to life, or, in the gravest cases, with death’ for desertion from a unit, post or military duties or for failure to return to them after an authorised period of absence.65 The military courts that were established to deal with such cases have never functioned and persons accused of draft evasion or desertions are left to languish in incommunicado detention in unknown places under appalling conditions. Human Rights Watch, for example, reported: Prisoners are often held in secret prisons, including underground cells…packed into cargo containers …in addition to psychological abuse, solitary confinement and abysmal conditions, escapees report the use of physical torture. Prisoners are suspended from trees with their arms tied behind their backs, a technique known as almaz (diamond). Prisoners are also placed face down, hands tied to feet, a method of torture known as the ‘helicopter’.66

A US Department of State report claimed that four Jehovah’s Witnesses detained in 1998 for refusing to do national service were still in detention with no charge five years later (USSD 2002, 2004, 2005). In 2004 Amnesty International reported that three Jehovah’s Witnesses who refused military service had been held incommunicado since 1994. Further, that 38 Witnesses were arrested while holding a prayer meeting in a private home and that ten of these had been released without charges but that the remaining 28 were being held incommunicado, including a 90-year-old man (AI 2004b). The persecution of Protestant Christians and other faiths began in 2001 but by May 2002, the department of religious affairs had banned all Protestant churches except the Evangelical Church67 from congregating until they applied for registration (USSD 2002; 2004; 2005). The registration form was intrusive and complicated, requiring a detailed breakdown of congregations’ members by gender, age, educational level, lineage and other minutiae (Awate, 2004b). It was unrealistic to expect the pastors or leaders of small religious communities to possess such information, and also to expect the members to volunteer such intimate information. Moreover, only the minority sects were required to complete the detailed form. The big four faith-based communities – the Roman Catholic Church, the Evangelical Church, the Muslim communities and the Orthodox Church – were not required to do so. At the time of writing (April 2008), none of the applications submitted have been approved and twelve Pentecostal churches

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea remain closed. Compact Direct News reported in February and March 2003 that Eritrean security cracked down on Protestants, jailing or beating 170 of them in Asmara, Keren and two other cities (Compact News 2003). The magazine, published by a Christian organisation, also reported that the Eritrean security police publicly humiliated and tortured a pastor and that 74 soldiers imprisoned in 2002 for refusing to convert to the Orthodox Christian faith, were still in prison a year later (see also AI 2005; US Department of State 2005). The Jehovah’s Witness publication, Witness, reported in its November 2003 issue, The Voice of the Persecuted Church, that ‘at least’ 230 evangelical Christians were prisoners of conscience in Eritrea and that the 20,000 practising Pentecostal Christians were living in fear of persecution (see AI 2005; HRW 2005; USDS 2005). At the time of writing the churches and minority faith-based churches were still closed and members were living under a state of siege and reports of human rights abuse continued from 2002 to 2009. For example, the US State Department, Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch reported several incidences of police brutality and torture of those detained for their religious beliefs (USSD, 2006; AI 2006; HRW 2006). The reports, released in early 2004, alleged that police threatened congregation members with death for refusing to repudiate their faith, and that 40 members of the Philadelphia Church detained for over a week in March 2003 were subjected to torture and humiliation (AI 2006). The Eritrean government issued a statement vehemently denying the allegations, saying that these were part of a ‘concerted effort to undermine the political and social achievements and progress made in Eritrea as well as to derail it from its successful path towards economic prosperity’ (Eritrean Government 2004). The Eritrean Embassy in Washington also issued a fact sheet which declared: ‘The state does not prescribe or support one religion over another,’ but omitted from the list of faith-based communities in the country were the Pentecostal churches and Jehovah’s Witnesses (Embassy of Eritrea 2004). In response to this, the Eritrean Christian Fellowship in Europe (ECFE) issued a counter statement saying, ‘ECFE rejects the government’s declaration of absolute freedom of belief in Eritrea,’ and asserting that the ‘facts’ contained in the USSD report ‘reflect [their] experiences more accurately’ than responses by the Eritrean government (ECFE 2004). The harassment, detention, and closure of minority congregations have been taking place in front of all Eritreans and the denial of the government can only weaken its credibility and legitimacy. The official reason for the persecution of Jehovah’s Witnesses was their conscientious objection to the National Service programme (Embassy of Eritrea 2004). But this cannot be said of the other faiths or congregations. Even the Derg, considered by any standards one of the most brutal regimes in Africa, did not suppress religious freedom. The suppression of the faith-based associations is not limited to congregations. Faith-based NGOs have also been affected and, since 1995, have been prohibited from engaging in development activities and emergency relief. Later, they were also banned from running kindergartens and schools, and the government announced that these were to be integrated into the government educational system, which would have been a major blow to the national educational system in a country where the needs of the majority of schoolchildren still remain unmet.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The decision to close down the church and mosque-based (khalwa) schools has been suspended but not revoked. The risk of closure still looms large and this has created an atmosphere of uncertainty and insecurity amongst teachers, students and parents. The government severely restricts the activities and the social spaces within which the faith-based organisations can operate. It has also been trying to co-opt the leaders of the four main faith-based communities, Islam and the Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Evangelical churches, in its attack on the smaller congregations. In response to the 2004 USSD report on human rights in Eritrea, the leaders of the four recognised religious communities, the Patriarch of the Eritrean Orthodox Church, the Mufti of Eritrea, the Bishop of the Catholic Church and the president of the Evangelical Church, allegedly issued a joint statement on 7 October 2004 condemning the non-recognised Christian and Muslim groups as ‘fundamentalists’ and saying that if there was violation of religious freedoms in Eritrea, it was by these ‘alien and externally driven sects’.68 Like all web-based allegations, refutations and counter claims concerning a country with no press freedoms and journalists detained without charge or trial for years, this statement cannot be confirmed. It is not possible to determine whether it was really issued by the four leaders, and if so whether they did it voluntarily or under duress. It goes against the country’s traditional and historical religious tolerance and mutual respect for each other’s religion and way of life and is inconsistent with the past behaviour of the alleged signatories. For example, the bishops of the Eritrean Roman Catholic Church have been outspoken in their criticism of state interference in religious affairs, as well as its poor record on human rights. Moreover the Bishop of the Catholic Church was outside the country on the day he was supposed to have signed the statement in Asmara, and had been so for three weeks prior to the event (Gedab News 2004). The fact that the Eritrean government favours the four main faith-based communities and persecutes the rest indicates that it is not secular, despite its rhetoric. Nor, by the same token, is it democratic. Case Study CS 6 Suppression of ‘Islamists’ (CS 6) As must now be clear, the Eritrean government victimises followers of all faiths if they show signs of autonomy or are suspected of having connections with organisations regarded by the government as representing a threat to the catchall phrase of national security or to its hegemonic control of the Eritrean society. Islamists were among the first to be suspected and persecuted. Soon after independence, the Provisional Government of Eritrea (PGE) targeted for closure some Islamic schools – the Ma’had – for allegedly being the breeding grounds of Islamic fundamentalism. A former activist in the Eritrean Islamic fundamentalist movement, who previously lived in Saudi Arabia and later in London and again now in Saudi Arabia, Dr Jelaledin Saleh, states: In the name of anti-terrorism and anti-fifth columnist ELF’s affiliates, the Isaias regime closed many Islamic schools and educational institutions, some of which had existed through the chain of different colonial administrations, and survived the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea wars, in different cities, as well as in the rural areas. The regime kidnapped in 1993 in darkness the teachers of the closed Islamic schools from the holiness of their homes. Since then no body can know their whereabouts, and no one can ask where they are and why they were arrested or kidnapped. (Saleh 2005a)

Since the 1940s the Ma’had has been one of the most central Islamic educational institutions in Eritrea. The expansion in the 1940s of the Ma’had was considerably enhanced by the appointment of the esteemed Sheikh Ibrahim al-Mukhar as the Grand Mufti of Eritrea upon his return from Sudan and Egypt in 1940 where he spent fifteen years studying Islamic religious studies and jurisprudence by the British Military Administration (Miran 2005). On the appointment, Jonathan Miran states, ‘The mufti was an indefatigable promoter of the organisation and institutionalisation of Islamic education and law in the country’ (ibid.: 206). According to Giuseppe Guglisi, between 1941 and 1952, ‘More than a dozen Islamic religious institutes and schools were opened in Asmara, Massawa, Hirgigo, Keren, Mendefera, Agordat, and in smaller villages’ (in ibid.: 206). Thus in spite of the Ethiopian government’s open discrimination against Muslims, a few of the Eritrean Ma’had schools survived both Emperor Haile Selassie’s and the Derg’s oppressive rules. While it cannot be denied that the philosophy of the Ma’had schools has changed dramatically since the days of the public-spirited and virtuous Grand Mufti, Sheikh Ibrahim al-Mukhtar, and his colleagues, it also does not justify the government’s repressive measures. It is worth noting, however, that between 1940 and 1960, most of the teachers in the Ma’had then known as Jalia (community) schools were graduates of King Farouk Institute in Asmara or al-Azhar University in Cairo, while in the 1990s, the majority of the teachers were graduates of the alSelefeein (Wahhabism) influenced Islamic University of Medina in Saudi Arabia (Saleh 2005b). . It is possible therefore that the Ma’had schools in Eritrea were dominated by teachers who had strong inclinations towards Islamic fundamentalism and revivalism and the government suspected were cadres of the EIJM. While the government may have been legitimately concerned about such teachers’ impact on impressionable young nationals, the draconian measures it took against the schools and the teachers are unacceptable. First, if the government had evidence that the schools were becoming breeding grounds for extremism, the best way to counter their effects would have been by empowering Muslim communities to take over the responsibilities of curriculum design, selection of teachers and administration of the schools (Kibreab 2008a). It has been over ten years since the teachers of the Islamic schools disappeared. If the government had evidence that they represented a clear threat to national security and unity, it would have charged them in accordance with the law of the country. The fact that they have been held in incommunicado detention for more than ten years, assuming they are still alive, is an indication that they were arbitrarily detained. It is an irony of history that the Islamic schools that were tolerated even by the most intolerant regimes in sub-Saharan Africa – namely, Emperor Haile Selassie and his successors, the Derg – have been closed down by an independent Eritrean government. The teachers that disappeared from Keren between May 1991 and 1994 were, according to Jelaledin Saleh, twelve.69 Although this may be the first full account of the names of the disappeared

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea teachers, the fact that some teachers had disappeared has been on many Eritreans’ lips both inside and outside the country since the mid-1990s. According to an appeal letter submitted by Ato Omer Abdulqader Omeredin,70 a parent of one of the disappeared teachers,71 the Eritrean government abducted 20 people that he knew of on the night of 5 December 1994.72 The alleged abduction took place on the same day the Eritrean government severed diplomatic relations with the government of Sudan. The fact that the two incidents occurred simultaneously may suggest that there might have been a factor that allegedly linked the two. However, if there were reasons, it is the government’s responsibility to make them known to the public. In the letters73 the parent said that the persons whose names were listed in the letter were abducted four years and six months before and that till then, none of their relatives and parents knew whether they were dead or alive. He made it clear that he was not questioning the right of the government to suspect its citizens of wrongdoing and to detain, interrogate and imprison them in accordance with the law of the country. He felt, however, that: Although we know that the government abducted them, our attempts to find out their whereabouts have failed because every government department we have asked denied knowledge about these people. We, their parents are suffering more than those who have disappeared. Your Excellency, taking our suffering and worries into account, we pray to your office to inform us if they are still alive. We also want to know if they are no longer in life so that we can give up. If they are no longer alive, there is nothing we can do except mourn for a week and forget them thereafter. That would spare us from unrelenting suffering. (Author’s own translation from Tigrinya)

The reader may be excused for thinking that this was a letter from the archives of the former Ethiopian governor of Eritrea, Asrate Kassa or the Derg’s representative in Asmara.74 No Eritrean ever thought such things would happen in independent Eritrea. After all, it was the determination to relegate such gruesome practices to the archives of history that motivated tens of thousands of Eritreans to sacrifice their lives. How many fallen ones would not ‘turn over in their graves’ if they heard that little has changed in the area of human rights (Kibreab 2008a). The letter by the civic hero, Ato Omer Abdulqader Omeredin, is identical to the thousands of letters written by the mothers of the disappeared in the Latin American countries ruled by military dictatorships in the 1970s (see Bickford 2000). It is ironic that the movement that promised justice, fairness, democracy and due process of law would emulate its reviled predecessors with such textbook accuracy. Although Ato Omeredin courageously broke the deafening silence that marked the Eritrean post-independence condition, the government, as expected, did not respond to his appeal. Instead the security forces that had previously abducted his son abducted him and still no one knows his whereabouts. There were also other incidents in which individuals or groups suspected by the government of having connections with fundamentalist groups were arrested arbitrarily. This is confirmed by Amnesty International’s report in which it is stated: ‘In September 2004, dozens of Muslim students belonging to new Islamic religious groups (including some known as ‘Wahhabis’ were arrested in Asmara and other towns. Many are reportedly still detained incommunicado and without charge’ (AI 2004a).

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Case Study CS 7 Suppression of the Asmara University Students’ Union75 In 1993, students at the country’s only university at Asmara, applied to the government to establish a union. The government at first refused to allow the establishment of an autonomous organisation to represent their interests. In 1998, under direct and indirect pressure from donors, the government relented, but instituted different means to limit its autonomy especially through the appointment of Woldeab Isaac as president. Since Woldeab was directly answerable to the government, it was confident it would be able to monitor and control the students, traditionally a radical constituency within civil society. Some leaders and cadres of the EPLF, including Isaias Afwerki, Haile Woldensae and Mussie Tesfamichael, were in fact radicalised in the Eritrean secondary school movement and later in Haile Selassie University in Addis Ababa. A former president of Asmara University Students’ Union (AUSU), Semere Kesete, observed that as long as the university was headed by Woldeab, the government knew that ‘no student would be allowed to raise their voice in pursuit or defence of their rights’ (Kesete 2004a). This was because, in his view, Woldeab was a trusted messenger of the Eritrean head of state. He said that from the outset Woldeab exhibited a powerful urge to imitate the dictatorial proclivities of the Eritrean head of state. A former expatriate lecturer also described the former president of the university, Dr Woldeab Isaac, as ‘Isaias in miniature’. The AUSU had a well constituted and accountable structure with an external auditor and was headed by the student council. The council was made up of five elected executive bodies, the president and four vice-presidents, responsible for finance and administration, academic affairs, student services, and external affairs. At all regular meetings, the student council elected a secretary to record minutes. According to the union’s constitution, all full-time students, including exfighters, were automatic members. The main aims of the union were to enhance and protect academic freedom and intellectual and cultural growth, and to enable students to participate in decisions affecting their academic life and well-being. Since nothing, according to Kesete, could take place without the explicit approval of the president, he refused to allocate a regular annual budget to the AUSU and refused it permission to collect membership fees. This ensured that the union was financially dependent on the university’s president, who in the meantime was pushing the organisation to join the government-affiliated National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS). AUSU’s leaders’ struggle to maintain their organisation’s independence and resistance against the university administration’s pressure was made more difficult due to student apathy. According to the student leader, Kesete, ‘had all the members of the Union been militant, the government’s and its trusted messenger’s mission of controlling and weakening AUSU would have been easily stifled’ (2004a). He further pointed out that ‘unfortunately, this could not happen because of student apathy as well as administrative obstruction.’ This was because, he said, ‘the students were under constant academic pressure from teachers as well as parents but even so Union representatives made every effort to ensure that AUSU

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea functioned as a robust, efficient, accountable and transparent organisation.’ In order to make its decision-making process transparent and participatory, the student council advertised the agenda of every meeting in advance on the university notice board and communicated every decision through the same board and through the union bulletin, ‘The Campus Dispatch’. The bulletin was forced to close down after a few issues because of a lack of funds (Kesete 2004a). Financial dependence and Woldeab’s dictatorial whim meant that the Union was unable to influence any substantive decision on issues such as curriculum development, course work and learning resources, or even issues relating to library resources and opening hours (Kesete 2004a). The university administration rarely informed the union when important decisions were taken. The university also failed to convene regular course board meetings where students could meet teachers to share their comments, opinions and criticisms. The only exception to this were three exam and award board meetings. The AUSU president and the university senate met in February 2000, September 2000 and July 2001. However, the agenda was not distributed in advance and the AUSU had no chance to discuss the many issues raised with student representatives and could therefore not take substantive decisions. Kesete was reduced to using personal discretion to raise objections to decisions he regarded as wrong or inappropriate. Kesete said that there were three occasions when he strongly disagreed with the university administration; one of which was the Summer Work Programme (SWP). In 1999, the government suddenly and without consultation, announced that all university students were required to participate in a one-month work programme over the summer period at the end of the first year. Normally what happened was that students would spend their second year in the national service programme and return to their studies after that. The government’s announcement meant that national service was to be deferred until after graduation. The students were therefore required to spend the summer holiday between their first and second year of study participating in a summer work programme that included taking part in a national census hastily organised by the Department of National Statistics. The students were trained for two weeks on how to conduct a census but the project was scrapped before it got under way.76 The students were subsequently ordered to go to the hot and isolated western lowlands of the border with Sudan to tend the farms being allocated to demobilised ex-fighters as part of the Ali Gidir resettlement programme. The university students, many of whom relied on seasonal employment to fund their studies or support their families, refused to go (Kesete 2004a). The refusal was significant because this was the first time that a civil society group had openly defied the government without immediate repercussions. In 2000 the SWP was interrupted by the border war but it was reintroduced in 2001, a time of growing unrest and dissatisfaction with the situation in the country. The government feared that students would become radicalised and even play a leading role in the nascent democratic protest movement. Indeed, the union took note of the slow democratisation process and openly criticised the government for its interference in academic affairs. The students’ grievances were eloquently articulated by the union’s president, Kesete, in a graduation ceremony speech. He criticised the SWP and declared that the students would not enrol in it unless it was fundamentally reformed (HRW, 2001).

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The students demanded that the government make the SWP relevant and beneficial to both the students and the Eritrean people. They wanted a programme that not only enabled them to put into practice what they were learning at university in order to enhance their skills but also one that would benefit a country severely lacking technical capacity and experience. The students, through their union, also asked for fair remuneration for their labour. The AUSU held several meetings with the University administration in which the union representatives were informed by Dr Woldeab that the university had a separate budget for the SWP and that students would be remunerated ‘handsomely’. He did not disclose how much each student was to expect (Kesete 2004a). He also assured the union representatives that the university students would not be under the authority of the ministry of education but could work independently under the supervision of lecturers from the department of statistics and demography. The AUSU insisted on knowing how much each student would be paid, and reluctantly the president revealed that the ‘handsome payment’ was ERN 800 (US$55). This was to cover the costs of transportation, purchasing cooking utensils, food, lodging and other miscellaneous expenses. The AUSU objected, saying it was inadequate even for basic needs. The president retorted that if students shopped carefully and ate pasta and shiro (bean sauce) – traditional fasting food for the Christian population and therefore regarded as the food of the poor – ERN 800 would be more than enough. The president also revealed that the students would not be working under the supervision of the university, but would be assigned to different ministries and sent to work in different parts of the country. The union called for a general meeting on 1 August to discuss the issues and to draft a response to the university administration. This was not to be, because on 31 July 2001, Kesete was arrested. The AUSU decided to go ahead with the meeting and, on 1 August 2001, the Student Council demanded that: • the authorities concerned give an official statement on Kesete’s condition and his whereabouts; • should Kesete be accused of any crime, his constitutional rights be respected and his case be presented to a court of law; • If Kesete was not be accused of any crime, he should be immediately released and the reasons for his arrest be officially given.77 On 3 August 2001, the university administration notified the university students to attend a three-day orientation beginning on 9 August. The notice also said Kesete’s case was going before the courts. The students were warned of the consequence of failing to participate in the SWP – although there was no law requiring students to take part in the programme. The union as a responsible civil association tried to counter the government’s action and on the same day that the university issued their threat, the AUSU announced it had filed a writ of Habeas corpus in the high court.78 The court ordered the police to bring Kesete before the court but the police defied the order and security forces sealed off the University of Asmara. In order to prevent the students from leaving the city, security forces were stationed at strategic checkpoints (Awate Research Unit, 2002).

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The students refused to sign up for the SWP until Kesete was released from detention and the reforms they demanded were implemented. A BBC correspondent reported, ‘In a defiant gesture the students said they would only comply with the holiday work programme when their leader is either released or taken to court.’ (BBC 2001a). In their 9 August statement, the students declared that AUSU had a right and a duty to defend its members’ interests and that it would not be intimidated into abandoning this obligation (Student Council 2001). A statement issued by the union defiantly declared, ‘We will not change our position until our question has been answered sufficiently’ (Student Council 2001). On 10 August 2001, the Eritrean High Court reissued the writ of Habeas corpus, for the second time in post-independence Eritrean history as well as in the course of the case. The court found Kesete without a case to answer and ordered the government to release him. The police asked the court for more time to build up its case – and to keep Kesete in custody (Awate Research Unit 2002). The request was granted and that was the last time Kesete was brought to the court because on 10 August, the chief justice, Teame Beyene, was fired and the government began arresting anyone who voiced dissent (AI 2004a). After Teame’s departure, neither his ex-colleagues nor the defence lawyers would dare to challenge the government. A few weeks after the chief justice’s dismissal, all those who voiced criticism were detained, now without the fear of challenges from the high court. Kesete’s case is significant because a writ of Habeas corpus was issued for the second time by the Eritrean High Court since independence. When he appeared in the high court on 10 August 2001, 400 students demonstrated in front of the building demanding his release. Security forces responded violently and the students were arrested and detained overnight in Asmara Stadium before being taken to a detention camp at Wi’a desert, 30 kilometres south of the port of Massawa (BBC 2001a). The government accused the students of ‘unruly behaviour and unlawful acts’ (quoted in ibid.) but said that 1,700 other students had ‘voluntarily’ joined them there, making unclear the legal status of those forcibly taken to the camp. The scorching temperature at Wi’a and the appalling conditions in the camp resulted in the death of two students, Irga Yosief (14 August 2001) and Yemane Tekie (19 August 2001). Even the government admitted that the two students died of heat exhaustion and lack of adequate logistical support at the camp (HRW, 2001). Thereafter, many students fled the country in fear of being detained at Wi’a. In fact, several were feared to have died as they made their way across the Sahara desert and the Mediterranean sea in search of refuge in northern Europe.79 For those students that participated in the SWP, they were not allowed to return after one month as promised, but were retained as a collective punishment to the student body as a whole (BBC 2001a). However, the resolve of the students increased in proportion to the government’s vindictiveness and, when the president of the university, Woldeab, visited Wi’a for a photo shot of SWP graduates, the students literally turned their backs to him, an embarrassing show of contempt. In retaliation, the government withdrew its offer of allowing the students to return to the campus (HRW 2001). The fact that the students went to the extent of defying the University’s president when they knew that the price to be paid was high is a testimony of their anger and civic courage.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The students refused to be addressed by Woldeab because they viewed him as part of the oppressive establishment who, instead of supporting academic freedom and his students, had sided with the government and condemned the students’ actions as illegal.80 The students were released from the detention camp at the end of September 2001 but according to the AFP, five members of the AUSU; Daniel Asmelash, Filmon Bedali, Sebhat Berhe, Kubrom Asmerom and Bereket Ogbe were further detained in a work camp in Eritrea’s eastern lowland desert.81 EROSION OF LEGITIMACY The author asked the president of the union whether the students’ refusal to participate in the SWP and to demand payment was unpatriotic and selfish. He said that the university students were not shirking their patriotic duty when they refused to take part in the SWP. Many of them demanded to be given the right to take part in the border war of 1998–2000 to defend the country when Ethiopia occupied sovereign Eritrean territory in May 2000, but the government was reluctant to enrol university students into the defence forces probably because it feared that they might influence or radicalise the recruits in the NS and the army. The defiance of the university students would have been inconceivable during the early years of national independence when the government was regarded by the majority as being legitimate. The strong resistance and contumacious disobedience of the university students were a manifestation of the erosion of this legitimacy. The government’s credibility was further undermined by the spectacular escape of Kesete and his prison guard, Mehari, from detention in August 2002. He had been held incommunicado for over one year without charge. He was aided by his own guard to escape – the government’s legitimacy being so depleted that it could not even count on the loyalty of its own staff. The government has since declared Kesete and his guard, Mehari, ‘Woyane’ (Ethiopian) agents, but Eritreans, even those in the diaspora, voted them ‘Men of the Year 2002’. Although both men used Ethiopia as a transit they did not seek asylum there and are currently living in Sweden as refugees. They are members of an Eritrean opposition group seeking democracy for their country. The AUSU should be remembered as one of the few civil society organisations to effect a change of policy as it forced the government to abandon the SWP in 2002. AUSU AND THE NATIONAL UNION OF ERITREAN YOUTH AND STUDENTS Before the clampdown, the government had tried to control the AUSU by pressuring it to join NUEYS. When asked whether it was the leaders of the NUEYS or the leaders of the PFDJ or the government that tried to bring pressure to bear on AUSU to join the ruling party affiliated organisation, Kesete said that it was impossible to distinguish among the government, the party and the mass organisations. ‘You see the same person one day acting as a government official, the other day as PFDJ’s cadre and the next day as the NUEYS’ leader’ (2004a). The same he said was true of the university’s president, Woldeab Isaac. ‘He wore at least three hats simultaneously’ (Kesete 2004a). NUEYS leaders were the most ‘ardent enemies’ of the AUSU because the students body operated outside the ‘official’ students’ union and was therefore not subject to its fiats (Kesete 2004b). The AUSU was also considered dangerous to the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea government as a whole because it had mobilised popular support, exposed the government’s declining legitimacy and forced a change in policy through civil disobedience. In a way, it had challenged the government’s monopoly on collective action and opened the way for other organisations. As has been made clear in this chapter, the main function of the PFDJ mass organisations was to suppress any autonomous civil society associations. Thus, the vicious campaign conducted by NUEYS’ leaders against AUSU must have been a part of the overall strategy of destroying an association that dared threaten the dominance of the PFDJ in the cultural, political and social spheres. According to Kesete, the NUEYS leaders were ‘obsessed’ with the idea of absorbing the AUSU into their ranks. ‘Their failure to affiliate or, at least, co-opt AUSU would stand out as one of their most painful regrets,’ he says. ‘I am saying this because I was a member of the NUEYS and I knew what their priorities were and how they worked’ (Kesete 2004a). Kesete said that fear of an independent students’ union was one of the main reasons why it took five years to establish the AUSU. The pressure on the AUSU to join the NUEYS was not accompanied or preceded by open debate. Instead NUEYS leaders tried to isolate, intimidate and co-opt individual students whom they considered influential. This strategy proved unsuccessful, partly because the AUSU Constitution stipulated that the only channel of communication with an external organisation was through the AUSU office of external affairs. When the NUEYS attempted to evade official channels, they revealed their duplicitous intentions and students shied away. One of the reasons the government, the PFDJ and the leaders of the NUEYS targeted AUSU was because, first, they are hostile to any form of automous civil society association that they do not intiate or control. Second, they see higher education as being an incubator of dissent and critical thinking. Third, and more importantly, the head of state and the PFDJ are fundamentally anti-intellectual (an irony given that the head of the political office of the party is a university graduate and the state president was a university student)82 and its mass organisations were headed by people who resented and feared university students and other intellectuals. Therefore, when the AUSU, contrary to the NUEYS leaders’ expectations, began to engage in civic causes, what Kesete calls ‘massive’ pressure was brought to the fore by the ministry of information,83 the PFDJ, the NUEYS, and the National Confederation of Eritrean Workers (NCEW). This pressure included bribes (cash and jobs) as well as intimidation. Given the dire financial straits of most Eritreans, the resilience of the student body to such temptations is a testimony to the strength of their organisation and the dynamism of their leadership. The AUSU was successful in resisting the covert pressure by the NUEYS despite the fact that many of its members were ex-fighters and also older men and women who had spent years deferring to the democratic centralism of the guerrilla leadership. Many younger students even considered their older classmates – the excombatants – as ‘spies’ and there were often fierce campus debates on the NUEYS and AUSU issue (Kesete 2004a).84 A further threat to unity was the fact that the civilian students lived on campus while the ex-fighters, for the most part, lived on the former military base of Kagnew Station in Asmara or in town with their families.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea DISMANTLING THE UNIVERSITY OF ASMARA The dismantling of the University of Asmara by the government happened gradually. In the year 2003, the university was ordered by the government not to admit new students. The last bunch of students at the university graduated in the summer of 2006. This was followed by the complete closure of the university except for the school of engineering. In its place, the government has opened what it calls colleges in Massawa, Mai Nefhi, Adi Keyih and Sahel. These are colleges in name only because they have neither teaching and library resources nor lecturers. Many of the latter have fled the country in droves. The government’s flagship, the vocational school of Mai Nefhi, is, for example, run as a military camp. Students are regimented into units, platoons, battalions and divisions. All are headed by military officers as in the armed forces. The type of training each student receives is also decided by the government without consultation with, or consent of, the student concerned. The effect this has on the learning experiences of students and their future cannot be overestimated. Students are not free to choose their subjects. To make matters worse, the only requirement to join the so-called colleges is one year’s attendance at the Sawa military camp. Students are not required to pass matriculation which has been part of the Eritrean educational system ever since higher education began in the country. In the following section, the role played by international non-governmental organisations during the thirty years war and the post-independence government’s policies and practices towards international NGOs are critically examined

Case Study CS 8 The role of international NGOs in Eritrea’s independence war and the policy of the post-independence government on NGOs Before examining the post-independence government’s policy on international NGOs, the first part of this case study looks at the critical role played by international civil society organisations, particularly NGOs, in the war of independence. Ceteris paribus, it was reasonable to expect that the post-independence government’s policy and practice would be influenced by the ruling party’s experiences with international NGOs during the war of independence. Some NGOs, particularly faith-based ones such as the Swedish Church Relief (SCR), Norwegian Church Aid (NCA) and the Sudan Council of Churches (SCC) played a key role in providing humanitarian relief to desperate populations in the EPLF and ELF-controlled areas. The SCR and SCC mainly worked with the ELF and with its humanitarian wing, the Eritrean Red Cross and Red Crescent Society (ERCCS), whilst NCA almost exclusively worked with the EPLF and its humanitarian wing, the Eritrean Relief Association (ERA). Other agencies included Christian Aid, Brot Für die Welt (BFW), Dutch Interchurch Aid (DIA), the Interchurch Coordinating Committee for Development Projects (ICCO), Danchurch Aid (DCA), Diakonisches Werk (DDW), and Lutheran World Relief (LWR) (Duffield and Prendergast, 1994). The number of church-based NGOs providing relief to the rebel-controlled areas increased after the establishment of the Emergency Relief Desk (ERD) in

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea February 1981 (on the origin and history of ERD see Duffield and Prendergast 1998). It is not easy to quantify the contribution made by the cross-border relief operation to the success of the Eritrean war of independence, but it was undeniable and substantial, especially during the food crises of 1983–88.85 Eritrea, an arid and semi-arid country, experiences recurrent droughts; between 1970 and 1984, for example, rains were inadequate for nine seasons (Pateman, 1998: 181). Adverse weather conditions combined with war, displacement and Ethiopia’s use of famine as a weapon of war (Pateman 1998: 182; Korn 1986: 137) led to the breakdown of traditional coping mechanisms. Luckily, the cross-border humanitarian operations prevented famine. We shall see in the following that the success of the EPLF’s plan for social transformation and self-sufficiency was also dependent on the help provided by international NGOs. THE CONTRIBUTION OF INTERNATIONAL NGOS TO ERITREAN INDEPENDENCE As seen previously, the ERA was first chaired by Dr Bereket Habte Selassie and later by Paulos Tesfagiorgis, who joined the EPLF after completing his postgraduate studies in Canada.86 Under his leadership, ERA grew from a minor local agency to a major organisation which was greatly respected by donors and international partners. It developed expertise and capacity unprecedented not only among national liberation movements but also among independent African states. Despite immense political and logistical constraints, ERA transported about 200,000 tons of food supplies to Eritrea, mainly to feeding centres in remote rural areas such as Nakfa, Afabet, Karora, Tessenei, Ali Gidir, Um Hajer and Teleta Asher (Pateman 1998: 182). This occurred at a time when even areas controlled by Ethiopia, and therefore technically under the purview of well-funded UN agencies such as WFP or the major humanitarian NGOs, received no international assistance (ibid.). According to Tesfagiorgis, it would be misleading to measure the contributions made by international NGOs to the Eritrean revolution only in terms of the quantity of goods. He is convinced that their solidarity and trust also enabled ERA to develop and consolidate sophisticated national, regional, and international networks, knowledge, assets and skills. These provided ERA with an infrastructure that in turn enabled the EPLF to engage in almost unprecedented comprehensive rural social and economic development which attracted further funding and public support. For example, in 1983 ERA was working with 120 international agencies irrespective of the fact that Eritrea was not formally recognised as a country by the UN and OAU, making bilateral aid officially impossible (Tesfagiorgis 2003, 2004; Pateman, 1998). As we shall see later, the post-independence state has been unable to work even with a small fraction of the number of international NGOs ERA was able to mobilise during the war. The diverse types of assistance provided by international NGOs substantially improved the nutrition, health and educational and cultural status of fighters as well as their military capacity. It also enhanced their psychological well-being and lessened a feeling of isolation that came with being a small, politically marginalised guerrilla movement taking on one of the largest countries in Africa backed at one time or another by the world’s Cold War superpowers – the US and the USSR. Most of the activities, such as the celebrated health, education and transportation

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea systems, the plastic sandal and pharmaceutical factories, the printing press and the trench hospitals that constituted the central plank of the EPLF’s strategy of selfsufficiency, wrongly referred to in the EPLF discourse as ‘self-reliance’, would never have been possible without ERA’s connections to international NGOs. The best way of assessing the role played by international NGOs in the war is therefore to examine the activities of the EPLF which were dependent on the resources raised by international NGOs and channelled through ERA to the EPLFcontrolled areas of Eritrea. These included emergency relief, health care, transportation, education and fund-raising. Each of these is discussed briefly. EMERGENCY RELIEF The single most decisive factor in the EPLF’s winning of the support of the civilian population and equipping a fighting force was its ability to feed the people and its fighters – with food provided by international NGOs via ERA. Discussions with former EPLF fighters reveal that they experienced a significant improvement in the supply of food after ERA was up and running. Although ERA was supposed to provide relief aid, which in accordance with humanitarian principles was not supposed to help non-civilian players, it was an open secret that the combatants as well as civilians benefited from the food aid coming into the liberated and semiliberated areas (Tesfagiorgis 2003; 2004). The decision by the humanitarian community to violate its principles of neutrality and work with an organisation that, although technically independent of a guerrilla movement, was clearly partisan was partly because of Ethiopia’s open policy of using food aid as a weapon and a political tool. For example, in 1984 Ethiopia’s acting foreign minister said, ‘Food is a major element in our strategy against the secessionists’ (quoted in Pateman 1998: 182). A mission from the Australian Development Assistance Bureau that visited Ethiopia in November and December 1984 reported that the Ethiopian government was deliberately refusing to allow relief supplies into certain areas to ‘starve the people there into submission’ (quoted in ibid.: 193). At the peak of the war in 1984, heavy fighting and Ethiopia’s deliberate targeting of productive assets brought Eritrea’s economy to a standstill. Drought and food shortages threatened most rural communities and there was an upsurge in the number of refugees who fled to Sudan (Kibreab 1987a; 1987b). The EPLF, influenced by Maoist thinking, needed to work within rural communities, and therefore the exodus of people, who were considered both as agents of social revolution and potential pools of recruits and information, threatened the revolutionary strategy of the front. ERA therefore decided to feed the people and fighters and its international partners tacitly accepted this in order to ensure that the civilian population also benefitted and therefore stayed put. HEALTH SERVICES The second key sector in which ERA’s international NGO partners played a crucial role was health. Eritrea had never had an adequate health service and the limited infrastructure had been severely damaged by neglect and war. Moreover, the few health posts that existed in small towns and villages were deliberately destroyed by the Ethiopian army for fear of their being used by the fighters. Over time, the EPLF established a functional health service made up of a central

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea hospital in the liberated area of Sahel, two regional hospitals, 25 health centres, 42 health posts, 320 village units and 40 mobile units in the liberated and semiliberated areas and behind enemy lines (International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples [ILFRLP] 1987). Each health station supported ten village health clinics and each health centre supported two to three health stations. Each health centre covered 10,000 people and the regional hospitals covered 200,000 people (EPLF 1989b: 39). The central hospital operated on a referral basis and was equipped with a modern laboratory, a radiology unit and a three-roomed operating theatre. According to a contemporary publication by the EPLF Health Department, surgery was divided into sections – neurology; cardiothoracy; orthopaedics; ophthalmics; maxillo-facial; paediatrics; and gynaecology and obstetrics (ibid.). Table 3.2 EPLF health personnel, 1987 Occupation

Operational

Planned

320 800 28 151 41 18 22

2,000 1,000 250 250 100 200 100

Village health officers Barefoot doctors Midwives Nurses Laboratory and radio technicians Dental assistants Pharmacists

Source: International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples (I Diritti dei Populi) ‘Eritrea: Construction of a New Society’, (April/May 1987) reprinted in Eritrea Information Vol. 9 nos 9 and 10 (1987): 7–12.

Not only did ERA supply the badly needed medical equipment and medicines to the central and regional hospitals, health centres, health posts, villages and mobile units which served the fighters of the EPLF and the civilian population, but they also brought specialists and other professional volunteers from different parts of the world to train the EPLF medical doctors, pharmacists and nurses who in return provided training to paramedics such as the barefoot doctors (Pateman 1998; Tesfagiorgis 2003). As a result, the liberated areas boasted even of a pharmaceutical plant which was the envy of the neighbouring countries. The plant was sophisticated enough to produce badly needed medicines. The machinery, including the pharmaceutical plant, and the cash needed for the purchase of the machinery were provided by ERA’s partners (Tesfagiorgis 2003; 2004).87 The EPLF’s Pharmaceutical Production Commission had 22 graduate members of staff and by the end of 1987 ‘it was producing fourteen types of tablets and capsules – two million per month – and hoping to provide soon for sixty per cent of the population’s needs’ (Pateman 1998: 223). According to a report produced by the EPLF Information Branch in 1989, the Pharmaceutical Production Commission (EPLF 1989b) was producing infusions that met the front’s full requirement,88 32 types of essential tablets,89 and four types of capsule.90 In 1989, its productive capacity was ‘80 million tablets, 40 million capsules, and 240 litres of IVS (in two shifts), it [the pharmaceutical plant) can cover about 40% of the annual need.’ The Pharmaceutical Production Commission had three production units – namely, quality control, research and training (EPLF 1989b: 32).

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea When an Italian team visited the liberated areas in 1987, the pharmaceutical plant could produce up to 40 per cent of the drip solution needed by the EPLF (ILFLP 1987: 11). Pateman refers to the pharmaceutical plant as having: ‘Already … the makings of a national drug manufacturing programme, the envy of most of the third world’ (1998: 223). The plant was established not only through financial contributions of NGOs but also through the technical expertise of international solidarity workers and EPLF professional pharmacists. By the end of 1987, it was producing two million of 14 types of tablets and satisfying 60 per cent of civilian demand every month (ibid.). Two years later, it was producing 120 million of 36 different tablets and pills as well as 240 litres of intravenous solutions, covering just under half of total demand (EPLF 1989b: 32).91 By 1989, an increase in health personnel was noticeable. There were 33 medical doctors, 22 pharmacists, 150 nurses, 50 midwives, 110 traditional birth attendants, and 60 laboratory technicians, 2,100 barefoot doctors, and 400 village health workers (ibid.: 38). Both civilians and fighters benefited from the well organised health services. For example, between January and June 1988 about 430,000 people received treatment (ibid.: 40). The EPLF had established mobile units to provide frontline emergency services made up of a barefoot doctor, a health assistant, a health worker, a midwife, a nurse and a mobile laboratory. The composition of the units was flexible, depending on the circumstances, and they could treat every injured fighter within ten minutes (Tesfagiorgis 2003). The ability to provide relatively advanced treatment, including emergency surgery, had a tremendous psychological impact on the fighters’ morale. Previously, injured fighters were roughly bandaged with whatever was available and carried on their comrades’ or civilians’ backs to rudimentary health posts far from the front lines. Many died on the way, or later from infections caused by lack of hygiene and medical knowledge (Tesfagiorgis 2004). Although it is difficult to quantify the extent to which the dramatically improved health services contributed to the EPLF’s eventual victory, every former EPLF combatant interviewed said it was a key factor. In fact, many interviewees agreed that provision of health care in contemporary Eritrea is inferior to that provided by the EPLF during the war. Today’s health facilities in Eritrea, with the exception of a new flagship hospital in Asmara, are dirty and dilapidated and there is a lack of personnel, medicines and staff motivation. The central role played by ERA and its international NGO partners is underscored by the fact that, every month, health workers had to prepare a detailed report which was forwarded to ERA and the latter consolidated the reports and forwarded them to its international NGO partners (Tesfagiorgis 2004). Note ought to be taken that the EPLF’s crucial political decision to supply primary health care, and its later focus on disease control and prevention, could only be achieved because of the resources provided by ERA’s international NGO partners, or ‘Friends of Eritrea’. TRANSPORTATION The third crucial area of international NGOs’ intervention was that of transportation. Given Eritrea’s underdeveloped infrastructure and mountainous landscape, transportation was a major logistical problem. In the early 1980s, ERA in partnership with NGOs such as Oxfam and War on Want (WoW) established the Eritrean Transportation Consortium (ETC). The secretariat was based in the

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea London office of WoW. The mandate and budget of the ETC soon dwarfed the activities of WoW and the secretariat was moved to the bigger offices of the Dutch NGO, NOVIB, in The Hague (Tesfagiorgis 2003). ERA had at its disposal 450 Mercedes trucks with trailers which were ostensibly intended for non-military and emergency relief work but which, as everybody knew, also ferried war supplies and fighters from Sudan and within the country to the EPLF-controlled areas and other regions. International support further enabled the Front to establish well-equipped underground maintenance workshops that also provided training to fighters in electronics, mechanical engineering and body maintenance from professional experts brought in by ERA from Mercedes Benz’s headquarters in Germany (Tesfagiorgis 2003). Not only did possession of hundreds of trucks and trailers improve the mobility and fighting capability of the EPLF fighters, but it also gave important visibility and status and, therefore, credibility to the guerrilla movement among the rural population. Whilst it is difficult to quantify, reliable transport must have improved the fighters’ performance in battlefields; men and women fight better when they have been ferried to the battlefield instead of having to walk for hours (although the trucks were by no means comfortable). The vehicles also enabled the guerrilla forces to make use of heavy weaponry instead of being limited to small arms against the well-equipped Ethiopian military forces (Tesfagiorgis 2003). Soon after independence, the Eritrean government decided that the non-military capital assets of the EPLF, including the vehicles, would be transferred to the new PFDJ. The trucks were then transferred to the Red Sea Trading Corporation, owned by PFDJ. EDUCATION The fourth area in which ERA’s international partners substantially contributed to victory was in education (Tesfagiorgis 2004). This is more so in view of the fact that the most damaging consequence of the Ethiopian occupation was the weakening of the educational system, especially in rural areas. For example, Eritrean languages were banned and replaced with Amharic, a foreign language perceived by Eritreans as a medium of cultural and political domination. Education was therefore considered by the EPLF as indispensable to its project of social transformation and self-reliance (Gottesman, 1998). Given the high educational level of some members of the EPLF leadership, the Front’s prioritisation of education was not surprising. Without international NGOs’ funding, supply of learning resources and technical assistance, the Front’s attempt to develop the educational system would have been impossible. In 1984 Stuart Holland, the UK shadow minister for overseas development and cooperation, and James Firebrace, War on Want’s programme officer for the Horn of Africa, spent several weeks behind the frontlines with the EPLF, and in their book, Never Kneel Down, they argue, ‘high levels of literacy and education among the fighters ensures a more effective fighting force, because fighters are highly motivated combatants, not just passive recipients of orders’ (Firebrace and Holland 1984: 118). The writers noted with surprise how informed and interested many fighters were about world affairs, a result of the intensive political education considered as important to their training as using a gun. The observation was also made by the Australian novelist Thomas Keneally, who spent three and a half

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea months in the EPLF-controlled areas. ‘The whole of Eritrea goes to school,’ he wrote. ‘The Eritrean axiom is that a tyrant cannot arise if there is a universally literate and aware population’ (Keneally 1987).92 We shall see later the extent to which this deterred the rise of tyranny. From the mid-1970s, demand for education rose considerably because of a large influx of civilians to the rebel-controlled areas, and the EPLF established a boarding school known as the Zero School (because it was started from ‘zero,’ (Mahmud in Gottesman 1998: 88) in the liberated area of Sahel Province in January 1976. Zero School opened with 265 boys and girls, and ten teachers93 and the number increased to 306 pupils, about half of whom were female, 16 teachers and 23 guardians (female caretakers) in 1977. However, greater success was limited by a lack of teaching skills and materials, and a relevant curriculum (Gottesman, 1998). Table 3.3 Enrolment in Zero School, 1976–1985 Year 1976–77 1977–78 1978–79 1979–80 1980–81 1981–82 1982–83 1983–84 1984–85

Year 1 Year 2 Year 3 147 476 492 511 567 583 672 710 734

93 220 454 477 488 542 570 661 698

66 219 310 445 457 463 535 562 652

Year 4 Year 5 Year 6 Year 7 – 129 285 306 423 443 454 527 545

– – 169 273 300 409 434 446 413

– – – 162 262 293 309 327 226

– – – – 159 252 – – –

Year 8

Total

– – – – – 72 – – –

306 1,044 1,710 2,174 2,656 3,058 2,974 3,233 3,268

Source: International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples, ‘Eritrea: Construction of a New Society,’ (April/May 1987) reprinted in Eritrea Information 9 no. 9 and 10 (1987)

The data in Table 3.3 clearly show the rapid growth of Zero School. However, changes in the nine-year period were not just quantitative; there was a huge improvement in skills related to teaching, curriculum development, teacher training as well as in resources for the library, teaching materials, furniture, food, water, and dormitory. In the 1985–6 academic year, EPLF sources indicate that there were 24,000 students in 154 schools inside Eritrea – 2,500 more than the previous year (EPLF, 1987). By 1987 over 5,300 students had passed through Zero School, of whom 1,100 were assigned to various departments of the Front. A further 100 joined the polytechnic at Wina where they specialised in construction, carpentry, and electronics. During the same period, a second ‘Zero School’ was opened in Barka and by the end of the decade the Education Department was running 154 schools with 21,303 students in Eritrea and in the refugee camps in Sudan (Table 3.4). By the end of the 1985–86 academic year, EPLF reported that there were 154 schools and 24,000 students inside Eritrea, i.e. excluding the schools run by ERA in Sudan (EPLF 1987a: 6). In a book published in 1991, Robert Papstein reported that there were about 27,000 students, 1,782 teachers and 165 schools inside Eritrea (1991: 138).The EPLF also reported that, in 1989, there were 221 adult education centres with 50,270 students in Eritrea and Sudan (EPLF 1989b: 34).

111

– 734 698 652 545 413 226 3268 1

Zero School 1,567 696 477 102 78 48 – 2967 17

Barka 240 268 272 200 164 109 50 1303 6

Sudan – 1137 332 63 – – – 1532 15

Gash 225 1144 592 377 168 37 – 2544 34

West 270 2326 723 387 188 113 – 4007 26

South – 878 357 131 78 – – 1444 13

East – 18846 514 220 71 36 – 2687 31

North – 741 447 260 103 – – 1551 11

Central East 2,302 9770 4413 2391 1395 756 276 21303 154

Total

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Source: International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples, ‘Eritrea: Construction of a New Society,’ (April/May 1987) reprinted in Eritrea Information 9 nos 9 and 10 (1987).

Beginners First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Total No of schools

Classes

Table 3.4 Regional distribution of student population 1984–85

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea The data show that the EPLF was able to provide educational opportunities to communities neglected by colonial educational authorities. The relatively even distribution of schools throughout the country illustrates the importance attached to education by the EPLF. Education was seen as a means of promoting national unity and social transformation. The financial and other resources provided by international NGOs and channelled through ERA were indispensable in the sector. Importantly, they were used by the Front efficiently and creatively to construct and operate a complex network of schools under extremely insecure and difficult conditions. Table 3.5 EPLF Literacy campaign, 1983–85 Social Enrolment composition 1983/4 1984/5 Peasants Women Youth Nomads Traders Others Total %

7,067 8,143 13,704 15,215 3,529 5,471 4249 6,364 450 515 824 927 29,823 36,635 100

Dropouts 1983/4 1984/5 2,787 4,560 717 578 110 142 8,894 29.8

2,011 3,270 1,979 903 117 185 8,465 23.1

% dropouts 1983/4 1984/5 39.4 33.2 20.3 13.6 24.4 17.2 29.8

25 21 36 14 23 20 23

Graduates 1983/4 1984/5 4,420 6,132 9,144 11,945 2,812 3,492 3,671 5,461 340 398 682 742 20,929 28,170 70.2 76.9

Source: International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples, ‘Eritrea: Construction of a New Society,’ I Diritti dei Populi (April/May 1987) reprinted in Eritrea Information 9 nos 9 and 10 (1987).

The focus of the first year of the three-year literacy programme was reading, writing and basic arithmetic. In the second and third years, the emphasis was on hygiene, modern agricultural techniques, animal husbandry, and childcare (Pateman, 1998: 220). When it was launched in 1983, 450 students from Zero School were assigned to participate in the literacy programme. By 1987, the programme had 665 teachers and more than 51,000 participants from all social groups in the country (Gebreselassie quoted in Pateman 1998: 220).94 Overall, 56,000 adults, 60 per cent of them women, took part in the campaign (ibid.). Although the portion of the population that benefited from the literacy campaign was relatively small in comparison to the whole population, it was nonetheless a remarkable achievement given the prevailing insecurity. Again, ERA’s support was essential in the success of the campaign, which was vital in enabling the EPLF to reach all communities in the country. Most interesting about the campaign was the deliberate targeting of all sections of Eritrean society: 46 per cent of participants were women, many from nomadic and peasant communities whose education is traditionally not promoted or even accepted. The participation of many women in the campaign is an indication of the extent to which the EPLF was able to contribute to some degree of cultural and social transformation, even though the dropout rate for women was higher than that of men. Women’s dropout was occasioned by the sexist division of labour that prevails in all the ethno-linguistic groups, perhaps with the exception of the Kunama and to some extent the Nara communities. In Eritrea women are to a large extent considered as reproductive assets responsible for childbearing and

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea childcare, nurturing men, food processing, domestic activities, caring for the aged and the sick, and collection of firewood and water (Kibreab 1995). Thus the 67 per cent female graduation rate was exceptional. Another extraordinary achievement of the literacy campaign was the participation of the nomadic communities who had been largely ignored by colonial authorities. The withdrawal rate of 14 per cent for this group was less than half the average rate, a statistic that contradicts stereotypical views of pastoral disdain for education. Thus the EPLF had clearly succeeded in developing a campaign that was participatory and responsive to community needs, constraints and objectives.95 By 1985 participation rates had risen to 23 per cent in just one year since inception. However, although dropout rates were generally low, that of youth had risen by 16 per cent. This was probably as a result of the EPLF’s forcible recruitment of young people into its military forces after the massive Ethiopian military offensives of the 1980s. Those who were not conscripted became refugees in Sudan. The assistance provided by international NGOs was instrumental in the success of the EPLF’s education and literacy programmes. According to ERA’s publication, ‘Developing a National Education System for Eritrea’ (ERA 1983), the Zero School expanded dramatically in the early 1980s and by 1983 there were over 3,000 students being taught geography, history, science, maths, Tigrinya, Tigre, Arabic, English, arts, music, physical education and handicrafts at elementary and middle levels (Gottesman, 1998: 89; Pateman, 1998: 220). Visitors from the Italian League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples who came to the Zero School in 1987 had this to say about the school: This is our first encounter with Zero School, a college which is camouflaged among the mountains and which currently accommodates about 3,500 children between 7 and 15 years of age. The experience which was started up as almost an act of defiance ten years ago, to meet the needs of fewer than 300 small war orphans, has now been transformed into an experimental school, open to the children of the fighters, those of the refugees in the nearby camp and also those of numerous nomad families in the area. (International League for the Rights and Liberation of Peoples [ILFRLP] 1987: 9)

Most striking to the visitors was the integration of theory and practice. School children were from the very beginning taught to be independent and to take responsibility for their own and community needs. At an early age, the students spent from April to July gaining work experience in different EPLF departments before deciding in which field to work full-time. Students cleaned the classrooms, school compounds and dormitories, fetched water and firewood and washed their own clothes. They also looked after goats and grew vegetables to supplement the pulses that were their normal fare. Although children’s participation in domestic chores is common in rural African societies, the Italian team were impressed with the community atmosphere that prevailed in the middle of a bloody war (ibid.: 11). International NGOs’ contributions to education were not limited to schools and literacy but included support for vocational education and practical skills. The development of underground mechanical workshops where captured Ethiopian tanks were modified and repaired and trucks were maintained depended on graduates of the Wina technical school, which was opened in 1985. The school offered a two-year course covering seven skills, including auto-mechanics, electrical

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea engineering, metal work, carpentry, and civil engineering (EPLF, 1987, 1985). Girmai Abraham (quoted in Pateman 1998: 217) argues that EPLF’s self-reliance was based on a ‘critical minimum’ of skilled people in key areas which was reinforced and increased by the training provided at Wina. International NGOs also enabled ERA to establish a well-stocked library at the Zero School, which was used by students and fighters and also enabled professionals in various departments to order up-to-date publications to help them in their work. In a way, the library indirectly helped in the development of the EPLF’s remarkable social and developmental programmes. EDUCATION A TOOL OF LIBERATION OR INDOCTRINATION? Girmai Abraham noted that one of the ‘two broad objectives’ of the EPLF’s educational system was ‘the creation of a well-informed, literate populace such that democracy and freedom are not threatened by the emergence of an authoritarian or even tyrannical government’ (quoted in Gottesman 1998: 91). As we saw earlier, this was also Tom Keneally’s argument. When the EPLF initiated the comprehensive educational programme, it might have had good intentions, which seemed to have vanished once it got to power. Thus instead of heralding a culture of democracy and tolerance, the front’s educational system has failed in delivering the country from tyranny. But had the front’s educational system been designed to serve as a tool of liberation or of indoctrination? It is reasonable to assume that since literate fighters and citizens would be more informed than illiterate ones, they are likely therefore to be better equipped to challenge an authoritarian and tyrannical regime. Nevertheless, the correlation between education and critical thinking and between the predisposition to challenge authority and to defy tyranny is not a straightforward one. There are a few PhD holders working for the Eritrean government who without qualms justify its poor human rights. They could be doing so either because formal education has not opened their eyes to the tyranny of the regime they are serving or their sight has been blurred by opportunism. Ironically, Girmai Abraham is one of them. The question of whether education fosters critical thinking is dependent on many factors, including the level of education, how far the curriculum and pedagogy inculcate critical thinking, access to alternative information and an enabling environment for the rights of freedoms of expression and association. Freedom of expression means the right of citizens ‘… to express themselves without the danger of severe punishment on political matters broadly defined, including criticism of public officials, the government, the regime, the socioeconomic order, and the prevailing ideology’ (Dahl 1989: 221). In the absence of these conditions as is clearly the case in Eritrea, there is nothing to suggest that education alone can serve as an instrument of preventing the emergence and consolidation of an authoritarian and tyrannical regime. As Paulo Freire stated: The special contribution of the educator to the birth of the new society would have to be a critical education which could help to form critical attitudes, for the naïve consciousness with which the people had emerged into the historical process left them an easy prey to irrationality. Only an education facilitating the passage from

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea naïve to critical transitivity, increasing men’s ability to perceive the challenges of their time, could prepare the people to resist the emotional power of the transition. (1979: 32)

History is replete with examples of curricula that impart submissiveness and compliance. Given the controlling nature of the EPLF and its influence on the ERA staff, it is safe to say that its educational curriculum was not designed to foster critical consciousness and independent thinking, but to foster devotion to and conformity with the ‘party line’. The educational system undoubtedly created a more literate, skilled and knowledgeable population, but it did not leave space for critical evaluation of the EPLF leadership. This is not surprising in a war situation, but the wartime trends have become part of the culture of submission and deafening silence. It is not being suggested here that critical thinking is impossible in wars of national liberation. Although they were soon brutally suppressed, there are some examples to show that, even under the most control freak leaderships of liberation movements, some critical thinkers were able to create internal oppositions. These included the young intellectuals in ZANLA known as Vashandi (workers), the internal opposition within the EPLF in 1973 derogatorily referred to as Menqaé (see Kibreab, 2008a) and the Rejectioinist Movement again deprecatingly referred to by the ELF leadership as Falul (Kibreab 2008a). Thus, the fact that the EPLF’s educational system was not designed to foster critical thinking and has been unable to prevent the emergence of tyrannical rule does not mean that ERA’s investments in education were not worthwhile. Education is a source of empowerment and because the end it serves is not always limited to its initiators’ design, ERA’s and consequently international NGOs’ contributions to the education of civilians and fighters must have had a positive impact on the outcome of the war of independence. PRINTING PRESS ERA and its international partners raised substantial funds to purchase a high quality Heidelberg printing press. Not only did the printing press enable the Zero School to overcome a major bottleneck in books and other teaching materials, but the EPLF’s departments were able to print all their reports, educational and propaganda materials, ‘receipts, textbooks, posters, petrol coupons, exercise books and banknotes’ (EPLF 1989b: 37). The printing press also provided the EPLF with revenue through the printing of magazines and pamphlets for sale to the Eritrean diaspora. The sold literature produced in the mieda (the field) was an indispensable instrument of political education and information and also a major thread that linked the EPLF to the Eritrean diaspora. THE DEPARTMENT OF CULTURE The fifth area in which international NGOs made important contributions to the war of independence was in the area of culture. Music played a critical role in Eritrea’s cultural life and in the revolution. This is not surprising in view of the fact that music can be an instrument of social change and transformation in pre-literate societies. Through ERA, the international NGOs supplied the EPLF’s Department

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea of Culture (Kifli Bahli) with musical instruments and training and supported the establishment of an artistic school (Tesfagiorgis 2003). Music was an important aspect of the EPLF fighters not just as a source of entertainment but also as a critical source of inspiration and mobilisation. As a result, it was integrated into most EPLF activities such as agricultural work, road construction, education, leisure and even fighting. EPLF cultural troupes often toured the frontlines to entertain and inspire the fighters and the diaspora to raise morale and money for the struggle. Whenever EPLF cultural troupes performed in the refugee camps in Sudan, many young people ‘voted with their feet’ to join the struggle.96 Songs and audiocassettes produced in the mieda were used by the EPLF as crucial means of disseminating information and education and as a means of income generation. Songs were also used as vehicles for coded messages transmitted to undercover operatives and the civilian population in the occupied parts of Eritrea. ERA’ S FUNDRAISING CAMPAIGNS ERA’s international NGO partners made a substantial difference to Eritrea’s victory by making their social networks and infrastructure available to ERA which used them to appeal directly to civil society associations and the public in donor countries. In 1987, ERA raised substantial funds via its Nowegian partners’ networks and infrastructures. Some of the money came from Scandinavian school children who traditionally dedicate a day or a week in a year to raise funds for a given global problem. Since there are always many competing deserving causes worldwide, there is often cut-throat competition for what they call in Norway, ‘Operasjon Dagsverk’. In 1987, at the peak of the Eritrean crisis, ERA in collaboration with its Norwegian partners persuaded secondary school students to donate the US $4 million generated in ‘Operasjon Dagsverk 1987’ to help the victims of war and drought in Eritrea (Harden, 1988: 4). However, the initiative, in addition to the money also brought along other non-material but vital benefits to Eritrea’s war of independence. First, though the government of Norway was sympathetic to the Eritrean cause, the Eritrean war of national independence was not formally recognised by the UN and so ‘Operasjon Dagsverk 1987’ was a remarkable political achievement. This was more so in view of the fact that the campaign coincided with the arrival of an Ethiopian delegation led by the vice prime minister (EPLF 1987). Second, ‘Operasjon Dagsverk 1987’ was a major source of publicity for the EPLF. Without the support of Norwegian civil society associations, this nationwide expression of civic commitment and solidarity with Eritrea would have been unthinkable. Other civil society associations also contributed substantially to public awareness in different parts of the world. For example, an Australian solidarity song on Eritrea composed and performed by one of the civil society associations won the Australian Performing Rights Association (APRA) 1986 Song of the Year award at the Tamworth Country Music awards (EPLF 1986a). PRODUCTION OF CONSUMER GOODS The seventh area of international NGOs’ contribution to the Eritrean war was in the production of consumer goods. In 1981 and 1984, the EPLF’s Industry

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Commission established factories that produced badly needed plastic footwear and sanitary napkins, respectively. International NGOs supplied ERA with the funds for the capital investment and paid all recurrent costs needed to run the factories throughout the war period. It is not possible to quantify the impact of the plastic sandals on the war, but without them, the EPLF would have been forced to use scarce foreign currency to import them. In 1987, the plant produced 478,160 pairs (EPLF 1989b: 29). The plastic sandal is now regarded as one of the most significant symbols of the Eritrean war of national independence – immortalised by a huge bronze statue of a plastic sandal in the national capital, Asmara. Since a substantial proportion of the EPLF fighters were women, sanitary towels were a necessity. The Industrial Commission therefore established a factory to produce sanitary towels in 1984, and by 1987 it was producing over 890,110 pieces a year (EPLF 1989b: 29). The towels were distributed to female fighters and to peasant and pastoralist women in the liberated areas. The distribution of the sanitary towels played a key role in the EPLF’s project of social transformation. Firebrace and Holland (1984: 81) described the importance of the manufacturing and distribution of sanitary towels as follows: a product which previously had been used only by a tiny elite of educated urban women, the bulk of the population had to make do with much less hygienic methods. Tigre women in the lowlands, following traditional taboos, sit inside a tent sited over absorbent sand when menstruating. They would prepare food for the family in this tent and pass the prepared meal under the flap of the tent to the men outside … The mass production and distribution of sanitary towels … is transforming both the self-image and the role of Eritrean women.

(Ironically, the supply of such sanitary towels ceased when the shooting stopped.) The Industrial Commission also established a leather and canvas factory in 1979. In 1987, the factory was producing goods worth US$72,854 (EPLF 1989b: 29). They established a textile factory in 1988 for the production of garments such as shirts, trousers, underwear, dresses and jackets needed by the EPLF fighters and the civilian population under the care of ERA (ibid.). None of this would have been possible without the commitment of ERA’s international partners. A factory for the production of children’s supplementary food (DMK) was also set up and between 1985 and 1987, the food factory produced 804.5 tons of DMK, which improved the nutritional status of children. In 1988 the factory also began to produce tomato paste and spaghetti (EPLF 1989b: 29). International NGOs’ support also enabled the EPLF to establish a metal workshop, a carpentry workshop and sawmill, all of which enhanced the quality of civilian and military life and contributed to Eritrea’s victory. INTEGRATED RURAL DEVELOPMENT Using financial and technical support provided by international NGOs, ERA designed and implemented six integrated rural development programmes (IRDPs) in the liberated areas. The programmes focused on agriculture, health, education, water development and road construction (EPLF 1990). Some of the best known were the IRDPs of Rora Habab (1986), Forto Mogoraib (1988), Asmat (1989),

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Saseba (1987) and Seáha (1987). According to the EPLF’s official organ, Sagem, these projects were implemented jointly with different departments such as agriculture, construction, health, public administration and education, as well as ERA and some international organisations (ibid.). Participants in all the projects were provided with cash, food, different farm tools, oxen, goats and seeds. In 1989, 1,822 oxen, 111 camels, 1,049 chicks, 1,000 quintals of barley, sorghum, beans and seed potatoes, as well as 23,000 farm tools were distributed to participants. In the same year, 62,000 heads of livestock were vaccinated and treated for different illnesses, 17 boreholes were drilled, and dams with a holding capacity of 166,000 cubic metres were built (ibid.). Between 1986 and 1988 the Commission of Agriculture rehabilitated 8,604 hectares of desert; between 1978 and 1987 it planted 254,985 trees; from 1986 to 1987 it terraced 308.3 hectares of land; in 1987 it vaccinated 291,000 animals and treated 193,812 more; between 1985 and 1987 it treated 106,743 poultry and distributed 8,584 quintals of seeds to 249,850 people, 15,828 oxen and camels to 15,828 people, and agricultural tools worth US$1,160,604.54. The commission also established 344 agricultural workshops in 1985 and 1986, and sprayed 57,477, 1,790 and 2,408 hectares of land against locust, grasshoppers and army worm infestations respectively in 1987 (EPLF 1989b: 27–8). The programmes were helpful particularly in the regions where the pastoral and agro-pastoral modes of production were dominant in the livelihoods of the majority of the people. In view of the aridity of the areas inhabited by people who relied on mixed farming or livestock rearing, people and their animals often migrated between places in search of water and pasture. This resource management system, however, collapsed during the war leading to a disruption of the livelihoods of Eritrean pastoral and peasant communities. The routes for the traditional seasonal movements were either disrupted, or large areas were mined and therefore rendered unsafe. As a result, people and livestock were forced to congregate in safer areas and the concentration of animals and humans in the safer but smaller areas led to depletion of renewable resources. Recurrent droughts have always been part of life in most parts of Eritrea. Nevertheless, these did not always lead to mass starvation because the people had their own well-thought-out responses that enabled them to resist, withstand or, if afflicted, to recuperate from the damaging consequences. Draught animals, particularly oxen, and seeds were key in the process of recovery. However, given the severity of the disasters and the intensity of the war, most families lost their oxen and consumed the seeds for the next season’s crops. ERA’s seed and oxen distribution projects were thus key not just to the recovery and consolidation of people’s livelihoods in the areas controlled by the EPLF, but were also vital in connecting the EPLF with the people. By the end of the 1980s, the livelihoods of most Eritreans living in the war-affected areas were dependent on the assistance provided by international NGOs through ERA. Thus, it is not an overstatement to claim that ERA’s international partners contributed to the reinforcement and consolidation of the networks that connected the EPLF with the people. This does not mean that without ERA the EPLF would have been disconnected from the people, but it does imply that the connection would have been undermined over the course of the years as people’s resilience was undermined by drought, displacement and war. The fact that ERA helped communities

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea to survive very excruciating conditions and in some cases to construct or reconstruct their lives, undoubtedly fortified the people’s trust and confidence in the EPLF. Without this enormous trust, confidence and political support, it is doubtful whether the EPLF would have succeeded through military might alone. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the cross-border operation and its spinoff effects both at home and abroad had a considerable impact on the war. Furthermore, it can be safely concluded that the EPLF’s strategy of self-sufficiency would not have been possible without ERA’s partners’ contributions in practically every aspect of the independence war. NON-MATERIAL SUPPORT The contributions from international NGOs to Eritrea’s national independence were not limited to material support. Many NGOs and civil society associations also called on their governments and the international community to seek a peaceful and lasting solution to the neglected Eritrean war of independence. For example in May 1986, an international conference of African and North American NGOs called on the UN to seek peaceful and just solutions to the South African and the Eritrean conflicts (EPLF 1986c: 8). An Inter-Scandinavian Solidarity Conference on Eritrea held in Oslo on 15–16 March 1986 called for similar interventions (EPLF 1986b). Although Eritrean peoples’ demand for self-determination was based on principles that were consistent with those of the Organisation of African Unity (OAU), the OAU did not recognise Eritrea’s right of national independence as this constituted ostensibly a threat to the national sovereignty of a member state, Ethiopia. The UN was also reluctant for similar reasons. Thus the international NGOs’ call on the major powers and the UN to seek a peaceful solution to the Eritrean conflict was a major political and diplomatic support for Eritrea. International civil society associations in North America, Western Europe and Australia defied their own governments’ official policies on Eritrea, thus playing an important role in placing the Eritrean conflict on the international agenda. Major shifts in positions occurred on the part of the major world powers during the second half of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s. These could have resulted from a combination of factors: (i) the unity of the Eritrean people; (ii) the spectacular military victories of the EPLF; (iii) the campaigns by international civil society associations on behalf of Eritrean people; (iv) the end of the Cold War and the consequent collapse of the Soviet Union; (v) the alliance between the EPLF and the Ethiopian guerrilla forces, the EPRDF;97 and (vi) the EPLF’s initiation and endorsement of the principle of referendum as an instrument of resolution of the question of self-determination. These factors accelerated international recognition of the Eritrean war of independence as it became clear that victory was inevitable. The war ended on 24 May 1991 with the defeat of the Ethiopian forces and the ousting of the Derg leader, Colonel Mengistu Hailemariam and his tyrannical regime. The following section addresses the Eritrean government’s subsequent policy on international NGOs. In view of the key role played by international NGOs in mobilising political and moral support, as well as channelling emergency relief and development aid during the war of independence, it will be interesting to examine the government’s success in building on the global networks created by and mediated through ERA during the war.

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Post-independence government policy on NGOs Many voluntary and humanitarian non-governmental organisations and UN peacekeeping forces are coming into the country. In order for the mission of the UN peacekeeping force to succeed, we express our wish that the people and the government co-operate with them. Our people are in dire need of emergency relief and we urge the humanitarian organisations to assist them wholeheartedly. Catholic Bishops of Asmara, Keren and Barentu (2001: 114)

As we have seen in the preceding section, international NGOs played crucial roles during the war of independence. Despite this, the Eritrean government adopted a hostile approach towards them, which included belittling their contribution to the struggle, soon after independence. Nevertheless, neither this nor the considerable restrictions placed on them, reduced many international NGOs’ willingness to get involved in the reconstruction of the new country. The government’s hostility to all autonomous organisations culminated in an unfavourable new policy declaration in early 1997. On 25 February 1997, the Commissioner of the Eritrean Relief and Refugee Commission (ERREC), Ahmed Baduri, called a press conference attended by representatives of all international organisations in the country, and announced, without prior warning, that the government had decided to phase out grants assistance and to limit the scope of NGO activity to the health and education sectors (Government of Eritrea 1997b). In the announcement, Baduri reiterated the well-worn mantra of self-reliance as a justification for focusing on health and education, and controlling all monies coming into the country. In actual fact, the government just wanted to force NGOs out of the country by making it impossible for them to carry out their activities. This became clear when Woldai Futur, a former World Bank employee and the president’s advisor on macro-economic affairs, said in an interview with Jos van Beurden that the government wanted the ‘foreign organisations’ with their ‘myriad of small projects’ to leave the country (quoted in van Beurden 2001). The government’s aim, said Futur, was to develop bilateral relations based on direct aid, trade and investment (in ibid.). However, the messages coming from the president’s office at the time were mixed and confusing. This was because the international NGOs in the country were told that they could shift their involvement to education and health. Nevertheless, that was not the instruction given to ERREC by the president’s office. The instruction given to ERREC, the government agency responsible for international NGOs, was ‘Niew belom’ (tell them to get lost). This message was not put in writing. It was communicated to ERREC’s officials orally.98 A number of international NGOs that tried to reallocate their resources to health and education were told to hand over their equipment and vehicles instead and leave the country.99 Several did, but four NGOs with long-standing working relations with the EPLF were allowed to stay on. Among the four were ACORD and Norwegian Church Aid. ACORD was asked to leave some years later. The government seems not to have realised that the expelled NGOs were from key donor countries and their representatives play important roles in influencing

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea decisions concerning aid allocations. The global humanitarian sector was going through significant changes as a result of ill-conceived interventions in Somalia, Rwanda and Bosnia-Herzegovina; there were moves at all levels to restructure and rationalise emergency and development interventions and Eritrea failed to seize the opportunity to adapt to the changing situation. The government also failed to realise the new significance of civil society organisations to donors – a point developed earlier in the chapter – who see a vibrant civil society as a yardstick for democracy in the post-Cold War period. By expelling the international NGOs, the government was making it clear that it understood neither the often arbitrary and personal rules of the development game nor the importance of NGOs, especially established ones such as Oxfam, Save the Children Fund or CARE, in policy development. This was all the more intriguing given that several of the NGOs forced to leave had stuck by the Eritrean guerrillas in their darkest hours and had even bent aid rules, or at least turned a blind eye to their broad interpretation, to enable the cross-border humanitarian operation of the 1980s (Duffield and Prendergast, 1994). The misguided move to ‘get rid of NGOs,’ whatever its intentions, embittered many key individuals in development circles, and the Eritrean government was justifiably branded as intolerant, arrogant and an enemy of civil society – a reputation which cost the Eritrean people financial support for reconstruction and political support during the 1998–2000 war with Ethiopia. Ironically, some government officials seemed to take pride in the labels. For example, the author once met Girma Asmerom, the former Eritrean Ambassador to the USA and now Ambassador to the EU in Brussels, in a flight from Addis Ababa to Europe. The author raised with him the then troubled relations between the UNHCR and the PGE. Instead of answering the author’s straightforward question, he said, ‘We are known in the international community as being arrogant, obstinate, undemocratic, intolerant and difficult to work with. We don’t care. Let them call us whatever they want. We shall carry on with what matters to us regardless.’ The government carried on regardless, and look at the state the country is in. The discussion was stillborn and therefore could not proceed. In the course of researching this book, several other government officials told the author, ‘We know what they call us and we don’t mind. We simply laugh at them.’ The view that donors and national and international NGOs are irrelevant and therefore their departure from the country would not make any difference is even shared by those who returned from the West to work for the government. Woldai Futur is one of them. As we saw earlier, he was positively predisposed to the government’s decision concerning the expulsion of NGOs from the country. As an employee of the World Bank, Futur,100 should have been aware of the damaging consequence of the government’s anti-NGO policy – after all, the Bank was the major architect of the neo-liberal policy agenda. His surprising position on the government’s hostile policy on NGOs is a reflection either of how little real influence even the ‘Senior Advisor on Macro Policy’ has on presidential decisions, or of opportunistic careerism and ambition. The World Bank’s keynote report, Sub-Saharan Africa: From Crisis to Sustainable Development, states unequivocally that: A strategy of development that stresses the dynamism of farmers, grassroots communities, and other parts of the non-modern sector needs to be matched by

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea changes in donor financing to reflect that emphasis. The need for change has been recognised. Donors increasingly channel assistance through NGOs––both northern and African. In 1987 official contributions for NGO activities amounted to about $2.2 billion, representing about 5 percent of total ODA. In addition, NGOs from the OECD countries collected some $3.3 billion for development through private fund-raising. (World Bank 1989: 132)

The Bank further points out: This reflects a growing belief that most NGOs are committed to addressing the problems of developing societies and the needs of their poorest members in a manner not matched by government officials. … They have found new support in donor countries, partly because they are seen as helping the poor directly––without the costly bureaucratic intermediation of donors and recipient governments and without the danger of assistance ending up in the pockets of the rich, the military, or the corrupt. (World Bank 1989: 132)

Futur’s remark on NGOs that had to leave the country was especially irrational, given the enormous task of reconstruction facing the government and Eritrean communities at the time. In 1987, NGOs were responsible for raising about US$3.3 billion across the world and managed more than $US7 billion channelled through them by governments and donors (UNDP 2002). The Bank, as well as the IMF and the EU, is one of the most important actors in international development aid policy and the government’s defiant attitude towards their strategic goals was a clear indication of the beginning of the end of international cooperation with the new government. Bearing in mind the state the country is in, it was unfortunate that the intellectuals, who should have advised the government against the above follies, joined the anti-NGO/civil society chorus. WHAT OF THE NGO PROJECTS? What happened to the communities and projects once the international NGOs left? There are no readily available data to provide an answer to this question, but field visits to specific sites have revealed that some of the projects supposedly taken over by the government in Gash Barka province collapsed immediately. Although generalisations can be misleading, there is no reason to doubt that the same thing happened to all other projects across the country. London-based ACORD was one of the four international NGOs that remained in the country. Prior to 1997, ACORD was funding and implementing a housing project for returnees in the western lowlands at a place called Alebu, which means ‘there is nothing’ in the local Tigre language. ACORD therefore planted and watered plantations to provide fuelwood and shade to the new community and these were thriving when the author visited the site in 1997 and again in 1998. The NGO was also planning to build a dam to channel sparse rainwater into reservoirs to provide a more regular supply of water for agricultural and domestic use. When ACORD was forced out of Gash Barka but not from the country, the Alebu project was handed over to the government. By 2001 it had collapsed.101 A field visit in January of that year revealed no trace of the trees that had been planted and most of the unfinished houses had collapsed. Villagers said that there was not enough water to keep the trees alive and that the government had abandoned the housing project. An elder in Alebu explained that, ‘Hukumetna (our

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea government) likes to disrupt the works of others but it does not bother to provide substitutes.’102 Another ambitious and successful resettlement project for demobilised fighters in the western lowlands that was funded and implemented by an Italian NGO was similarly abandoned. The government had encouraged resettlement of excombatants at Ali Gidir where Italian colonial settlers had developed a big cotton plantation. The government had put up houses but they soon became uninhabitable. The ex-fighters had therefore asked the Italian NGO to help them, but their hopes were shattered when the government asked the Italian NGO to leave the country before finishing construction. The half-built houses were left to collapse by the government. These observations are too cursory and limited to lead to any meaningful generalisation. However, several other people involved in development work in Eritrea confirmed that projects across the country collapsed after international NGOs left because the government lacked the necessary financial and human resources or administrative structures to run them. There is, however, no indication to suggest that this was ever considered. During a series of fieldwork in Eritrea, informants across the country told the author that they would not have been able to survive the war of independence had it not been for the assistance they received from NGOs. They thus could not understand why the government, instead of rewarding NGOs for their efforts ‘during the darkest days of the country’s history’, had to punish them. To them, this was inconsistent with Eritrean cultural norms. There are many sayings in all languages that define these norms; a Tigrinya proverb ‘nzigeberlka giberelu woy nigerelu (reward those who helped you; if you can’t, celebrate and acknowledge their help’) is just one example. The government, in flouting these norms, had undermined its own legitimacy with its core constituency, the Eritrean people. It is perhaps not surprising that the Eritrean president was against the prevailing opinion that NGOs have an important role to play in building grassroots capacity. On a visit to the US in 1995, president Afwerki stated on CNN that ‘NGOs make no difference’ to development which helps to explain the government policy. However, as we have seen before, NGOs do make a difference and they are as important during peace as in war. They can help to inculcate a culture of tolerance and pluralism and enhance the livelihoods and dignity of the poor. The impact of this in terms of economic development is difficult to quantify, but NGOs play key roles in the development of human capital, the strengthening of food security and sustainable livelihoods, the provision of public health and the promotion of education. In a post-conflict environment, these are vital to peaceful national reconstruction. No government in a post-war situation can afford to forgo all these benefits without imposing heavy burdens on its citizens. Eritrean officials the author interviewed argued that Eritreans should be the agents of social change in their own country and that the NGO budgets, being small, have no measurable impact on people’s lives.103 However, in a country such as Eritrea, where livelihoods are on a knife-edge and where resources, technical knowledge and hardware are scarce, NGOs can play a catalyst role in facilitating development and social change. When Oxfam UK was asked to leave the country, the staff held a farewell party in their office in Asmara attended by several government officials and the author. The author engaged the officials in an argument in which he voiced his opposition

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea towards the government’s policy. One official, who happened to be an old friend, said that the projects funded by NGOs were so insignificant that their departure would represent a net saving to the government. ‘We spend scarce human resources running after their many small projects,’ he said. ‘Now that they are leaving, we can concentrate on our own work.’104 Although his colleagues agreed with his statement, it would be difficult to know how many nodding heads were genuine and how many were the usual hypocritical expression of compliance with the ‘party line’, given the level of intolerance and suspicion. The official’s comment raises several issues. First, that the opinions of the project beneficiary groups interviewed by the author were completely at variance with the views of the government. However, in view of the absence of freedom of speech and press, the people were voiceless and could do nothing to influence the government’s decision. Second, although there is no necessary correlation between a project’s effectiveness and its budget, most of the NGOs’ projects had reasonable budgets. The author had previously raised the issue of budgets with a number of international NGOs’ representatives before they were asked to leave. Those approached said, ‘How can we raise large amounts of funds for big projects when the government’s policy on NGOs is uncertain and even hostile?’105 One representative said, ‘Had the government adopted a democratic and friendly policy on civil society, there would have been no problem of funds because all of us had great expectations that Eritrea would provide a rare window of opportunity in a continent where most things were going wrong.’106 ‘Your brothers have wantonly squandered the international sympathy that surrounded the birth of the Eritrean state,’ he lamented. Thus the limited NGO budgets cannot be seen in isolation from the undemocratic nature of the government and its hostile policy on civil society and NGOs. All donors and NGOs resent such policies. The international donor community does not look at Eritrea through the eyes of the Eritrean authorities; they have their own standards of measurement and Eritrea is a failure by those standards. A country where 66 per cent of citizens live below the national poverty line cannot claim to have a viable alternative standard. THE 1998–2000 BORDER WAR AND NGO S As the cause of the Eritrea-Ethiopia border war is highly contested (see Abbink 2003; Habte Selassie 2001; Lata 2005; Last 2005; Negash and Tronvoll 2000; Plaut 2005; Reid 2005), no attempt will be made here to discuss this (For a highly informed piece of the border war see Lata 2003.) Elias Habte Selassie states: The leadership of both countries [the EPLF and the TPLF] are a battle hardened lot in which military expedience dictates the order of things, and the concept of democracy is a rather new word in their vocabulary and its practice has yet to see the light of the day. (quoted in Lata: 2003: 375)

Alex Last, a BBC correspondent living in Eritrea when the border war broke out and almost throughout its duration, provided an account based on information elicited from, among others, Eritrean residents of the disputed areas. He provides a useful background to the border war that led to the death of over 70,000 soldiers on both sides as perceived by his Eritrean informants: In Badme in the late 1990s, the Eritrean residents complained to the government in

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Asmara that they were being harassed by the Tigriyan authorities who were settling more Ethiopians in Badme. One resident of Badme said he had visited the government in Asmara to complain, but was told to be quiet and to go back home. Still the complaints of harassment, confiscation of livestock, burning of crops kept coming. After the Ethiopian army had occupied Bada in the south-east, and with the introduction of the new currency [in 1997], the border problems started to be taken more seriously. On May 6th 1998, the Eritrean army unit in the area was asked to respond to these complaints and meet with the Tigrayan militia to resolve the problems. Such meetings were common ways of resolving disputes in border areas. (Last 2005: 59).

He further states: As the Eritreans walked towards Badme, they passed new stone markers that had been set up by the Ethiopian administration to mark, in their eyes, the boundary between Eritrea and Ethiopia. The Eritrean soldiers were then confronted by the local militia who ordered the soldiers to disarm, saying that they were now on Ethiopian territory. The soldiers refused, the militia opened fire, and several Eritrean soldiers were killed. One managed to escape, and made it back to the Eritrean army post. Senior officers were amongst the soldiers killed, veterans of the liberation struggle. The regular Eritrean army had by that time been whittled down from 90,000 to 35,000. Those who remained in uniform were close-knit. As a General remarked at the time, to die on the battlefield has honour, but they were killed in cold blood. Retaliation was the order of the day. (ibid.)

Hostilities broke out after Ethiopia declared sovereignty over land near Badme that had been administered by the TPLF during the independence war and later escalated into full-scale war. Unlike the previous war of independence, the border war involved both populations in a bitter tit-for-tat ethnic dispute, with Ethiopians expelling Eritreans and Ethiopians of Eritrean origins and Eritrea responding likewise, albeit on a much smaller scale (UN Human Rights Commission 1998; Kibreab 1999a; Legesse 1999; Woldeselassie 2000). At the peak of the war in May 2000, almost one million Eritreans were displaced. The terrible suffering caused by the fighting and the expulsion of over 70,000 Eritreans and Ethiopians of Eritrean origin (see Kibreab 1999; Legesse 1999) was exacerbated by a regional drought, which sent food production plummeting, raising fears of famine similar to the catastrophic events of the 1980s. To deal with the situation, the Eritrean government was forced to launch an appeal to the international community and humanitarian agencies who agreed to return, although hesitantly, to the country. The international response enabled most of the internally displaced people to return to their areas of origin by mid-2001, but a year later, over one million Eritreans were defined by the UN as being acutely vulnerable to food insecurity.107 However, although drought and declining crop yields had been regular features of Eritrea’s agro-pastoral landscape, the people had adopted traditional livelihood systems to cope with such contingencies. The situation had therefore resulted from a combination of displacement, forced conscription of agricultural labour and conflict which had precipitated a massive reduction in coping strategies. The government’s anti-NGO policy would have been countered and the social and economic consequence of the devastating border war would also have been minimised had there been international and national NGOs, as well as vibrant civil

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea society associations, in the country. The presence of an active civil society would have also opposed not only the expulsion of international NGOs, but also the border war itself. The only autonomous civil association that has refused to be intimidated into silence has been the Catholic Church. In a carefully crafted, but nevertheless scathing document published to mark Independence Day 2001, the bishops of Asmara, Keren, and Barentu warned against the systematic erosion of the country’s core cultural values and the rapid spread of moral decay and injustice, as well as the denial of fundamental freedoms and the rule of law. The bishops noted that Eritreans were ‘in dire need of emergency relief’ and they pleaded with humanitarian organisations ‘to assist them wholeheartedly’ (Eritrean Catholic Bishops 2001: 14). The bishops argued that the government, by emphasising the primacy of the nation state, had ignored the needs of the human being – the organising principle of the world according to the Christian belief system. The bishops also observed that this had resulted in dehumanisation that saw an already desperate people treated as an instrument serving the system. The bishops challenged the official conception of ‘self-reliance’ by arguing that the interests of humans needed to come first. In a country where people had been socialised from early childhood that life was not worth living without an independent state and that every Eritrean had an obligation to serve that state without question, the idea of asking the nation state to serve the people was indeed revolutionary. Alemseged Tesfai’s insight into the mind of the tegadalai (freedom fighter) is to some extent true of most Eritreans: ‘Almost every tegadalai accepts martyrdom as an inevitable outcome of his or her love and loyalty of the country and cause’ (Tesfai, 2002b: 46). Nevertheless, these sentiments have also produced a culture of deference and blind obedience to the government and the party leaders, even in the face of flagrant violations of individual human rights. Not only is the interest of the individual citizen subsumed to the ambiguous notion of ‘national interest’, but the leaders expect the same degree of obedience from civilians that they enjoyed from the tegadelti during the war. In the statement, the bishops also attacked the government’s policy of selfreliance, which they felt had resulted in the denial of humanitarian aid to desperate communities. They argued that although the principle was not wrong, it was not a goal worth pursuing at the expense of human well-being. To them, if the goal of self-reliance was a barrier to meeting human needs, it needed to be postponed or rejected. They pointed out that aid was not intrinsically debilitating; it was how it was used that was important. If creatively used, it can be empowering, they argued. The Eritrean government’s reluctant decision to invite international NGOs back into the country did not imply a change of heart over its policy or an end to its hostility to autonomous civil society associations and NGOs. They allowed the NGOs back simply because the government was unable to cope with the humanitarian disaster it had helped to precipitate. In fact, with the lack of any official acknowledgement, even implicit, of the error of the previous policies, the Eritrean people and representatives of the weak civil society associations in the country were worried sick that the government might arbitrarily decide to expel the international NGOs from the country once again and abolish the desperately needed food aid

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea that was keeping the country alive. As we shall see later, this is precisely what happened in mid-2005. Data elicited from interviews with Eritrean officials in 2001 and 2002 showed that the government had not changed its hostile stance towards NGOs, a position reinforced by its decision to expel demining NGOs at the height of the crisis. Discussions with representatives of international NGOs in the country indicated that whilst most of them were aware of the government’s unchanged position, the lifting of the ban saw many NGOs headed for the country to avert a major humanitarian disaster. In October 2001, there were 36 international and 14 national NGOs,108 ten UN agencies, and three Red Cross societies in the country (see Table 3.6). Just over two years later, in December 2003, there were 25 international NGOs, three Red Cross movements, 12 UN agencies, three donors, and 12 national NGOs.109 It is not clear from the data how many of the NGOs in the country failed to return the questionnaire or did not receive the questionnaire and were therefore excluded from the database. Those NGOs that came to the country after October 2001 were not included either. This suggests that the total number of international NGOs in the country was greater than the data in Table 3.6 show. Table 3.6 Projects received and entered into the W3 database as of 23 Nov. 2001110 Acronym

Name of reporting organisation

ACORD

Projects Value (US$)

Agency for Co-operation & Research 3 in Development Africare Africare 4 APS Associazione per la Parecipazione 2 allo Sviluppo CARE Care International 7 CESVI Cooperazione e Sviluppo 5 Concern Concern 3 COSV Co-ordinating Committee for Voluntary 8 Service Organisations CPE Citizens for Peace in Eritrea 1 CRIC Centro Regionale D’Intervento per 3 la Cooperazione CRS Catholic Relief Services 1 CSSECIDPC Committee for Solidarity & Support of 1 Eritrean Children at IDP camps DCA DanChurchAid-ACT International 5 DDG Danish Demining Group 1 DF Norway Development Fund 1 DIA Dutch InterChurch Aid 10 EDA Eritrean Demining Agency 1 EDF Eritrean Development Foundation 10 ErCS Eritrean Catholic Secretariat 7 ERCS Eritrean Red Cross Society 7 ESMG Eritrean Social Marketing Group (PSI) 1 EWDFA Eritrean War Disabled Fighters’ Association 3

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851,200 10,250,000 594,328 3,197,404 1,362,050 920,945 2,553,306 103,000 1,022,280 150,000 10,000 4,348,700 1,160,000 116,154 11,168,000 454,000 3,358,645 2,847,884 1,240,623 1,000,000 786,801

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Acronym

Name of reporting organisation

FRHAE

Projects

Family Reproductive Health Association 1 of Eritrea GAA German Agro Action 1 GVC Civil Voluntary Group 4 Haben Haben 3 HALO HALO Trust 1 HEWO Hansenians Eritrean Welfare Organisation 1 ICMC International Catholic Migration Commission 1 ICRC International Committee of the Red Cross 25 IMC International Medical Corps 9 InterSOS InterSOS 4 IRC International Rescue Committee 1 LSN Landmine Survivors Network 1 LWF Lutheran World Federation 4 Manitese Mani Tese 16 MAT Mines Awareness Trust 1 Mercy Corps Mercy Corps 5 Movi Mondo Movi Mondo 6 MSF-H Medicines sans Frontieres-Holland 3 MYEPC Evangelical Presbyterian Church 1 NCA Norwegian Church Aid 15 NCEW-ESCA Eritrean Solidarity and Cooperation 10 Association NPA Norwegian People’s Aid 15 NUEW National Union of Eritrean Women 3 NUEYS National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students 6 Refugee Trust 6 SCF Save the Children Fund 3 SHA Swiss Humanitarian Aid 11 Vision Eritrea Vision Eritrea Inc. 11 VSO Voluntary Service Overseas 1 War Child War Child 1 OCHA Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian 1 Affairs FOA Food and Agriculture Organisation 7 UNDP UN Development Programme 10 UNFPA UN Population Fund 4 UNHCR UN High Commissioner for Refugees 4 UNICEF UN Children’s Fund 18 UNMEE UN Mission to Ethiopia and Eritrea 39 WFP World Food Programme 2 WHO World Health Organisation 17 Total 346

Value 40,000 580,000 814,498 429,500 5,077982 41,409 235,000 0 1,729,861 1,057,699 0 84,000 1,669,862 2,481,654 500,000 6,655,595 982,284 813,000 50,000 1,005,800 2,087,922 1,005,800 134,411 598,227 1,205,757 4,824,000 1,700,800 9,077,025 120,000 400,000 785,000 2,153,183 6,282,124 2,823,829 19,176,395 5,305,971 404,344 76,957,152 11,373,000 228,803,297

Source: Information Co-ordination Centre (ICC), Who Does What and Where in Eritrea. A joint ERREC/UNOCHA venture to facilitate humanitarian interventions in Eritrea, Briefing 2, November 2001

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Table 3.7 Projects received and entered into the W3 database as of December 2003 Acronym

Name of reporting organisation

Type of organisation

Number of projects

Africare INGO 3 Agency for Cooperation and INGO 2 Research in Development – Eritrea CARE Care International INGO 8 CRS Catholic Relief Services INGO 7 CESVI CESVI INGO 1 CVG Civil Voluntary Group INGO 2 Concern Concern INGO 7 COOPI Cooperazione Internationale INGO 1 COSV COSV INGO 1 DIA Dutch Interchurch Aid INGO 4 ESMG Eritrean Social Marketing Group GAO111 5 EWDFA Eritrean War Disabled Fighters Civil Association 3 Association EC European Community Donor 1 FAO Food and Agriculture UN 6 Organisation Haben Haben LNGO 11 IMC International Medical Corps INGO 3 IRC International Rescue Committee INGO 2 IC Italian Cooperation Donor 2 JEN JEN INGO 3 KHCRD Kale Hiwet Church Relief and LNGO 4 Development LWF Luthern World Federation INGO 15 Manitese Mani Tese INGO 15 Mercy Corps Mercy Corp1s INGO 4 MACC Mine Action Coordination Centre INGO 1 Movi Mondo Movi Mondo INGO 2 NUEW National Union of Eritrean GAO 6 Women NDF Norway Development Fund INGO 3 NPA Norwegian People’s Aid INGO 3 NCAEritrea Norwegian Church Aid Eritrea INGO 18 OCHA Office for the Coordination of UN 2 Humanitarian Affairs Oxfam UK Oxfam UK INGO 6 RCSE Red Cross Society of Eritrea Red Cross movement Refugee Trust Refugee Trust INGO 7 SPIR Samaritan’s Purse INGO 2 UNICEF United Nations Children’s Fund UN 20 UNDP United Nation’s Development UN 30 Programme UNHCR United Nations High UN 9 Commissioner for Refugees

Value in US $

Africare ACORDEritrea

130

1,625,072.0 650,775,0

1,630,675.5 1,780,289.0 221,926.3 202,865.0 1,676,609.0 265,000.0 115,000.0 4,220,176.0 773,698.0 492,961.5 11,500,000.0 1,500,274.0 775,363.7 1,645,180.0 591,000.0 2,274,006.5 69,000.0 894,302.0 4,207,114.1 1,526,244.5 3,424,801.0 3,544,042.0 830,000.0 655,657.6 1,099,186.0 1,056,300.0 2,487,932.0 268,900.0

1

873,506.1 4,891,356.0 2,387,436.2 51,000.000 6,181,948.4 11,984,705.2 11,900.000.0

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea UNFPA Vision Eritrea VSO War Child WFP WHO Total

United Nations Population Fund Eritrean Vision Voluntary Services Overseas War Child World Food Programme World Health Organisation

UN LNGO INGO INGO UN UN

7 8 1 4 2 16 258

1,991,019.0 1,037,000.0 960,000.0 493,000.0 64,865,510.0 483,000.0 162,103,831.5

Source: Information Co-ordination Centre, Who Does What Where in Eritrea in 2003, Joint ERREC/UNOCHA Venture to Facilitate the Humanitarian Intervention in Eritrea, Asmara, December 2003.

DO NGO S MAKE A DIFFERENCE? This section looks at the scale of the NGO intervention, bearing in mind that the data may not be entirely accurate.112 The data in Table 3.6 show that at the time they were compiled, there were 346 projects in the country with a total budget of US$ 228,803,297. The data in Table 3.8 show the status of the 346 active projects in October 2001. All the NGO projects had secure sources of funding for 2001. Funding gaps were, however, reported by UN agencies. This reinforces the need for governments to develop policies that do not alienate NGOs if they wish to benefit from Western donor and NGO funding. The WFP and UNHCR projects on food and returnee aid represent about 59 per cent of all the assistance indicated in Table 3.7. In view of the crop failure in 2003, the largest amount of funds was allocated to food. Of the total 258 projects reported in Table 3.7, 21 per cent are on health and nutrition and 19 per cent on water and sanitation. Of the total amounts of funds for 2003, 53 per cent, 31 per cent and 16 per cent were allocated to emergency relief, recovery, rehabilitation and reconstruction (3 Rs), respectively and 16 per cent to development. The beneficiaries of the projects were the general population, IDPs, returnees, children, women, vulnerable groups, refugees, expellees, youth, disabled groups, institutions and agencies. It is interesting to note that even though there was an emergency phase characterised by an enormous humanitarian crisis and a security situation just calming down between September and October 2001, not all the agencies concentrated solely on humanitarian intervention. Out of the total 63 agencies that returned the questionnaire or were entered into the database, 42 had humanitarian projects accounting for 61 per cent of the funding whilst 35 and 27 agencies were involved in recovery and development, respectively. Recovery, rehabilitation, and reconstruction accounted for 13 per cent of funding and development 26 per cent. The data in Table 3.8 show that in October 2001, 184 projects out of the total 346 were under implementation, accounting for 77 per cent of all funding. Another 23 projects were under implementation although they were approaching the final stage of their life cycle. The Information and Coordination Centre (ICC) observes that, with the exception of 44 projects that finished earlier in 2001, the majority of the projects listed in the tables would remain operational in 2002, which suggests that, in addition to the projects listed, 44 others were completed before October 2001 when the data on the table were compiled. Though much of the funding was earmarked for food aid, the ICC data for 2001 clearly show that most projects (64 per cent) had multi-sectoral components,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Table 3.8 Duration of the projects as of October 2001 Status

Number of projects

Value in US$

Percentage of total

Formulation Awaiting funding Pilot implementation Full implementation Suspended Phasing out Terminal review

19 51 24 184 1 23 44

9,118,255 17,526,141 4,542,038 177,283,667 4,000,000 11,758,756 4,574,440

4.0 8.0 2.0 77.0 2.0 5.0 2.0

Total

346

228,803,297

100.0

Source: Information Co-ordination Centre (ICC), Who Does What and Where in Eritrea. A joint ERREC/UNOCHA venture to facilitate Humanitarian Interventions in Eritrea, Briefing 2, November 2001.

mainly health and nutrition; water and sanitation; capacity building and governance; education; food security; agriculture forestry and fisheries; refugee reintegration; housing; project support; livestock; and mine action (ICC 2001). The ICC data identify the categories of beneficiaries. Most are listed as being the general public, while IDPs are the next major beneficiary group. Returnees also benefited from 76 projects and were identified as being the primary beneficiaries in 30 projects. Children were recorded as primary beneficiaries in 38 projects worth US$20.5 million, and as secondary beneficiaries in 60 projects. Of 346 projects 46, or 13 percent, had capacity building as a component. Other beneficiaries included Eritreans and Ethiopians of Eritrean descent deported by the Ethiopian government, the elderly and disabled people, refugees, and young people. HAVE THE NGO S MADE A DIFFERENCE? At this point, it is important to go back to the vital question of whether NGOs have made a difference in Eritrea. During the past thirty years, there have been recurrent food crises in countries such as Eritrea, Ethiopia, Sudan, Somalia, Liberia, Mozambique, Rwanda, Angola, Burundi, Congo, and Liberia (Guardian, 30 November 2002). The Guardian attributes this to inextricably interwoven factors such as ‘… civil wars, conflicts with neighbours or to appalling leadership, as well as environmental factors such as drought and floods’ (2002). There is a good fit between the factors that are the causes of the looming humanitarian crisis that is Table 3.9 Breakdown of projects by status, 2003 Project status Programme formulation and design Approved and awaiting funding Under implementation Completed

Number of projects 4 13 198 43

Total

258

Value (US$) 198,920.0 4,806,838.0 150,407,305.5 6,707,767.1 162,103,831.5

Source: ERREC/UNOCHA Information Co-ordination Centre, Who Does What Where in Eritrea in 2003

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea currently unfolding in Eritrea and The Guardian’s explanation of the causes of the crisis in the countries mentioned. The proliferation of political organisations threatening to forcefully oust the government, the meddling of neighbouring Ethiopia in the internal affairs of Eritrea through opposition groups, the equally provocative Eritrean government’s interference in the internal affairs of Ethiopia reflected in its support for opposition groups and the intransigence of the government have put the country on the edge of an abyss which may, in the absence of peaceful political change, lead to a civil war in the future. In short, some of the causes of the current crisis are, inter alia, autocratic rule, the state of no-war-no-peace, a failed leadership with no sense of direction, unfavourable weather conditions and hostility to civil and political society. Thus, contrary to what the Eritrean head of state said, the government is mainly responsible for the recurrent crises. In the post-border war period, NGOs, international donors and the United Nations prevented the situations from deteriorating into horrifying humanitarian disasters. Governance is central to the food crisis in Eritrea and the activities of humanitarian agencies have kept the lid on the tragedy. The crisis that has gripped the country since May 1998 could easily have degenerated into an appalling humanitarian crisis had it not been for the UN, international donors and NGOs. The total value of their projects in Eritrea in October 2001 was US$228,803,297 or 36 per cent of national GDP, assuming that the 2002 GDP of US$644 million (World Bank 2002) was the same as that of 2001. It cannot, therefore, be said that NGOs do not make a difference as the Eritrean head of state told CNN in 1995. When the government decided that the emergency phase of reconstruction was over and expelled international humanitarian NGOs, up to 80 per cent of the population’s food requirements was derived from food aid (ERREC 1996: 16) and 71 per cent of the 346 projects registered in the country were funded and run by NGOs (see Table 3.6).113 While it is difficult to quantify precisely the exact contribution of NGOs in averting humanitarian disaster, it can safely be claimed that, without their generous contributions, more lives would have been lost and the country plunged into a deeper crisis.114 NGO intervention has been crucial in addressing the basic needs of the Eritrean population, but it has also helped in supporting the regeneration of the weakened survival mechanisms. Although the Horn of Africa is a drought-prone and environmentally marginal region, its people have over time developed complex livelihood strategies to mitigate vulnerability and reduce risk of crisis (Kibreab 2002b, 2001a, 2001b, 1996a, 1996d). These strategies, predicated on a reservoir of long-standing survival strategies, were developed through trial and error. Unfortunately, prolonged war and displacement have undermined societal resilience and tipped the delicate balance between survival and crisis. Consequently, the government’s policy on NGOs and civil society has greatly undermined the recovery of traditional livelihood strategies. It is not an overstatement to say that international aid and NGOs are indispensable for countries whose geographic location, exposure to adverse weather conditions, poor natural resource endowments, bad governments, and underdeveloped economic, physical and social infrastructures, constitute almost a permanent state of disadvantage. Eritrea is a glaring example of such reality. Although the country received substantial amounts of aid, most of it was

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4,077,059 896,388 10,748,202 3,284,808 28,145,330 10,292,500 992,000 5,038,000 670,000 54,395,000 1,924,260 120,463,547

FAO OCHA UNDP UNFPA UNHCR UNICEF UNIDO UNMAS UNMAS/UNDP WFP WHO Grand total

4,077,059 896,388 10,748,202 3,284,808 28,814,330 10,292,500 992,000 5,038,000 670,000 29,656,978 1,924,260 95,725,525

Revised requirement 1,095,546 47,214 3,127,000 0 14,657,475 2,405,960 0 0 0 2,393,714 0 23,726,909

Contributions 0 0 1,133,186 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1,133,186

Pledges 2,981,513 849,174 6,488,016 1,649,611 13,487,855 7,886,540 992,000 5,038,000 670,000 27,263,264 1,924,260 69,230,233

Resources Unmet available requirements

0 1,095,546 0 47,214 0 4,260,186 1,635,197 1,635,197 0 14,657,475 0 2,405,960 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2,393,714 0 0 1,635,197 26,495,292

Carry over 6.9 5.3 9.6 9.8 2.1 3.4 0.00 0.00 0.00 8.10 0.00 7.7

Per cent covered

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Source: Information Co-ordination Centre, a Joint ERREC/UNOCHA Venture to facilitate humanitarian interventions in Eritrea, Asmara.

Original requirement

Appealing organisation

Table 3.10 Current consolidated inter-agency appeal (CAP) funding status as of 31 July 2002, UN agencies (in US $)

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea concentrated on humanitarian activities in 2001 and 2002. Even in this area, the needs were far greater than the contributions of the international donor agencies. For example, according to data compiled by OCHA at the end of July 2002, half way through the calendar year, most of the funds required for the Consolidated Inter-Agencies Appeal were still unavailable. As of 31 July 2002, only about 28 per cent of the revised requirement of US $95,725,525 was funded (see Table 3.10). According to the ICC Humanitarian Update, the response to the food component was particularly sluggish. It is possible that the international community’s action was inextricably linked to the government’s human rights record and policy towards civil society associations and NGOs. RENEWED ASSAULT ON INTERNATIONAL AND NATIONAL NGOS As seen earlier, the Eritrean government for a long time failed to enact legislation that would regulate the relationship between NGOs and the government, as well as the activities of NGOs. As a result, attempts made by Eritreans to form civil associations, including NGOs, got frustrated by the government which claimed lack of an institutional framework within which NGOs would interact with the government, the people, UN agencies, multilateral organisations and among themselves. The government used the absence of such law and policy framework to stifle the emergence and consolidation of the voluntary sector. The few national organisations allowed to engage in relief and rehabilitation work during, and in the immediate aftermath of, the tragic border war (May 1998-June 2000) that led, inter alia, to the displacement of nearly one million Eritreans,115 did so in the context of a policy vacuum. This policy vacuum provided the government arbitrary powers that could be used without any constraint to order national or international NGOs to cease their activities at any time without having to explain the reasons underlying its decisions. After fourteen years of promises, the government eventually agreed to enact the long-awaited piece of legislation and it was promulgated on 11 May 2005. However, notwithstanding the fact that the law had a direct effect on the wellbeing of most Eritreans, its promulgation was not preceded by a debate concerning the role of non-governmental organisations in development, democratisation and food security. Instead, the proclamation was decreed without prior warning to the diplomatic community, NGOs, the UN, the development communities and the Eritrean people. Considering that 1.3 million Eritreans from a total population of about four million were at the time dependent on food aid,116 it would be any rational person’s expectation that the law would have been designed to maximise the responses of the international community, including donors, UN and multilateral agencies and NGO partners, to the problem of emergency relief and longterm food security. Contrary to any rational expectation and without considering the immediate and long-term interest of the country and its citizens, the government opted for legislation that aimed at: first, arresting the emergence and growth of new national NGOs; second, eliminating the few national NGOs that had been allowed to work in the area of emergency relief during and after the border war; and third, forcing international NGOs out of the country. Proclamation 145/2005 was underpinned by the assumption that NGOs create and perpetuate a dependency mentality

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea which the Eritrean government considers incompatible with its misconceived notion of self-reliance. This is clear from the preamble of Proc. 145/2005 in which it is stated, ‘Whereas, success in relief and rehabilitation programmes should involve effective community participation, promote positive cultural work values and discard all vestiges of dependency syndrome … now therefore it is proclaimed as follows:’ (emphasis added). The law stipulated that NGOs should ‘pay taxes and/or duties on all goods which they import into Eritrea’.117 This was to apply to all imports, including food and other goods for emergency relief, rehabilitation and development. This was in addition to a previous law that required expatriate employees of NGOs to pay income tax. This is reiterated in the new law.118 The law also states, ‘the activities of every NGO shall be limited to relief and/or rehabilitation works.’128 The permit of any NGO that engaged in activities outside relief and rehabilitation would be revoked and ‘the representatives or employees of such NGO responsible for such illegal activities on behalf of the NGO shall be held liable under the relevant provisions of the Penal Code of Eritrea.’120 It is surprising that engaging in development activities without authorisation is equated with serious crimes, such as ‘political or economic sabotage or subversive activities against the State of Eritrea or Eritrean national interests’.121 Since the line dividing emergency, rehabilitation and development activities is either non-existent or very thin, such a law can be used by the government to prosecute any representative or employee of an NGO for violating the provisions of the proclamation. The law on NGOs also requires local or national NGOs ‘to have at their disposal in Eritrea one million US dollars or its equivalent in other convertible currency, or technical or other capacity amounting to it ’.122 Since no local NGO is likely to have such ridiculous resources at their disposal, this is a way of outlawing local NGOs in the country. The corresponding financial requirement for international NGOs is two million US dollars.123 The law requires that international NGOs engaging in relief and/or rehabilitation do so through the Ministry of Labour and Human Welfare or other government entity.124 This is obviously intended to facilitate government control of their activities. The question that arises is: how many international NGOs would accept these draconian measures? We shall see later the impact of the new law on international NGOs. There are no data on the new law’s impact on local NGOs, but if the government implements the provisions of the law, none of the existing local NGOs would be able to meet the financial requirements (see Table 3.6). However, the government has been applying the law discretionarily against any international and national NGOs which do not serve its interest. The new law has not, for example, affected the so-called party affiliated NGOs or the mass organisations of the PFDJ. However, their sources of funds from donors and international organisations seem to have dried up completely. As the data in Table 3.11 show, there was not even a single project that was implemented by any of the PFDJ-affiliated mass organisations. Unlike previous years, it is most probably because none of the donors is willing to channel its funds through them. THE PROCLAMATION ON NGO S AND ERITREA’S ISOLATION The law on NGOs was not promulgated under normal circumstances. It was an expression of the government’s rage with the whole international community,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea including donors, UN agencies and NGOs for allegedly favouring Ethiopia in the border dispute. Thus after enacting the law, the Eritrean government not only took some dramatic and unexpected measures against its international partners, but it also disengaged completely from all forms of dialogue with its partners. This has led to the country’s complete isolation and marginalisation. The major obstacle in addressing the food insecurity problem in the country has been the lack of engagement between the government and aid agencies. For example, during his visit to Eritrea, the United Nations special humanitarian envoy for the Horn of Africa, Kjell Magne Bondevik, said ‘This lack of dialogue for the past nine months has resulted in a lack of information to partners about the humanitarian situation on the ground.’125 In July 2005, notwithstanding the fact that the survival of two-thirds of the total population was dependent on food aid, the government asked the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) to stop its operations and activities, for no other reason than being ‘uncomfortable with the agency’s work.’126 In the fiscal year 2004, the US spent more than US$75 million on health, security, nutrition, HIV/AIDS, malaria, education and others (Reuters 2005a). The US was also the largest donor of food aid to Eritrea which amounted to 774,679 metric tonnes of food (Reuters 2006). In June 2005, the US government had announced that it would provide food aid that covered more than 100 per cent of the estimated 262,000 tonnes cereal needs of the country (Reuters 2005b). In September 2005 the government took another dramatic measure which left all concerned dumbfounded. It instructed aid agencies to distribute food aid to just 72,000 recipients down from about 1.3 million in August 2005. The government’s decision was not based on the fact that the families had found alternative sources of livelihoods but rather ‘to encourage self-reliance.’127 The deleterious consequence of this policy on the well-being and nutritional status of the people was immediate. Findings of a few nutritional surveys conducted after the government’s decision show that ‘the situation is deteriorating, with malnutrition levels double what they were in 2005’.128 The cause of the widespread malnutrition ‘has been attributed to the government’s decision to stop general food aid distribution in September 2005’.129 The effect of the government’s hostile policy on NGOs has been equally dramatic. Since the coming into effect of the new law in June 2005, ‘the number of NGOs working in the country has dwindled from 37 to 13.’ A closer examination of the data in Tables 3.6, 3.7 and 3.12 show that not only has the number of international and national NGOs shrunk dramatically between 2001 and 2007, but also the total number of projects implemented by such organisations, as well the funds, have diminished dramatically. For example, in 2001, there were 33 international NGOs in the country implementing 147 projects at the cost of US$49,615,039 (Table 3.6). There were also nine national NGOs implementing 53 projects at the cost of US$20,931,400. Four PFDJ-affiliated organisations that called themselves NGOs also implemented 11 projects at the cost of US$1,772,638 (see Table 3.6). The total number of international NGOs was reduced from 33 to 25 in 2001. Spending on projects was reduced from US$346,228,297 in 2001 to US$162,103,831.1 in 2003 (Tables 3.6 and 3.7). The total amount of funds was also reduced to US $34,365,130 (Table 3.7). The total number of national NGOs

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea Table 3.11 Projects received and entered into the W3 database in 2007 Acronym

Name of funding agency

No. of Projects

UNDP EC UNICEF ECHO

Value (US $)

UN Development Programme 15 European Community 21 UN Children’s Fund 12 European Community Humanitarian 6 Office UNFPA UN Population Fund 5 WHO World Health Organization 1 LWF Lutheran World Federation 8 RCSE Red Cross Society of Eritrea 6 UNHCR UN High Commission for Refugees 2 DIA Dutch InterChurch Aid 5 DFID Department for International 1 Development GITEC Consult GITEC Consult GMBH 1 GMBH CARE Care International 8 Refugee Trust Refugee Trust 4 NCA Eritrea Norwegian Church Aid Eritrea 7 Vision Eritrea Vision Eritrea, Inc. 7 IC Italian Cooperation 4 Norwegian Royal Norwegian Embassy 2 Embassy FAO Food and Agriculture Organisation 1 GTZ Gesellschaft für Technische 1 Zusammerbeit Oxfam GB Oxfam GB 3

16,660,409.00 12,107,468.00 7,167,232.88 4,789,875.00

Total

74,740,002.98

120

3,945,013.00 3,487,000.00 3,050,835.00 2,881,620.00 2,867,705.40 2,257,766.00 1,940,000.00 1,900,000.00 1,805,308.00 1,727,791.70 1,529,155.00 1,381,366.00 1,317,900.00 1,193,000.00 1,123,624.00 1,000,000.00 606,934.00

Source: Information Co-ordination Centre (ICC), Who Does What and Where in Eritrea. A Joint ERREC/OCHA venture to facilitate humanitarian intervention in Eritrea, 2007. Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/ view/ 4679/9/ (accessed 15 Feb. 08).

was reduced from nine in 2001 to five in 2003. The number of projects implemented by national NGOs was reduced to 27 from 53 in 2001. National NGOs’ funds also shrank to US$8,100,884 from US$20,931,400 in 2001. In 2003, there were only two PFDJ-affiliated organisations implementing 11 projects with US$1,429,355 funding (Table 3.7). The effect of the government’s anti-NGO and civil society policy is clearly manifested in the data in Table 3.11. In 2007, there were only seven international NGOs implementing a total of 41 projects at a total cost of US$13,859,410. National NGOs were almost wiped out. As the data in Table 3.11 show, there were only two national NGOs implementing 13 projects at the cost of US$4,262,986. Between 2001 and 2007, the total number of international NGOs,

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea the projects they implemented and the amount of funding were reduced by 82, 72 and 72 per cent, respectively. The corresponding figures for national NGOs are 88, 76 and 80 per cent, respectively. Instead of learning from its past mistakes, the government is still reiterating its dogmatic slogan of ‘self-reliance’ and consequently plunging the country into deep crisis. The government does not seem to realise that the goal of self-reliance is an illusion oblivious to Eritrean reality where 66 per cent of citizens were below the national poverty line. To make matters worse, in February 2006, the government kicked out of the country six Italian NGOs on the allegation that they did not meet the legal requirements. These were CESVI, GVC, Manitese, NEXUS, COSVA and COOPI.130 In March 2006, the Eritrean government expelled another three international NGOs – namely, Charity Mercy Corps International (USA), Concern Worldwide of Ireland and ACORD (UK). A local NGO – Hansenians Eritrean Welfare Organisation – was also ordered to terminate its operations. Not only was the government’s decision sudden but no explanation was given for the expulsion of the agencies.131 Through a letter, the agencies received the following information, ‘While thanking your organisation for the contribution [it has] made to relief and rehabilitation programmes in Eritrea in the past years, the Ministry kindly officially informs you that the registration of certificate is recalled and requests the termination of your activities’ (BBC 2006a). In November 2006, the government also kicked out International Rescue Committee and Samaritan’s Purse.132 The expulsion of the NGOs was preceded by a fierce campaign in which the state media accused them of being agents of neo-colonialism that undermined the government’s misguided strategy of self-reliance (Awate Team 2006). Although the government thanked the NGOs for their work in relief and rehabilitation, one of the expelled NGOs, ACORD, is a development agency and therefore did not work in relief and rehabilitation. Before Eritrea’s independence, ACORD funded and managed a large and successful tractor hire service in the six land-based settlements for Eritrean refugees in the Qala en Nahal district, Eastern Sudan. It also ran a successful credit scheme in Port Sudan and Qala en Nahal (see Kibreab 1987a; 1996a). When the refugees returned to Eritrea, it followed them and became involved in house construction, micro-credit provision, incomegeneration and reforestation. It also had a very successful credit scheme in the Southern region which was highly appreciated by the Eritrean government and the people. When the government expelled all the non-governmental organisations in the country in 1997, ACORD was one of the four NGOs that had not been affected. It is not clear why it was asked to leave the country considering that it had had such a long-standing relationship with the EPLF. The data presented in this chapter show that the government, by pursuing policies and practices that are inimical to civil and political associations, has, on the one hand, denied the Eritrean people access to badly needed emergency relief and development aid and, on the other, stifled the transition to democracy. The following chapter explains the factors behind the government’s hostile policies towards any form of civil and political society association.

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Notes 1 2 3

4

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16

17 18 19

According to the UNDP in 2000, there were 37,000 registered NGOs world-wide (UNDP, 2002: 102) It was at that congress the EPLF changed its name to PFDJ. This view was expressed by the following individuals who were interviewed at different times – R81, Asmara 14 February 1995; R82, Asmara 14 Feb. 1995; R83, Asmara 14 Feb. 1995; R101, Asmara 17 March 1997; R97, Asmara 17 March 1997; R104, Asmara 23 March 1997; R111, Asmara 21 April 1998; R207, Asmara, January 2001; R260, Tessenei, 16 January 2001; R280, Asmara August 2002. If the National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW) were a true representative of Eritrea’s women, they would have represented the interests of Eritrean peasant women. However, the NUEW as an affiliate of the government and the ruling party is more preoccupied with promoting and protecting the interests of the government and the ruling party rather than countering the negative consequences of their policies and practices for women in general and peasant women in particular. Muhyadin Shengeb defected in May 2004. R109, personal communication, Asmara, 14 March 1997; R110, personal communication, Asmara, 17 March 1997; R114, personal communication, Tessenei 27 March 1998. See Proclamation No 11/1991 as amended by Proclamation No 82/1995 This was repeatedly pointed out by many female and male interviewees over a period of eight years in different parts of the country between 1994 and 2002, author’s field notes. Article 1 of Legal Notice No. 5, 1992 (Asmara, 16 November 1992). There were 14 days between the day the Notice was issued and the deadline, but most agencies did not hear about the notice until several days later because of the poor communication infrastructure. Personal interviews R10, Asmara 7 December 1993; R11, 9 December 1993; R20, Asmara, 5 November 1994; R26, Asmara, 12 December 1994. The letter was published in the Eritrean website asmarino.com in July 2001. R221, Asmara, January 2001; R250, Asmara, 2 August 2002; R239, Asmara, 27 July 2002; R251, Asmara, 3 August 2002. R98, Asmara, 13 April 1997. According to Paulos Tesfagiorgis (2004). The EPLF Central Committee meetings and congresses were preceded by meetings of the secret Marxist-Leninist party to decide major resolutions and to pre-select candidates for membership in the executive and central committees of the EPLF. This is confirmed by the former leaders of the war of liberation – Haile (Durué) Woldensae, Mahmoud Sherifo, Ogbe Abraha and Berhane Gebreghziabher (in Connell 2005). Ironically, a few years later, one of the account holders, Ermias Debessai, was sentenced by the ‘Special Court’ in Asmara to seven years in prison for alleged embezzlement of public funds. The Special Court was set up in the mid-1990s and lacked all due process of law. Under its provisions, there is no presumption of innocence, no Habeas corpus, no right of representation or of appeal. Therefore, Debessai’s conviction cannot be said to have any basis in law. Since there is nothing written on the RCHRD, nearly all the data in this case study are based on interviews with Paulos Tesfagiorgis, London, 2 September 2003 and October 2004. There was then no official NGO policy. Other founding fathers of modern Eritrean nationalism include Ibrahim Sultan, Saleh Kebire, Abraha Tessema, Seyoum Maasho, etc. The second father of Eritrean nationalism was Ibrahim Sultan who passed away just before the country’s independence.

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

39 40

41 42 43

44 45 46 47 48 49

According to Tesfagiorgis, the interrogation triggered a flashback to his arrest by Ethiopian security officials in the 1970s, but he had been a senior ranking member of the EPLF and its secret Marxist-Leninist clique, and the way his former comrades treated him was heartbreaking and an ‘utter betrayal of trust’. The Ethiopian Birr was the legal tender of Eritrea until 1997, when it was replaced by the Eritrean Nakfa. E-Mail correspondences, 10/02/2008; 07/02/2008 and 11/02/2008. Ibid. Ibid. Antonio Tesfay, http://news.asmarino.com/Comments/October2003/AntonioTesfay_ 28.asp (accessed 10 October 2003). President Isaias Afwerki’s speech to disabled ex-combatants, 10 September 1994 quoted in Antonio Tesfay, http://news.asmarino.com/Comments/October 2003/Antonio Tesfay_28.asp (accessed 12 December 2003). Although there has been no research into the class structure of the paraplegic and disabled fighters, interviewees who helped out at Kagnew Station told the author that most of them were young and poor. Disabled ex-combatant, personal communication, Asmara, 17 March 1998. Disabled ex-combatant, personal communication, Asmara 17 March 1998. Disabled ex-combatant, personal communication, Asmara, 29 March 1998. Amanuel Iyassu, Personal communication, London, 24 February 2004. R70, Asmara, 12 February, 1995; R75, Asmara, 19 Feb.1995; R77, Keren, 25 Feb. 1995. R75, Asmara, 19 February 1995. R73, Asmara, 23 February 1995. R123, Tessenei, 26 November 1997; R124, Barentu, 27 November 1997. R27, Asmara, 17 January 1994. Ibid. The data were collected by ERREC as part of the demobilisation process. The name of the site where the data were obtained, i.e. the sub-office’s name, is withheld to protect the staff. The data were collected in March 1998, from the archives of one of ERREC’s sub-offices in the regions. In 1995 and 1996 extensive interviews were conducted by the author with demobilised women fighters in Keren, Hagaz and Ghinda as well as the examination of about 60 files of demobilised fighters selected at random in one of the sites. These data are based on interviews with fifty female ex-combatants in different parts of Eritrea between 1994 and 2002. The interviewees were systematically selected taking into account the time they were admitted into the Front. Some were long-term fighters and others joined the Front towards the end of the war. Those who joined the Front in their pre-teen years were either orphans or their parent/s were members of the EPLF. The Front had a policy against recruitment of under-age children. R81, Hagaz, 3 March 1995; R86, Hagaz, 3 March 1995; R77, Keren, 25 Feb. 1995; R75, Elaberet, 26 Feb. 1995. Fozia Hashim, Minister of Justice; Zeru Woldemichael manager of the National Insurance Company of Eritrea (NICE); Ibrahim Said from ERREC and Hiwet Zemichael from ERREC; Araya Tsegai, the Manager of the Housing Bank of Eritrea; Tesfai Gebreab from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and independent lawyers Seyoum Haregot and Teferi Berhane. There were two separate management boards – one for BANA and one for EWWVA. E-mail correspondences, 10/02/2008; 07/02/2008 and 11/02/2008. Ibid. It is not clear from the correspondence whether the president meant to transfer him ‘elsewhere’ or to give him additional work. Ibid. Ibid. This was not denied by the former director of Mitias. (emphasis added).

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

58 59 60 61 62

63 64

65 66 67

68 69

70 71

Eritrean bureaucrats trained under the Italians and the British who went to work in Ethiopia in the 1940s characterised the government there as ‘governo sensa fascicollo’ ‘government without files or records’, i.e. unaccountable and arbitrary. Amanuel Mehreteab, e-mail correspondences, E-mail correspondences; 10/02/2008; 07/02/2008 and 11/02/008. Ibid. Proclamation No. 73/1995 (Asmara, 15 July 1995). The Preamble of Proclamation No. 73/1995 begins, ‘The right of every Eritrean to freedom of religion and conscience is guaranteed and protected by law.’ Article 2 (1) of Proclamation No. 73/1995. The founder of Wahhabism was Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab (1703–1792) who rejected any form of modernity in favour of a return to the sacred past. See also http://usinfo.state.gov (accessed 19 March 2006). USA v. Usama Bin Laden – Tribunal transcript Day 2, Digital file from the court reports office, Southern District of New York, 6 February 2001. Available at http://cryptome.org/usa-v-ubl-02.htm (accessed 17 March 2006); Jamal al-Fadl, The biography of an al Qaeda terrorist. Available at http://www.rotten.com/library/bio/crime/terrorists/jamal-al-fadl (accessed 19 March 2006); see also http://www.military.com/Resources/Resource FileView? file=AlQaida-Connected-Groups.htm (accessed 19 March 2006). The literal meaning of the term Keshi in Tigrinya is reverend but unlike the latter the former does not denote an occupation. It is a title of honour and dignity. See, for example, Proclamation No. 73/1995 (Asmara, 15 July 1995) which guarantees freedom of religion and conscience and the separation of religion and state. Section 7 (A) of the National Democratic Programme of the EPLF, 31 January 1977. Section 7 (A) of the National Democratic Programme of the EPLF, 31 March 1987. Adult literacy (>15 years) in 2003 was 56.7 and the corresponding average for subSaharan Africa was 61.3 per cent. Combined gross enrolment in primary, secondary and tertiary in Eritrea and SSA were 35 and 50 per cent, respectively. GDP per capita (purchasing power parity) for Eritrea and SSA were US$849 and US$1,856, respectively. The corresponding figures for Eritrea and SSA on life expectancy index, education index, GDP index, were 0.48 and 0.35, 0.49 and 0.56, 0.36 and 0.63, respectively. Eritrea scores far less except in life expectancy. See Article 37, Proclamation on National Service No. 82/1995 Chapter 1 Military Offences, Section 1. Breaches of Liability to Serve, Article 296 (2). The Ethiopian Penal Code is still in force in Eritrea. This is available at http://www.unhcr.ch/cgi-bin/texis/vtx/rsd?search=c&ISO=ERI (accessed 17 January 2007). Ibid., Article 300 (2). Human Rights Watch, Eritrea: Human Rights Overview 2006. BP Staff Reporter, Eritrea Jails 170 Protestants; another 74 continue in prison. Christian sects included the Born Again Christians, Faith Mission and Seventh Day Adventists and communities of other faiths included Bahais and Buddhists. See http://eri24.com/ news2961.htm (accessed 6 October 2006); See http//:zete.delina.org/zet/309.asp?quSri=309 (accessed 11 October 2004). These are according to Dr Jelaledin Saleh: 1) Sheikh Abdul alim Mohamed Ali Zerom (Imam); 2) Sheikh Mohammed Hamed Osman, graduate from the Islamic University, Medina, Saudi Arabia; 3) Sheikh Al Hassan Adam, graduate from the Islamic University, Medina; 4) Sheikh Ibrahim Jimi; 5) Abdalah Dar, graduate from Medina; 6) Mohammed Maranet, Judge in the Shari’a court; 7) Sheikh Mohammed Tahir Hazot; 8) Sheikh Idris Arey; 9) Sheikh Hussain Briday, Imam; 10) Sheikh Abdurrahman Amharay; 11) Idris Mohamed Said, graduate from the Islamic University, Medina; and 12) Yassin Ahmed Sheikh Zayed, Imam. Nab Minister Zobawi Memehdar Kbur Ato Mahmoud Sherifo, Asmara 3 August 1999 (To the Minister of Regional Government, His Excellency Mr Mahmoud Sherifo, Asmara 3 August 1999’. The parent wrote three letters – one in Arabic to the Eritrean Head of State, Isaias

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Associational Life in Independent Eritrea 72

73 74

75

76 77 78

79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88

Afwerki, another in Tigrinya to the Minister of Regional Government, Mahmoud Sherifo, and a third in English to the American Embassy in Asmara, These were 1) Mohammed Hagos Ibrahim: 2) Mohammed Saeed Abdulrahim; 3) Saeed Abudqader; 4) Hassan Mohammed Shum; 5) Jemal Mohammed Nur; 6) Salhaddin Omer Abdulqader; 7) Nasser Abdullah; 8) Abdu Idris Ali; 9) Mohamed Nur Abrary; 10) Ahmadia Omer; 11) Abudrahim Abdulqadir; 12) Abubeker Mohammed Idris; 13) Abdurahman Mohammed Dafla; 14) Mohammed Yassin; 15) Abudlrazaq Mohammed Hagos; 16) Ali Ibrahim Idrisay; 17) Mustafa Abdulhady; 18) Ali Mohammed Mussa; 19) Fuaad Muhammed Omer; and 20) Mohammed Saeed Abdullah. I only had access to the letter written in Tigrinya. I am grateful to Dr Jelaledin for giving me a copy of the letter. In fact Dawit Woldegiorgis was the only Ethiopian governor in Eritrea who informed parents whether their loved ones were dead or alive. He told many parents that they should give up and stop delivering food to the prisons. Although many families were devastated to learn about the death of their loved ones, most people I talked to were grateful to him. Most Eritrean mothers were unintentionally feeding the Ethiopian prison guards for many years because they thought their children and relatives were alive when the truth was that they were executed years ago. This section is based on e-mail communication and telephone conversation with Semere Kesete, the former president of the AUSU in January 2004, as well as interviews with other students. Kesete fled Eritrea in 2002 and is now living in Sweden as a refugee. Kesete alleges that the idea of the census was simply put together to keep students away from the cities during the summer break. http://news.asmarino.com/PrevNews.asp (accessed 08 January 2003). This was the second time a writ of Habeas corpus was ever issued by the Eritrean high court since independence. I asked some of my former classmates, most of whom are now judges, why they did not issue writs of Habeas corpus when there were so many people sitting in detention for months, if not years without being charged. They said that they could only issue a writ of Habeas corpus in response to an application filed by defence lawyers or relatives of detainees. Since the defence lawyers or the relatives of the accused did not dare to challenge the government, there was not much the courts could do on their own to force the police to produce those who were languishing in detention without being charged. This does not, however, mean that they would readily issue a writ of Habeas corpus. Very few, if any, would dare to do so for fear of being sacked or falling out with the government. Personal communication with Eritrean asylum seekers in the UK, who survived the ordeal of crossing the Sahara desert. They told the author that in one journey they lost five of their friends. See http://www.wsws.org/articles/2001/aug.2001/Eritrea (accessed 8 Jan. 2003). See http://allafrica.com/stories/200110260087.html, October 26, 2001 (accessed 04 January 2003). The present head of state was a second year student at Haile Selassie University when he left to join the Eritrean Liberation Front in 1966. Beraki Gebreselassie had been removed from his position as minister by then. Nevertheless, disagreements always remained verbal. Not once during Kesete’s time at the university did he hear of conflict between the two groups – an extraordinary testimony to nascent social capital. This was equally true of the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) which received massive amounts of assistance through its humanitarian wing, the Relief Society of Tigray (REST). This part is substantially based on interviews and e-mail correspondence with Paulos Tesfagiorgis between September 2003 and October 2004. Paulos Tesfagiorgis, personal communication, London 2 September 2003. This included eight types of large volume of parenteral solutions (dextrose 5% in water

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and in solution chloride, dextrose 10% and 40% in water, normal saline 0,9%, lactated ringer’s solution and dextran 70, 60% in N/saline and in dextrose 5%). This included aspirin 500 mg., aspirin paediatric, paracetamol 500 mg., indomethacin, ergotamine tartrate 1 mg., ephedrin 30 mg., solbutamol 4 mg., phenobarbitol 30 mg., phenobarbitol 100 mg., phenytoin sodium 100 mg., promethazine 25 mg., antacid chewable, quinine sulfate 200 mg., vitamin B1 100 mg., vitamin C 500 mg, vitamin B complex, multivitamin chewable, folic acid 5 mg., phenoxy methyl penicillin 250 mg. These included first: Ampicillin sodium, cloxacillin sodium, chloramphenicol tetracycline; second: 12 types of liquid syrup and ointment: cough syrup (adult and paediatric), antimycotic solution, various tinctures, etc. Including aspirin, paracetamol, phenobarbitol, antacid, quinine, vitamins, folic acid, penicillin and cough medicines. Mr Keneally who is a great friend of the Eritrean people must have felt badly let down, as did many other friends of Eritrea, to see that the front which they thought would live up to its promises has failed so dismally to do so. According to the EPLF (1989: 34), the school started with 96 students. Beraki Gebreselassie, head of the EPLF’s Education Department. After independence, the EPLF/PFDJ, instead of learning from the lessons of the past and building on its spectacular achievements in this area, resorted to the tired and discredited colonial formula of forced resettlement of Eritrean nomadic groups. During a series of fieldwork in the refugee camps in eastern Sudan in the 1980s, I saw many young men and women leaving for the field to join the EPLF. The EPRDF was dominated and controlled by the TPLF. The border war between Eritrea and Ethiopia (May 1998–June 2000) was a reflection of mistrust between the leaders of the EPLF and the TPLF and also a result of many important issues left unaddressed during the struggle waged to overthrow the Derg. This was repeatedly stated by ERREC’s staff who were caught in between without having any power to influence the government’s decision. ERREC was also in a state of dilemma. Being the government agency mandated to administer emergency aid and to oversee NGOs’ activities, it was under heavy pressure without having any means of relief. Personal communication with Oxfam’s representative, Asmara, 14 March 1997. Initially Futur was on secondment from the World Bank. His salary was US$264,000 per annum. It was paid by the Italian government as part of its technical assistance to the Eritrean government. After some years, Futur left the Bank and took up a new job as minister of national development, a portfolio specially created for him by the president. ACORD’s activities were confined to a credit project in the Southern Region. R230, Alebu, 9 Jan. 2001. R149, Asmara, 17 April 1998. R150, Asmara, March 1998; R151, Asmara, March 1998; R153, Asmara, March 1998; R154, Asmara, March 1998; R159, Asmara, March 1998. R67, Representative of Save the Children Fund, Asmara, 10 February 1995; R68, Oxfam’s member of staff, Asmara, 15 Feb. 1995; R65, member of staff, World Vision, Asmara, 1995. R161, Personal communication, Asmara, March 1998. Press Communiqué, ERREC/UN Information Coordination Centre (ICC), Asmara, 31 July 2002. Most of the national NGOs are very small and focused. They were created by the government or PFDJ during the border war as a means of accessing international aid. The only exception, besides the faith-based NGOs, was the Citizens for Peace in Eritrea (CPE) (see previous section) which campaigned against violation of the rights of Eritreans and Ethiopians of Eritrean origin deported from Ethiopia between 1999 and 2000. Only those NGOs that participated in the ERREC/UNOCHA ‘Who Does What, Where in Eritrea’ survey were entered into the W3 database. For example in 2001 some NGOs did not return the questionnaire and some, such as OXFAM and the Mine

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Action Co-ordination Centre (MACC), returned it with some data missing and, therefore, they were not entered into the W3 database. Where two organisations report on the same project, preference is given to the implementing organisation. Government-affiliated organisation. The ERREC/OCHA Information Coordination Centre warn that many of the projects reported are multi-year and funds cover activities before or after 2001. The data therefore show a breakdown of projects that were active during 2001 and not funds specifically committed in 2001. The total budget of the 346 projects was US$228,803,297. Of this, the NGOs’ budget accounted for US$104,502,999. This represented about 47 per cent of the total amount of funding. The UN system projects accounted for the remaining 53 per cent. In fact, if we exclude the WFP’s budget in the country, the NGO funding constitutes about 68 per cent of all project funding. No critique of NGOs activities in Eritrea or elsewhere is attempted here. For those interested in NGOs’ lack of accountability see Najam (1996); Cernea (1988b); Edwards and Hulme (1996). Reuters Foundation, Crisis Profile: Ethiopia–Eritrea Border Trouble, 21 Nov. 2005. Available at http://www.alertnet.org/printable.htm?URL=thefacts/reliefsources/ 113259059994.htm (accessed 23 Jan 2007). http://www.irinnews.org/Rss/Eritrea.xml (accessed 11 May 2006 Article 3 (4) Proc. 145/2005; Article 6 (9) Proc. 145/2005. Article 6 (10) in ibid. Article 7 (1) in ibid. Article 7 (3) in ibid. Ibid. Article 8 (1) [c] in ibid. Article 9 (5). Article 9 (1). IRIN (United Nations Integrated Regional Information) http://www.irinnews.org/ Rss/Eritrea.xml (accessed 11 May 2006 Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Eritrea Expels Six NGOs, 16 February 2006. Available at http://www.news24.com/ news24/Africa/News/0,,2-11-1447_1882977,00.html (accessed 19 November 06). http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&q=ngos+expelled+from+eritrea+&btnG= Google+Search&meta= (accessed 12 October 2006). Ibid.

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Four Towards An Explanation

The EPLF has already underlined its commitment to create a multi-party system in Eritrea. A one-party system will neither enhance national security or stability nor accelerate economic development. In fact a one party system could be a major threat to the very existence of our country. For these reasons we will have to avoid these malaises in tomorrow’s Eritrea. (Isaias Afwerki, Secretary-general of the EPLF, October 1990) (emphasis added)1 At a time when democracy and human rights are often misconstrued to weaken nations and peoples, to recruit agents, to install puppet governments, and when citizens’ votes are bought with money as any other commodity, it is important to understand that consolidating democracy in our country is part of our indispensable responsibility to build a united and modern nation. (President Isaias Afwerki, Presidential Speech, 13th Anniversary Independence Day, 24 May, 2004)

In the first statement, the then secretary-general of the EPLF, Isaias Afwerki, understands a one-party political system as representing an imminent threat to Eritrea’s survival. The second statement provides a paradox. On one side, he sees liberal democracy and human rights as constituting a threat to nations and their citizens, while, on the other, a one party political system is seen as being an indispensable instrument of democratic consolidation, national unity and modernisation. These views – one expressed six months before independence and the other thirteen years after the country’s de facto and eleven years de jure independence – show that the views of the former leader of the national liberation front and now head of state have changed dramatically on the questions of freedom, pluralism and human rights. In light of the president’s scornful view of democracy and human rights, the tragic scenarios that have been unfolding in post-independence Eritrea may not be surprising. Contrary to the president’s claim that democracy is consolidating in Eritrea, the previous chapter has shown otherwise. The post-independence government has been leaving no stone unturned in an attempt to stifle all civil and political societies that could provide voice to the people, as well as pave the way to popular participation and control over decision-making. This chapter attempts to

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Towards an Explanation explain the factors behind the government’s policies towards civil society associations as agents of democratic change. The anti-civil and political society stance of the post-independence government, as well its autocratic nature, are attributed to the following inextricably interwoven factors – namely: (i) the clandestine origin of the Eritrean nationalist movement and its consequent culture of mistrust, intolerance, and fear of the ‘other’; (ii) the EPLF leadership’s obsessive preoccupation with the need to avoid ‘dependency syndrome’; (iii) an illusion of sovereignty; (iv) the need to avoid competition for financial and manpower resources; (v) illusion of self-reliance; (vi) the incompatibility of civic pluralism with a monolithic and centralising political movement; (vii) alleged threats to national security; (viii) arrogance; and (ix) misconceived notion of national unity.

The clandestine roots of intolerance If an oppressive political establishment or government tolerates no open and peaceful resistance or dissent, those who react to such suppressive policies or conditions are often left without alternatives but to organise clandestinely. For example, when the 1958 strike in Asmara was violently suppressed by the Eritrean unionist government in collaboration with their allies in Addis Ababa, all avenues of peaceful resistance were closed. Eritrean nationalists were left without any alternative but to go underground and organise secretly to pursue the struggle by other means (see Killion 1997; Kibreab 2008a, Chapter 4). The EPLF’s and later the PFDJ’s and the Eritrean government’s animosity to autonomous civil and political societies, pluralism, individual freedom, freedom of press and open debates is inextricably linked to the clandestine origin of the nationalist movement. The postindependence government’s autocracy and the ruling party’s clandestine origin are interwoven inseparably. The reason why clandestinity provides a fertile breeding ground for autocracy and intolerant proclivity is because secrecy is the worst enemy of civic culture and open debates. This is because in many clandestine liberation organisations, individual rights and autonomy are often subordinated to security issues. Legitimate questioning of authority is regarded as a threat to the very survival of the organisation concerned and is automatically placed on the security agenda. In order to ensure individual loyalty, members are subjected to systematic indoctrination and intimidation which over time produce obedient, intolerant and atomised cadres led by individuals who shun accountability under the pretext of the threat of insecurity. Over time, it is such leaders who become habituated to an arbitrary and unaccountable way of running such organisations. It is these conditions that provide fertile grounds for the emergence of tyrants and unquestioning cadres of followers. The greater the need for ‘secrecy’, the higher the degree of intolerance and the risk of tyranny. The aim of the leaders of such clandestine organisations is to produce highly disciplined and obedient combatants who are cordoned off from the sphere of politics and democratic debates. Enlightened intellectuals who question the wisdom of such a centralised and oppressive organisational approach are often subjected to a systematic process of ‘re-education’ and ‘conversion’ and in the worst-case scenario to arbitrary detention or death (see Kibreab 2008a). Leaders of such clandestine

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Towards an Explanation organisations try to strip combatants of their moral and intellectual resources so that they fit into the grand scheme of the organisation concerned. Of course, not all such organisations succeed in breaking down their members’ moral resources, integrity, inquisitiveness and agency. However, as demonstrated in the histories of national liberation movements, those who resist are often silenced by force (see Connell 2005; Kibreab 2008a). Others may turn a blind eye to oppression either due to fear or in the ‘interest’ of the ‘grand cause’ – liberation. It cannot be denied that the EPLF’s tight organisational structure helped in the production of fearless, devoted and highly disciplined fighters who valued the cause for which they fought more than their own lives (Connell 1998; Pateman 1998; Tesfai 2002b). Unfortunately, however, that selflessness may have contributed to Eritrea’s current malaise since, as it has often been said, an individual who does not value his or her own life is unlikely to value that of others. Most of the ex-combatants the author has interviewed in researching this book and the one that preceded it (Kibreab 2008a), including members of the mass organisations, have been acculturated to the political and social norms rooted in the clandestine and intolerant history of the EPLF. They are, therefore, inclined to mistrust the ‘other’, including, as the Eritrean saying goes, ‘their own shadows’. They are the product of a highly centralised and secretive culture that recognises no autonomy or alternative visions and truths (ibid.). At least initially, the conditions under which the political organisation was born and grew did not allow them to develop transparent and accountable structures. They have, therefore, not benefited from institutions of participatory decision-making, open debates and peaceful means of conflict resolution common to most traditional peasant and agro-pastoral communities in Eritrea and elsewhere in sub-Saharan Africa. This misfortune is by no means unique to Eritrea – examples of national liberation dreams turned sour can be found in Angola (see Global Witness 1998; Good 2003); Ethiopia, Namibia (Melber 2003b); Rwanda and Zimbabwe (Melber 2004; Moyo 2004; Ranger 2004), to name a few (for brilliant accounts of what went wrong in Southern Africa see Melber 2002; 2003a; 2003b; 2006). According to the findings of Global Witness, ‘In Angola, president Jose Eduardo dos Santos headed the ruling party and government, and was at the centre of an “oligarchy” of vast corruption. About 800,000 barrels of oil were produced in Angola each day, and on each one of these $3 was channelled into Dos Santos’ personal account’ (in Good 2003: 159). Jonathan Moyo before he changed sides, when he was lecturing in the University of Zimbabwe, wrote a scathing attack on the war of liberation (Chimurenga), inter alia: There can hardly be any doubt that the armed struggle in Zimbabwe was a pivotal means to the goal of defeating oppressive and intransigent elements of colonialism and racism. However, as it often is the case with protracted social processes of a conflict with two sides, the armed struggle in this country had a deep sociopsychological impact on its targets as well as on its perpetrators. For the most part, the armed struggle in this country lacked a guiding moral ethic beyond the savagery of primitive war and was thus amenable to manipulation by the violence of unscrupulous nationalist politicians and military commanders who personalised the liberation war for their own selfish ends. This resulted in a culture of fear driven by values of violence perpetrated in the name of nationalism and socialism. (quoted in Melber 2006: 264) (emphasis added)

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Towards an Explanation Different national liberation struggles emerged from a unique combination of factors, but common to them all was the subordination of liberal values to national independence. The ‘ends’ justified all ‘means’. Any political organisation structured around such concepts tends to see human beings as a means rather than an end and therefore having instrumental rather than intrinsic value. What Henning Melber says of the post-colonial situation in Southern Africa seems to be universally true of most governments of post-national liberation struggles (Melber 2004: 11). During the early years of resistance and the war of independence, Eritrean organisations were haunted by the spectre of detection and infiltration (Ghaber in Kibreab 2008a: Chapter 4). The people who joined the ELF in 1965 and 1966 from Asmara did so as groups rather than individuals. For example, Haile ‘Durué’ Woldensae told Connell, ‘We did not join the ELF individually. We had a student movement in Eritrea, so we were organised, and we joined the front as a student organisation, not individually’ (see Connell 2005: 27). As Woldeyesus Ammar, a student agitator and one of the founding members of the Eritrean student movement inside the country, wrote: The then Prince Mekonnen Secondary School (PMSS) produced the most militant group of students in the 1960s, among whom was Isaias Afwerki, the [co-] founderleader of the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) and incumbent president of the State of Eritrea. The other centre of student politics was the Haile Selassie I Secondary School (HSISS) where Ahmed Mohammed Nasser, chairman of the mainstream ELF from 1975 to 1995, was among the agitators. (Ammar 1997: 61)

The significance of the fact that the members of the student movement joined the liberation struggle in groups lay in the fact that the group brought with it a culture of mistrust and fear developed in enemy-controlled areas, such as Asmara and Addis Ababa. Because the student movement operated clandestinely in both cities, its members lived under permanent threat of being detected. This was because the organisation was very concerned about being infiltrated, and, one of the most important responsibilities of the so-called executive committee of the student movement was to rigorously screen potential recruits. Haile Durué told Connell, ‘We had a so-called executive committee, where Isaias and myself were called the screening committee for recruitment of new members’ (Connell 2005: 27). The practice was taken to the field where it was not uncommon to resort to torture to avoid such real or imagined dangers under the slogan, ‘the end justifies the means.’ This was even admitted by the present head of state, Isaias Afwerki to have existed in the Destructive Movement of 1973. When responding to the catalogue of accusations made against him and his colleagues in the leadership by the reform movement of 1973 derogatorily referred to as Menqaé (bat) by the EPLF leadership, he admitted that they tortured new volunteers and other suspects for lack of other means of distinguishing between infiltrators and genuine volunteers (Afwerki in ‘The Destructive Movement of 1973’, a PLF publication). The principle of ‘innocent until proved guilty’ was reversed to mean ‘guilty until proved innocent.’ This was witnessed by Dr Bereket Habte Selassie, the chairman of ERA in the spring of 1976: I was in the FaH area of Sahel awaiting the reorganisation of ERA, when I heard about wide-spread practice of torture under Solomon [Woldemariam’s] watch. I dismissed the rumours as enemy propaganda, or factional spite.

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Towards an Explanation But on one occasion, while I was walking toward a place where I habitually went to answer nature’s call, I heard cries of agony from the bush. Curious to find out, I approached the bush where the cries came from. And there, to my horror, I saw Hiale Jebha, (Solomon’s deputy Chief of Security), beating another man repeatedly on the head with a thin stick. The victim, whose hands and feet were tied and who apparently knew me, called me by name and begged to be rescued. (Habte Selassie 2007)

The victim was a former senior law school student at Haile Selassie University in Addis Ababa, who was killed by the EPLF in 1976 for being a sympathiser of the reform movement of 1976 (Kibreab 2008a). Habte Selassie reported that he ‘went away wondering whether we [Eritreans] were creating monsters’ (2007). Both Haile Jebha and his boss, Solomon Woldemariam, were also killed in 1977 together with others who were labelled as Yemin (Rightists) (Habte Selassie 2007; Kibreab 2008a). It seems Dr Habte Selassie also witnessed Isaias using torture as a means of extracting information: One day, I referred to the interrogation conducted by Isaias a couple of weeks earlier in Weki, and asked Solomoon Woldemariam about the practices of torture in the struggle. He advised me to stay away and not to intervene in these things in the future, if I knew what was good for me. When I said that it was my business to intervene and condemn torture, he responded with contemptuous laughter: adding something about ‘petty bourgeois sentiments’. I was disgusted and mentioned this to some of the more mature members of the EPLF: the standard answer was that the CIA and their agents in Asmara had tried to penetrate the EPLF, and that people like Goitom BiSai had to be dealt with severely for the protection of the revolution. The department of security was itself called Halewa Sewra (Protection of the Revolution). (Habte Selassie 2007) (emphasis added)

Many individuals who played key roles in the Eritrean national armed struggle, and who now occupy important positions in the government, went through clandestine rites of passage that tainted their worldviews. Most of the ruling party leaders were acculturated to values and norms developed under clandestine conditions while very young; many having joined underground organisations while at secondary school in the 1960s. This is not to deny the fact that the students in Asmara and Addis Ababa played a key role in creating a sense of Eritrean national identity and leadership in the armed struggle (Ammar, 1997: 61). Inasmuch as they contributed to the development of shared Eritrean national identity, they also helped plant a seed of intolerance amongst themselves and others. Because they operated illegally, the ideas they believed in and propagated were never subjected to open debate or scrutiny, meaning that most decisions were taken by the leaders without consultation. The febrile atmosphere of student politics produced deep divisions within the movement and many Eritreans argue that the rift between the ELF and the EPLF can be traced to the student politics of the mid-1960s.2 Even the war of attrition fought between the two factions of the major opposition group, the ELF-RC, in 2002–3, was led by two former members of the Asmara student movement – Ahmed Nasser of Haile Selassie Secondary School (HSISS) and the late Seyoum Ogbamichael of Prince Mekonen Secondary School (PMSS). Because the groups could not resolve their differences through open dialogue, the line separating the personal and the political was often crossed and personal interests could easily be packaged as ‘make or break’ issues of national interest.3 This was greatly facilitated

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Towards an Explanation by the atmosphere of mistrust that pervaded every aspect of the fledgling organisation. Michael Ghaber, an Eritrean historian and a prominent ELF dissident who was involved in the student movement in the 1960s, told the author, ‘In the early phases of the resistance, trust was a luxury that we could not afford. It was safer to be suspicious’ (Ghaber 1983). According to him, once an outsider had been accepted into the group, it took a long time before strong bonds of trust were created. This endemic – and not surprising – suspicion was mentioned by many interviewees involved in the early student movements in Addis Ababa and Asmara. The situation that reigned in the immediate pre- and-post-annexation periods provided no space for the emergence and consolidation of civil society associations, but instead fostered tight groups based on inter-personal trust and a protective ‘party line’. This latter, however, according to Michael Ghaber, was often nothing more than the caprice of an unaccountable leadership, many of them unknown to the activist or foot soldier. A slight deviation, on matters of procedure let alone substance, was interpreted as a betrayal of the organisation and its goals. The practices that began in the early 1960s became entrenched as norms throughout the 30 years of war, even in the liberated areas where there was no imminent threat from the enemy. From the early 1970s onwards as the independence movement splintered, an ominous element was added to the cocktail of fear and suspicion as betrayal could come from rival factions as well as from agents of the Ethiopian state. This benefited the leaderships of the various factions because a hierarchical culture of suspicion, silence and obedience allowed them to operate with impunity. Such a culture, once it has taken root, cannot easily be expunged. Those who ended up as key actors in the war and in the anti-politics of independence are the products of such political culture (Markakis 1990; Klenow 1987; Pool 2001; Sherman 1980; Kibreab 2008a). In the early history of the struggle, the personal tensions and power struggle between the leaders were given expression in murders of opponents and reformists, most of them Christians because the threat to the ELF establishment mainly came from students from highland urban areas where the majority of the population was Christian (Connell 1998; Klenow 1987; Markakis 1990; Sherman 1980). The tensions within the fronts were also exacerbated by the fact that the urban students were often scornful of traditional peasant and pastoral ways. In rural Eritrea, children participate in productive and community activities from a young age and internalise appropriate values and norms. They also learn to cooperate with and trust one another, nurtured by their community’s social capital. In the urban areas, especially the national capital, Asmara, young people want to be modern and reject traditional values as backward and un-cool. They, therefore, cannot benefit from community assets and become increasingly isolated and atomised. It was individuals from such backgrounds that formed the core elements of the EPLF leadership. Eventually students from PMSS broke away from the ELF4 and formed a new movement in 1972 that was the nucleus of the EPLF. Other Asmara students5 stayed within the ELF and bitterly condemned their former comrades as being ‘tsere gedli’ (counter-revolutionaries). The latter’s attitude toward their old group was equally scathing and contemptuous. Although it is difficult to measure the extent to which these long-standing grievances contributed to the internecine civil wars that cost the country an

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Towards an Explanation unknown but many lives and forgone opportunities, there is no doubt that they were part of the problem that divided the liberation movement and has crippled the development of an open and tolerant society in independent Eritrea.

‘Dependency syndrome’ and the Eritrean state Distributing of food freely … gave rise to unhealthy attitudes such as ‘Why work when you can get free food from foreign countries,’ ensuing in declining values of hard work and increase in unemployment. (Government of Eritrea 2006a)

In the Eritrean government’s view, the voluntary sector – civil society and NGOs’ interventions – invariably breed dependency. Therefore, the second reason behind the government’s anti-civil society and NGOs policy is preoccupation with ‘dependency’. This is made clear by the policy statement quoted above and from the policy document read by ERREC’s commissioner at a press conference in February 1997 in which he stated: One of the primary pitfalls that the Government must avoid is the problem of structural dependency that may be nurtured through permanent or self-perpetuating external assistance … If the external assistance sought is not purposeful, focused, time-bound, and above all, structurally linked to the long-term development agenda of the country concerned … there is a strong likelihood that the recipient country will remain helplessly enmeshed in a dependency syndrome – invariably relying on international handouts to mitigate all and every development challenge that it encounters (Government of Eritrea 1997b).

The 1997 External Grant Assistance Policy outlines the government’s intention to phase out grant assistance in all areas except health, education, human resources development and research to avoid structural dependence. The document states that proof of this resolve was given by the fact that in 1996 the country ‘terminated its dependence on foreign grant food assistance’ (Government of Eritrea 2006a). The government reached such a decision because of its misconceived conviction that prolonged dependence on food aid engenders dependency. The relationship between aid and dependency mentality, regardless of the circumstances under which that occurs, is taken by the government as given without being proved. This is reflected in its External Grant Assistance Policies of 1997 and 2006. As seen in the preceding quotation, in 1997 the government stated that a country that is a recipient of external aid is likely to suffer from dependency syndrome. The policy document continued: Such negative and dangerous trend will not only entail a permanent burden on those dolling out aid but more harmfully, dampen the resourcefulness and creativity of the recipient community. As it represents a serious distortion of the very rationale and purpose of external aid. (Government of Eritrea 1997c) (emphasis added)

The government’s External Grant Assistance Policy and Management of 1997 states: Eritrea accepted foreign grant assistance since 1991 in the forms of 1) food grant in kind, 2) financial assistance, 3) technical assistance, which includes such items as

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Towards an Explanation experts, studies, training, etc. While these grants contributed in some ways towards easing some of Eritrea’s immediate and short-term problems, they could not however be free from imparting their intrinsic and debilitating long-term effects and costs to the country. (Government of Eritrea 1997c: 3) (emphasis added)

The policy document further states: Eritrea’s policy underlines that the country should not be dependent on foreign grant assistance to realise its long-term national development targets and objectives. Foreign grant assistance resources should only be used for a transitional definite time period. As a factual demonstration of this policy, Eritrea in 1996 successfully terminated its dependence on foreign grant food assistance and would do similarly with the other grant forms in the very near future (Government of Eritrea 1997c) (emphasis added).

It is therefore tragically ironic that the country is now more food-insecure and dependent on food aid than at any time in its history as a sovereign state. According to UNICEF’s report on Eritrea, ‘1.9 million Eritreans [are] depend on humanitarian assistance … About 53 per cent of them require food assistance. … More than 66 percent of the population lives below the national poverty line of surviving on less than 60 cents per day. … One-fifth of children are acutely malnourished’ (UNICEF 2004). This is not surprising in view of the fact that Eritrea’s net cereal imports and food aid as a percentage of total cereal consumption between 1961 and 1998 was 69 per cent. During the said 37 years, domestic production averaged 31 per cent of the total cereal consumption in the country.6 Between the mid-1980s and mid-1990s, up to 80 per cent of national calorie intake was derived from food aid. This is confirmed by the government’s data in which it states that, ‘Food aid has constituted the largest sources of subsistence for the majority of the population in Eritrea during the last ten years, invariably covering 50 to 80 per cent of the annual consumption requirements’ (ERREC 1996: 16). This fact is also confirmed by the data in Table 4.1. Between 1986 and 1995, Eritrea received about 1.5 million metric tonnes of food aid. This is excluding the amount of food aid distributed by the Ethiopian government in the Table 4.1 Domestic crop production and food aid, 1986–1995 Year 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 Total

Domestic crop production (MT) 115,000 60,000 200,000 N/A Negligible 67,000 262,400 98,050 266,570 149,325 1,218,345

Food aid Food aid request (MT) received (MT) 110,000 152,000 202,000 188,000 337,000 270,000 250,000 344,000 350,000 181,000 2,384,000

40,000 80,000 107,000 89,000 182,000 270,000 225,000 110,000 280,000 62,000 1,445,000

Receipt as % of need 37.0 53.0 53.0 47.0 54.0 100.0 90.0 32.0 80.0 34.0 54.3

Source: ‘Monetisation of food aid: learning from the past,’ ERREC News Letter Vol.1, No. 1, September 1996

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Towards an Explanation areas it controlled until end of May 1991 and the amount distributed by nongovernmental local NGOs (ERREC 1996: 16). There is no doubt that improperly designed, targeted and managed aid can disrupt livelihood systems to a degree that communities become dependent on free food or subsidies – especially when transition from humanitarian relief to longterm development support is unclear. However, since it is what is done with external assistance rather than external assistance itself that can cause disincentive and engender ‘dependency’, the government’s assertion that the prolonged provision of food aid had created a dependency mentality among beneficiaries (Government of Eritrea 1997a, 1997b, 1997c, 2006a) was untrue because it was not based on evidence (on dependency and food aid see Kibreab 1993). The question to be asked is whether food aid has intrinsically disincentive and dependency generating effects. Although there is unproven conventional wisdom suggesting that, first, free distribution of food aid may have disincentive effect on household labour supply, investment in agricultural production, and private transfers and second, food aid recipient countries may neglect investment in rural infrastructure, agricultural research and extension services, as well as pursuing price and trade policies that are not favourable to agriculture, Lentz’s (2003) skilful annotated bibliography covering papers on the dependency and disincentive of food aid published in the last 25 years shows that in spite of some authors’ claims of the existence of the disincentive effects, ‘these claims are based on case studies and anecdotes. While case studies can be highly informative, one would like some qualitative corroboration of such claims. No such evidence exists to date’ (referred to in Abdulai, Barrett and Hoddinott 2005). In a comprehensive study which employs innovative methodological approach, Awudu Abdulai, Christopher Barrett and John Hoddinott, using household-level data from rural Ethiopia, the largest food aid recipient country in the world, and time series data based on 42 sub-Saharan African countries7 that received food aid between 1970 and 2000, show that when econometric controls are introduced, there is no empirical evidence to show existence of dependency and disincentive effect of food aid. Surprisingly, they indicate that food aid may stimulate rather than dampen per capita food production. The authors conclude: In our household level analysis, we find that when we control for characteristics such as age, sex and education of head, land holdings, size and location – attributes on which food aid distributions are sometimes targeted – food aid’s apparent disincentive effects vanish. Our findings are even more marked when we examine the impact of food aid flows on per capita agricultural production across Africa. Once we introduce appropriate econometric controls, we find that contrary to received wisdom, food aid flows may even have stimulated (rather than depressed) per capita food production in sub-Saharan Africa. (ibid.: 6)

The Eritrean authorities should have drawn insights from such empirically grounded and theoretically informed studies when making policies on a central issue such as provision of food ‘on the hoof’. More often than not, those who make policies on food provision are rarely directly affected by the negative consequences of their decisions. Abdulai, Barrett and Hoddinott underscore the importance of distinguishing between simple descriptive statistical correlation and causality which in their case

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Towards an Explanation is achieved by the introduction of appropriate econometric controls. They conclude: One must probe beyond that facile correlation in order to establish whether food aid has any of the undesirable disincentive effects so commonly attributed to it. The parallelism between our micro-level findings from Ethiopian household data and our macro-level findings from national data provide the strongest to date that observers should be cautious about uncritical acceptance of claims that food aid has disincentive and dependency effects. (ibid.: 24) (emphasis added)

It should be emphasised that caution is more critical when the consequence of a policy made on unfounded assumptions threatens the survival of a large section of a country’s population, such as in Eritrea. As Amartya Sen argues: So much in human life does depend on the ability to find enough food to eat. In particular, the freedom that people enjoy to lead a decent life, including freedom from hunger, from avoidable morbidity, from premature mortality, etc., is quite centrally connected with the provision of food and related necessities. (Sen 1987: 1)

In one of his lectures, ‘Food and Freedom’, Sen’s central thrust is that freedom is not only inconceivable without enough food to eat, but that the expansion of food production is inconceivable without freedom from hunger. To him, properly targeted food aid plays an important instrumental role in the expansion of production of food and maintenance of human dignity. Notwithstanding that the Eritrean government’s policy on grant assistance and food aid was based on the misconceived assumption that food aid distribution would kill farmers’ incentive and engender dependency, no attempt on the part of the government has ever been made to establish such a relationship empirically and also to provide an alternative source of livelihood to those who previously depended on food aid for no fault of their own. The assumed relationship led to the withholding of relief first in 1997 and later in September 2005. On 27 April 2006, the United Nations Integrated Regional Information reported: Nutritional surveys in Eritrea have indicated that the situation is deteriorating, with malnutrition levels double what they were in 2005. This has been attributed to the government’s decision to stop general food aid distribution in September 2005, a move authorities said was intended to encourage self-reliance. Aid agencies received authorisation to distribute food aid to just 72,000 Eritreans, down from roughly 1.3 million in August. (emphasis added)8

A team of researchers at the Overseas Development Institute (ODI) on dependency and humanitarian relief also reached the same conclusion: This HPG [Humanitarian Policy Group] research project explores the meaning, function and reality of dependency in humanitarian relief. It finds that people depend less on relief than is often assumed. There is little evidence that relief undermines initiative, or that relief is delivered reliably or transparently enough for people to depend on it. The focus should not be on avoiding dependency, but on providing sufficiently reliable and transparent assistance so that those who most need it understand what they are entitled to, and can rely on it as part of their own efforts to survive and recover from crisis. (Harvey and Lind 2005)

One of the wrong assumptions underlying the Eritrean government’s policy on food aid is that food aid recipients do nothing else to earn an income. However, as the ODI study shows, receipt of food aid is only one of the multitudes of diverse

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Towards an Explanation sources of income on which the livelihoods of the poor depend. If the recipients of food aid in Eritrea as elsewhere were to depend solely on the irregular, unreliable and non-transparent distribution of food aid, they would be unable to survive. Poor people, as observed by Farrington et al. (1999), employ different strategies and activities in search of livelihoods. They use the ‘hedgehog-and-fox’ analogy to explain this. A hedgehog can be thought of as having one big idea whereas the fox follows a diversity of strategies. Like the fox, poor people pursue a range of multiple livelihood activities. (Farrington et al. 1999)9 Behind the seeming legitimacy of the government’s stand, the real motive was to get rid of international NGOs (see Futur quoted in Van Beurden 2001).10 The government felt that donors use aid as a pretext to promote their own hidden agenda (see Government of Eritrea 2006a). As we shall see later, the government’s mistrust was evident in its attitude towards the United Nations as reflected in the restrictions of the activities of the UN Peacekeeping Mission (UNMEE) and in its failure to pay heed to the Security Council’s resolutions, recommendations and warnings and the consequent expulsion of the European members of the Mission. Additionally, the government detained the UNMEE’s local staff in violation of the principles of immunity of United Nations personnel.11 One of the first targets of the government’s policy was food aid. At the implementation of the aid policy, the government decided that food aid, the archetypal humanitarian response to disasters, was no longer needed because the emergency and reconstruction phases of the post-war periods were over. Jos van Beurden of ACP-EU’s Courier, based on interviews conducted with the Eritrean Government’s officials, including Woldai Futur, the president’s adviser on macro-policy and later minister of national development, stated: In 1997 the Eritrean Government announced that the period of emergency and reconstruction was over. From then on only development efforts were to be undertaken. It defined a new space for international aid organisations. First of all, foreign aid projects should conform strictly to the government’s development priorities. They were allowed only in the educational and health sectors. (van Beurden 2001)

This did not make sense in a country where almost a hundred years of foreign administration of some sort, followed by three decades of war, had devastated the environment, depleted natural resources and seriously undermined the communities’ survival strategies and livelihoods. Drought, locusts and crop failure were part of the ‘normal’ agro-pastoral calendar in Eritrea. Thus the government’s decision that development activities within all sectors except health and education could be financed through domestic revenue or international loans (through international financial institutions or the market) was unrealistic. Ironically, as we shall see in Chapters 5 and 6, the policies pursued by the government since the mid-1990s have been inimical to the market and the private sector. The lack of understanding of the vulnerability of Eritrean community resilience and of international credit and financial mechanisms has significantly hampered the development of the country. As a latecomer in the world arena, the Eritrean state’s most prized comparative advantage was its freedom from debt. But the government squandered this when it banned war-torn communities from receiving vital external support, forcing them to exhaust their meagre capital on basic survival. Instead of promoting self-

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Towards an Explanation Table 4.2 Official Development Assistance (ODA) 1993–2005 Year

ODA & Official Aid (US$ millions)

Aid as % of GNP

1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000

66.7 157.2 148.9 159.0 122.9 166.9 149.0 176.0

13.2 23.7 21.6 20.9 14.8 20.8 19.5

2001 2002 2003 2004 2005

Net ODA receipts (US$ millions) 281.0 230.0 316.0 263.0 355.0

36.3

Aid per capita 19.7 45.1 41.7 32.6 43.0 37.2 43.0

81.0

Source: 1993–2000 Adapted from Hayman, 2003; 2001–2005 OECD available at www.oecd.org/dac/stats/dac/dcrannex (accessed 22 Feb. 2007)

sufficiency, this strategy inevitably led to indebtedness, a far more insidious form of dependency. The government’s curious preference for debt instead of grants was clearly spelled out by president Isaias during a visit to the USA in 1995 (Afwerki 1995). However, as we shall see, ten years later, Eritrea’s debt is growing fast (Figure 4.8). Although most development aid to Eritrea, including budgetary support, but excluding funds for demobilisation, was suspended in 2001 because of human rights violations and governance concerns (IMF, 2003), the country still received substantial bilateral aid (Table 4.2). Most of the official development assistance (about 20 per cent of the country’s GNP between 1993 and 2001), came from the World Bank, Arab multilateral organisations, the UN, the USA, Scandinavia, Italy, the Netherlands, the EU, Germany, Japan, China and Switzerland (Hayman, 2003: 18). In spite of the Eritrean government’s negative attitude towards international aid, in 1996 the African Development Bank estimated Eritrea’s external financial requirement in the range of US $1,869 million against projected resources, including export earnings, current transfer receipts, and expected disbursements from existing commitments, at about US $1,688 million (ibid.). At the time that the ideologically motivated decision was taken to phase out food aid, there was no substitute in place and people depending on it for survival were left with no support and no warning. The government presented its decision as a ‘factual demonstration’ of its policy (Government of Eritrea 1997a,b,c), but it was based on a fictitious notion of the rural capacity to pull communities up by their bootlaces – that is to produce their own food. ‘Eritrean realities’ simply did

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Towards an Explanation not permit this at the time, and what little resilience was being strengthened by food aid was irremediably weakened by sudden and arbitrary removal of aid. Indeed the government’s own data suggested that the country needed external inputs. The 2001–2005 Development Action Plan estimated that domestically generated revenues would only cover 36 per cent of total requirements (Government of Eritrea 2001). The question that begs an answer is why the government decided to phase out grant assistance when its domestic resources could only meet a third of the country’s requirements. The government’s actions seem to suggest its belief that, while food aid encourages dependency, indebtedness does not. It has, however, been proven that while aid per se does not undermine resilience, indebtedness corrodes independence and undermines sovereignty. Soon after implementation, the government, after realising that it had made a mistake, quietly rescinded the aid policy. In the May–September 2004 Interim Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper, the government performed a complete volte face, stating that as public debt had reached ‘unsustainable’ levels, the policy from then on would be to mobilise external assistance in the form of grants and favourable loans (Government of Eritrea 2004: 23). After incurring enormous losses and wiping out the independence dividend of full creditworthiness, the government realised that the country’s chronic economic problems could not be tackled without substantial external financial and technical assistance. This was a step in the right direction. However, since this was a temporary realisation that was not accompanied by fundamental policy changes with regard to civil society, independent private media (both in print and on the radio) and vital links between economic liberalisation and democratisation, the government’s hope of soliciting external support remained unattainable. Ironically, this new policy was also reversed by the adverse policies adopted during the second half of 2006 concerning national and international NGOs and food aid. As we saw in the beginning of the preceding chapter, only governments that formulate policies in line with the World Bank’s and donors’ New Policy Agenda can access substantial external grant assistance. It is obvious that, under the present circumstances, Eritrea’s is not one of those governments.

The sovereignty myth That is our own affair, a sovereign issue. It is up to us what, why, when and where we do things. Ali Abdu, acting minister of information (quoted in Amnesty International 2005: 28)12

Ali Abdu was the present head of state’s telephone operator during the war of liberation and is now one of his most trusted cronies. He joined the struggle as a young boy and his exposure to alternative world views and visions is very limited. That is why he often reiterates the views and jargons of the president verbatim. The above quotation is a good example of this. His conception of sovereignty, as quoted above, clearly encapsulates the Eritrean government’s notion of sovereignty. The government seems to interpret sovereignty as a ticket to behave in any manner it deems fit without any constraints. This constitutes the third reason for

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Towards an Explanation the government’s pursuance of policies inimical to political and independent civil associations, including NGOs and independent mass media. Findings of a series of informal and formal discussions conducted over a decade with different government and party officials in Eritrea, all ex-EPLF combatants, and some of the author’s former schoolmates and friends,13 show that a large majority reject the notion of independent civil society and ‘non-governmental organisation’.14 Most of them argued that the concepts are meaningless because they imply independence from government control, something they felt is impossible in the sovereign jurisdiction of an independent state. In their view, there can only be one authority in a country and, to that extent, all organisations are governmental. They argued that it would be unreasonable to expect the Eritrean government to provide a space for independent organisations not under its control. Sovereignty as a concept has two important aspects: an internal one in which a government is ‘supreme within its jurisdiction’ and an external one whereby a government is ‘legally separated from all other governments of the same sort and is recognised as such’ (Jackson, 1999a: 2). Both concepts are qualified by international norms and conventions, especially in the post-Cold War era when state sovereignty is exercised within a global framework of institutional constraints. However, sovereignty should not, for example, guarantee a government liberty to violate the fundamental principles of democracy, human rights and dignity and consequently treat its citizens or the international organisations that operate within its jurisdiction in a manner that violates international standards. A government’s standing in the international community of nations is influenced not only by the nature of its activities and its participation in international organisations, but also by the manner in which it exercises what Jackson refers to as the ‘internal’ aspect of sovereignty. The notion of sovereignty as unrestrained political independence no longer makes any sense in an era of globalisation. There are several reasons for this: • multinational corporations have come to play a dominant economic role and also influence the political actions of sovereign governments; • the international financial institutions impose macro-economic policies on weak and heavily indebted governments through structural adjustment programmes and other instruments; • inter-governmental organisations such as the UN more or less police and monitor compliance with international human rights norms and have limited power to intervene through peace-making and peace-keeping forces and, in extreme cases, to impose sanctions or even rescind membership;15 • a sizeable proportion of bilateral aid (ODA) is channelled through nongovernmental organisations (NGOs) rather than governments; • NGOs raise a substantial proportion of relief and development aid from their own constituencies through voluntary donations; • the survival of poor governments is often dependent on grant assistance, development aid, and loans; and • weak states have been reduced into de facto provincial governments in the emerging global world order. Therefore, in the post-Cold War period, the standards by which the behaviour of states is judged have become universalised and this has substantially eroded the meaning attributed to sovereignty during the Cold War era.

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Towards an Explanation Meanwhile the Eritrean government’s conception of sovereignty places undue emphasis on political independence, reflected in the rulers’ unlimited power to govern the people and the resources within their jurisdiction without accountability to the governed or interference from other states and agencies, including the United Nations and human rights organisations. This anachronistic notion of sovereignty is, as Clapham (1999: 103) observes, a ‘key claim’ of Third World elites who were installed during the Cold War as part of the bipolar division of the world by the Great Powers. Although the Eritrean state was created after the end of the bipolar division, its conception of sovereignty is identical with that of the Cold War. Factors behind the gradual eroding of the sovereignty regimes in sub-Saharan Africa can be linked not just to the end of the Cold War but also to indebtedness. The state rollback led to a corresponding resurgence of the civil society resulting in what Clapham (1999) calls a ‘pincer movement’ created by the ‘alliance between external organisations’ (international institutions, business corporations, NGOs, and some states whose commitment to the existing constitution of international society had waned for different reasons), and alienated domestic constituencies. The Eritrean government claim that they are the de jure representatives of the Eritrean people’s and state’s national interests, justifying this with the results of the referendum on national independence. They exercise unfettered sovereignty, saying that by so doing they can promote and protect the rights and interests of all Eritreans. This was evident in the president’s speech during the 13th Independence Anniversary quoted at the beginning of the chapter. In the speech, the president reiterated that it was the responsibility of the government to protect Eritrea and its people from the dangers of democracy. In fact, the concept of sovereignty, regardless of whether it is exercised in the interest or to the detriment of the majority of the Eritrean people, is presented as being of existential importance. What becomes clear is that the government’s conception of sovereignty fails to recognise that there can be winners and losers depending on whether sovereignty is exercised with or without the consent of the people and legal restraints. Besides debt, another major factor in the erosion of state sovereignty was the World Bank’s and donors’ good governance and human rights agenda which empowered international NGOs (Clapham 1999: 111). It should, however, be noted that the factors that brought NGOs to prominence were multi-dimensional and cannot be reduced to a single factor. Further, it is important to guard against overstating the extent to which NGOs erode state sovereignty. This is firstly because most NGOs could only operate within the jurisdiction of sovereign states whose many instruments could enable them to regulate their activities. For example, in most African countries NGOs are required to register, i.e. to acquire a legal identity, before becoming operational, and officials usually have a degree of discretion in deciding whether or not to affirm this identity (see the case studies in Chapter 3; Bratton 1989: 577). In addition, governments can also de-register NGOs or limit the scope of their activities if they are seen as compromising their sovereignty (Fowler 1991). This was the rationale behind the Eritrean government’s decision to expel international NGOs in 1997 and 2006, as well as the deregistration of the Regional Centre for Human Rights and Development and BANA/Eritrean Women War Veterans’ Association. Another factor behind the substantially weakened or compromised state sovereignty is the choice by most donors, including the international financial

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Towards an Explanation institutions, to channel development aid through NGOs rather than through governments, and the inability of the latter to provide essential social and other services to their citizens. Thus, in spite of the temptation and perhaps the possibility of governments in the developing countries imposing formal restrictions on NGOs, most of them lack the means of meeting their citizens’ basic needs without NGOs’ involvement. Because most poor governments are dependent on international aid, they fear the response of donor governments. Consequently, even when poor governments perceive donor-friendly policies as compromising their sovereignty, they are pressured to adopt policies that enable civil society associations to thrive. The determination of the international community through the UN to assert its rights to intervene in the internal affairs of states in pursuit of humanitarian goals was also a factor that undermined the principle of state sovereignty. Bereft of partisan support, economically weakened states found it is more difficult to refuse for fear of losing essential financial aid (Taylor 1999). Insurgencies in developing countries contributed in undermining state sovereignty (Clapham 1999). After the Cold War, these were no longer seen as rebellions against sovereign states but increasingly as evidence of a lack of good governance and human rights (ibid.: 111). Previously support to insurgents was seen as a violation of the UN Charter that prohibited intervention in the internal affairs of a sovereign state, but technological convergence and the development of information technologies, as well as the political developments outlined above, gave rise to what Taylor calls ‘more interdependence’ (ibid.). The major changes resulting from an undermined principle of state sovereignty in the post-Cold War period are succinctly summarised by Paul Taylor as follows: first, developments in the way in which international organisations sought to protect international peace and security; second, the further evolution of a system in which laws made outside the state required compliance within it, especially in the world of business and commerce – they imposed upon the state …; third, was the extension of the range of mutual involvements through which common standards, such as democratisation, were promoted; fourth, a rudimentary global watch – a full time system of surveillance of states – to identify crisis points, linked with the development of mechanisms for more rapid response, was being set up; and, fifth, the international community had set about establishing mechanisms for rehabilitating and restoring states that had failed. These various developments reflected and promoted moral interdependence (1999: 117).

The Eritrean government’s hostility towards autonomous civil and political society associations can only be understood in the context of its anachronistic interpretation of sovereignty. The state was born in the immediate aftermath of the Cold War, but the government interpreted sovereignty as an exclusive sphere of axiomatic rights. For example, when Eritrean mothers asked about the whereabouts of their loved ones, they were told that they ‘had no right to ask’ (AI 2004a). In the government’s view, it has a sovereign right to treat its citizens in any way it deems fit regardless of international or domestic legal norms. The decision to deny mothers access to information regarding the whereabouts of their arbitrarily detained children is also considered as a sovereign right of the state. That was what the acting minister of information meant when he said that the government are sovereign and no one has the right to tell them what to do and what not to do.

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Towards an Explanation The Eritrean government, obsessed with the idea of unfettered sovereignty and unrestrained hegemonic political control, assumed that NGOs, donor agencies and foreign governments would use their financial power as leverage to ‘interfere’ in its exercise of power through conditionalities – that is, tying aid to human rights and governance. The government is keen to avoid this at any cost, including at the risk of jeopardising the subsistence security and livelihood systems of the majority of the population. The Eritrean Government’s Policy on Foreign Aid and Sustaining Food Security, for example, states: There are some who try to use aid as a means to manoeuvre other furtive political agendas as well as promote a culture of dependence among the people whom they claim to be helping. We have unwittingly gained enough first hand and also second hand experiences of the political manipulations of foreign aid carried out by those who don’t hesitate to think of their interests only in the midst of other’s misfortunes. That is why the government of Eritrea, undaunted by temporary problems, is taking a firm and cautious stand regarding foreign aid so that perpetual problems are not created in trying to solve temporary ones. (Government of Eritrea 2006b)

It is deluded to believe that, in a rapidly globalising world, small, weak states such as Eritrea would be able to maintain ‘absolute’ political and economic sovereignty whilst remaining part of the world order. The government also sees the country’s dependence on food aid as fundamentally incompatible with its notion of sovereignty. In a discussion, a government official asked the author, ‘How can we call ourselves sovereign if up to 80 per cent of our people’s food requirements come from food aid? There is nothing that gives an external agency greater leverage than control over one’s source of life – food.’16 While it is true that a government that is unable to feed its people cannot aspire to exercise unfettered sovereignty, refusing to accept food aid when its citizens’ bellies are empty does not make the country more sovereign, but simply more hungry, impoverished, diseased, isolated and dependent. However, for the Eritrean government, the expulsion of NGOs and USAID and the abolition of aid were a way of asserting sovereignty. Their action can be summarily illustrated by an Eritrean saying, nzey snikas hutsa kortumelu (‘It does not hurt to chew sand with someone else’s teeth’). If those in power were equally affected by the decision to abolish food aid, they would probably have thought twice about it. What the Eritrean government does not seem to realise is the fact that sovereignty is a means rather than an end. States that have an instrumentalist rather than an intrinsic perception of sovereignty are the ones that benefit from exercising it intelligently. The importance of conceiving of sovereignty as instrumental rather than intrinsic is that it allows governments to be flexible when dealing with other states and inter-governmental and non-governmental organisations. An instrumentalist view of sovereignty also enables governments to take rational decisions based on the benefits of asserting sovereignty compared to its partial relinquishment in pursuit of goals that are otherwise unachievable in the absence of compromise. For example, the members of the European Union are able to achieve goals that they were unable to achieve in the past when they held on to their individual sovereignty. As Robert Jackson states, ‘… the member states of the European Union are said to recognise that the instrumental value of sovereignty today is not as great as it used to be. EU states believe that they cannot

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Towards an Explanation effectively pursue their interests or concerns within the traditional framework of sovereignty. They are in the course of abandoning that old framework’ (1999a: 5). Ironically, Eritrea is one of the few countries in the world that benefited enormously from the erosion of the inflexible framework of the sovereignty regime during the Cold War. These benefits are reflected firstly, in the acceptance by the UN of the referendum proposed by the EPLF as a condition for the recognition of Eritrea’s independence; secondly, the large-scale cross-border operations to channel food aid to millions of starving people in the liberated areas of what was formally northern Ethiopia (Duffield and Prendergast, 1994; see also Chapter 3); and thirdly, in the emergence of the United Nations peace-keeping and peacemaintenance operations. Each of these is discussed below. SOVEREIGNTY AND SELF-DETERMINATION The supportive role played by the UN towards the end of the national independence war and during and after the referendum would have been inconceivable under the old framework of sovereignty regime, under which the UN recognised the annexation of Eritrea by Ethiopia. Their stance was based on a rigid application of Article 2, para. 7 of the UN Charter which stipulates, ‘Nothing contained in the present Charter shall authorise the United Nations to intervene in matters which are essentially within the jurisdiction of any state or shall require the Members to submit such matters to settlement under the present Charter.’ Because the ‘Eritrean problem’ was regarded as an internal Ethiopian problem, Eritreans were unable to win international diplomatic support. However, towards the end of the 1980s, what Mayall (1999: 69) calls a ‘new democratic standard’ was adopted that was based solely on the rights and security of people rather than on the interest and security of states. Thus. Eritrea’s military victory over the Ethiopian regime came at a time when the old framework of the sovereignty regime was being eroded and new criteria for recognising the legitimate rights of peoples to selfdetermination were established. The 1994 Human Development Report which was dedicated to the concept of human security states: The concept of security has for too long been interpreted narrowly: as security of territory from external aggression or as protection of national interests in foreign policy… It has been related more to nation-states than to people. The super powers were locked in an ideological struggle – fighting a cold war all over the world. The developing nations, having won their independence only recently, were sensitive to any real or perceived threats to their fragile national identities. Forgotten were the legitimate concerns of ordinary people who sought security in their daily lives. For many of them, security symbolised protection from the threat of disease, hunger, unemployment, crime, social conflict, political repression, and environmental hazards. (UNDP 1994: 22) (emphasis added).

The changed perception of sovereignty was to a considerable extent the main reason for the UN agreeing to legitimise the referendum by sending international observers and endorsing its outcome. Although, as Mayall (1999: 68) notes, in 1991 the new Ethiopian government was ‘not in a position either morally or practically’ to resist Eritrean independence, the UN’s unconditional support for the right of the Eritrean people for self-determination undoubtedly smoothed the transition to peace and Eritrea was immediately admitted to the United Nations and the OAU in May 1993.

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Towards an Explanation SOVEREIGNTY AND THE CROSS-BORDER RELIEF OPERATION The cross-border relief operation discussed in Chapter 3 (CS 8, p. 105) would also have been inconceivable under the old framework of the sovereignty regime. This is because the Eritrean national liberation movement was not recognised by the Organisation of African Unity (OAU). It was also unrecognised by the United Nations because of the principle of non-intervention in the internal affairs of a sovereign state (Ethiopia). This was despite the fact that, as a former Italian colony, Eritrea was asserting rights of self-determination consistent with the OAU Charter (Mayall 1999: 67–68). As James Mayall also points out: The Eritreans had always argued, without success but with some justice, that by demanding an independent state of their own, they were upholding, not attacking, the conventional interpretation of self-determination as de-colonisation. Unlike Ethiopia, whose government itself had taken part in the nineteenth century scramble for Africa, Eritrea has been colonised by Italy and then administered by Britain in the Second World War, only being attached to Ethiopia by the General Assembly when the great powers could not decide amongst themselves about what to do with the territory after the War. On this view, Eritrean independence has merely brought the situation into line with the OAU orthodoxy that only ex-colonies can claim statehood. (ibid.)

Throughout the 1970s, the ‘Eritrean problem’ was ignored by the international community because the claim to self-determination was seen as illegitimate. As a result, aid to the liberation forces and the Eritrean population came exclusively from Eritrean organisations in the diaspora and solidarity groups. In contrast, the nationalist movements in Southern Africa were recognised by the OAU and the UN, and consequently the international community and large international NGOs channelled substantial resources to help the rebel forces and civilian populations. As we saw in Chapter 3, several church-based international NGOs defied the rigidly applied notion of sovereignty and began to channel emergency relief in cross-border operations to assist populations in the rebel-controlled areas of Eritrea and Tigray. The small operation to deliver humanitarian aid led to the establishment of the Emergency Relief Desk (ERD) and one of the largest emergency relief operations in sub-Saharan Africa. The cross-border operation was greatly facilitated by the establishment of the Eritrean Relief Association (see Chapter 3). The operation substantially eroded Ethiopia’s sovereignty, no matter how illegitimate its claim over Eritrea was. Ethiopia put pressure, but to no avail, on those agencies involved, through the UN and governments, to end their involvement in the cross-border operation. SOVEREIGNTY AND THE UN PEACEKEEPING OPERATIONS One of the factors that substantially impinged on sovereignty in the 1990s was the huge increase in demand for UN peacekeeping operations (Taylor, 1999: 119). Whilst the UN role of peacekeeping is not a post-Cold War innovation, its scale and nature, as well as the basic principles and assumptions that underpin it, have changed dramatically since 1989 (Taylor 1999). Since then, UN peacekeeping forces have been expected not only to maintain peace but also to play an active

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Towards an Explanation role in creating an enabling environment for NGOs and UN organisations, such as the UNHCR, to supply basic needs to populations trapped in war zones or victimised by the action or inaction of state and non-state actors. They are asked to undertake operations which result in the establishment of ‘safe areas’, ‘corridors of tranquillity’, ‘green lines’, and the resettlement of refugees (ibid.).17 The UN has also been asked to play a larger role in the post-war reconstruction of war-torn societies, including the establishment of a civil administration, police force, independent judicial system, and the supervision of free and fair elections. These activities, inconceivable under the old framework of sovereignty, are seen by some governments as an intrusion by the international community into internal political affairs. President Bashir’s defiance of UN Security Council’s Resolution 1706 which aimed at sending a UN peacekeeping force to Darfur to bring to an end the slaughter of civilians is a case in point (see de Waal 2006). Another case is the Eritrean government’s hostility to the UN peacekeeping forces that were sent to patrol the Eritrea-Ethiopia border following the outbreak of hostilities between the two countries in May 1998.18 The Ethiopian-Eritrean border war took most people by surprise. What began in December 1997 as a minor confrontation between Eritrean and Ethiopian forces at the Eritrean border area of Bada, in northern Dankalia, escalated into a major conflict – one of the bloodiest inter-state wars ever fought in sub-Saharan Africa (Last 2005; Negash and Tronvoll 2004; Plaut 2005). The Ethiopian forces refused to withdraw from the Eritrean side arguing that they wanted to pre-empt attacks by Ethiopian Afar rebels said to be active in the area (Last 2005). The Tigray regional government then ordered thousands of people from Eritrean border communities to leave their homes and on 6 May 1998 the war began (ibid.). On 18 June and 12 December 2000, the two countries signed an OAUbrokered ceasefire and peace agreement respectively in Algiers. These provided for a permanent ceasefire and the deployment of a UN peacekeeping force in a crossborder buffer zone until the disputed territories were demarcated. In September of the same year, the UN Security Council approved the deployment of a 4,200 person UN Mission in Ethiopia and Eritrea (UNMEE). UNMEE’s mandate was to monitor compliance with the ceasefire and the redeployment of the Eritrean and Ethiopian forces. In spite of their excessively hostile relations, the two governments have upheld the ceasefire agreement, although the situation remains tense, as a result of the Ethiopian government’s refusal to accept the decision of the EEBC. UNMEE was initially given a six-month mandate but since the demarcation has proved to be an agonisingly slow process, the UN Security Council has been renewing UNMEE’s mandate periodically. The border war was exorbitantly costly to both countries in terms of lost lives and resources. Over one million Eritreans were either expelled from Ethiopia or fled the war-affected areas, with thousands crossing over to Sudan in search of temporary protection. Agriculture was severely disrupted and hundreds of thousands of Eritreans depended on emergency relief until September 2005, when the government suddenly cut the number of food aid recipients from 1.3 million to 72,000 because of its impressionistic belief that ‘free distribution of food promotes a dangerous culture of dependence’ (Government of Eritrea 2006b). Ironically, only two months before it decided to cut dramatically the distribution of food aid, Yemane Gebremeskel, presidential advisor and chief government spokesman, had

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Towards an Explanation on 19 May 2005 admitted to IRIN, in an interview at his office ‘We are dealing with four years of consecutive drought …This [drought] has eroded coping mechanisms and is putting severe pressure on the government. The overall security situation has also [had] an impact’ (quoted in UN Office for the Coordination of Human Affairs 2005). In the immediate aftermath of the border war, the UN peacekeeping force played a vital role. Without the presence of UNMEE, the NGOs would have been unable to operate in food-insecure and unsafe areas. It was due to the presence of the peace-keeping force, inter alia, made possible by the erosion of the old notion of sovereignty, that tens of thousands of IDPs received assistance and returned to their areas of origin and communities. Both the Eritrean and Ethiopian governments have made unreasonable demands and placed unacceptable restrictions on the operations of UNMEE – and other UN agencies – which have hampered efforts to restore livelihoods and security. For example, in May 2006, UNMEE Chief of Staff, Colonel Mohammed Iqbal observed, ‘the military situation continued to be tense because UNMEE’s monitoring function was being hampered by both sides.’19 He further pointed out, ‘You must know that due to different restrictions, the monitoring capability of UNMEE has gone down and because it has gone down we are not sure about those areas where we do not have effective monitoring.’ He continued, ‘The restriction of helicopter flights [by Eritrea] has also led to the blindness from the air. So these are the factors that have led the situation to be tense. When you cannot properly monitor 100 per cent, the situation remains tense’. UNMEE claimed that its monitoring capability was reduced by 60 per cent ‘due to the Eritrean ban on UN helicopters.’20 The restrictions on the Eritrean side have been severe, including total prohibition of UNMEE’s helicopter flights since October 2005, night movement of UNMEE’s vehicles and the expulsion of European members of the Peacekeeping Mission.21 As will be seen later, the Eritrean government has completely stifled UNMEE’s operation. Since the second half of 2007, both governments have been encroaching on the temporary security zones. For example, on 26 November 2007, ‘Ethiopian and Eritrean forces exchanged gunfire near the village of Tserona in Sector Centre. Both … granted UNMEE access to the location of the incident for an investigation.’22 Both parties acknowledged the incident but they accused each other for being responsible for the attack. According to the UN Secretary-General, ‘Since September 2006, Eritrea has imposed restrictions on the supply of diesel to UNMEE. Furthermore, since 1 December 2007, the mission has not received any fuel from its suppliers in Eritrea. This has created critical fuel shortages, forcing UNMEE to reduce certain important operational activities, including patrols, demining and the provision of administrative support to regional locations and team sites.’23 In January 2008, the UN Secretary-General urged the Eritrean head of state to ‘address the issue “on an urgent basis,” otherwise a UN decision would be taken in early February to begin withdrawing the 1,700-strong United Nations Mission in Ethiopia and Eritrea.’24 The UN Secretary-General laments: I remain concerned about the continuing military build-up by the two parties in the border areas, which continues to create the risk of igniting hostilities. I therefore call upon the parties to comply with the demands of the Security Council, set out in its resolution 1767 (2007), particularly to de-escalate the situation, including by

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Towards an Explanation returning to the 16 December 2004 levels of deployment, put an end to the exchange of hostile statements, provide UNMEE with the necessary assistance, support and protection required for the performance of its duties, as well as the Council’s demands that Eritrea immediately withdraw its troops and heavy military equipment from the Temporary Security Zone and reverse, without further delay or preconditions, all restrictions on UNMEE movement and operations to allow the Mission to effectively carry out its mandate.25

Notwithstanding the fact that the Ethiopian government has persistently ignored the Security Council demand to accept the decision of the EEBC and the Eritrean government has defied the demands to lift restrictions on UNMEE’s monitoring activities, including the supply of diesel, the United Nations has exhibited an admirable degree of forbearance. This level of commitment on the part of the international community would have been inconceivable under the old framework of sovereignty. It is obvious that the Eritrean government has benefited from the new framework but resents aspects such as interference in the areas of human rights, democracy and governance. In a way, the government seems to want to use both the old and new notions of sovereignty in ways that benefit the leadership. The irony of the fact is that the erosion of the old notion has not only greatly benefited the government but it also facilitated its birth. However, this does not seem to bother the Eritrean government.

Competition for financial and human resources Foreign aid is such a lucrative source of largesse that the occupants of state office are unlikely to allow it to slip easily from their grasp. (Bratton 1989)

The fourth reason for the Eritrean government’s inimical policies on autonomous civil associations is its wish to assert a monopoly control over access to donor funds. The Eritrean government, from the outset, considered NGOs as competitors for finite international resources but never considered the cumulative multiplier effects of such international organisations resulting from additional foreign currency, technical expertise and project development. The government seemed to think that, in the absence of NGOs, the said resources would be channelled through the state and that development projects would be designed and implemented by the government, free of external interference. The government defined its relationship with NGOs as a zero-sum struggle and adopted a policy which forced such organisations to substantially reduce the scope of their activities or leave the country. The government’s view of the NGOs was informed by its constricted notion that they were both competing for the same resources––official aid – and the gain of one was seen as constituting a loss for the other. This can be demonstrated by the fact that local NGOs are legally prohibited from utilising funds earmarked to Eritrea. The legislation on non-governmental organisations states, ‘No local NGO may engage in relief and/or rehabilitation work with funds earmarked to Eritrea by the United Nations or its affiliates or through bilateral agreements.’26 All local NGOs were required to declare immediately and publicly, as well as inform the

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Towards an Explanation Ministry of Labour and Social Welfare of, all donations they received from any source.27 The government overlooks the fact that NGOs bring in substantial foreign exchange as grants, most of which are raised through successful voluntary action (Bratton 1989). Before the government was forced to invite back NGOs in the aftermath of the border war with Ethiopia, the country had forfeited an unknown but probably substantial amount of foreign exchange because of its intransigence towards such organisations. The Eritrean government’s assumption that in the absence of NGOs in the country, donors would channel their resources through state structures is also misplaced. This is because official aid to a particular country is neither regime-neutral nor fixed, but is attached to political conditionalities. Key among these is democratisation, which is represented by freedoms, such as the right to free speech and dissent that are functions of independent media and independent civil society associations. Not only are these important indicators of pluralism, but they are also a major pull for official aid. Another aspect that may cause tension between governments and NGOs is the tax exemptions enjoyed by the international staff of the latter (Bratton, 1989). In Eritrea, however, international staffs of NGOs were required to pay tax (which could be as high as 38 per cent). Until the enactment of the new law on NGOs in May 2005, goods imported by the latter as part of their activities were exempted from customs duties. But with the introduction of the new legislation, all goods imported by NGOs, including those distributed freely to the poor, became subject to payment of customs duties.28 This had a dramatic effect on their activities and as a result, the number of international NGOs in the country was reduced by 65 per cent. According to the United Nations Integrated Regional Information Networks: In the recent past, Eritrea has gradually changed its relations with the aid community, emphasising the need for self-reliance. Since a proclamation on administering the activities of NGOs was put into effect in June 2005, the number of NGOs working in the country has dwindled from 37 to 13. In July 2005, Eritrea, one of the world’s most food aiddependent countries, asked the United States Agency for International Development – its largest donor of food aid – to stop operations, saying it was uncomfortable with the agency’s work.29

The decision by the government to levy income tax on expatriate NGO staff was hotly contested by the organisations affected but the government remained adamant (Government of Eritrea 1997a). This meant that NGOs had difficulties attracting experienced and skilled staff into the country because they were unwilling to pay the high income tax levied on their salaries – the salary drawn by NGOs’ staff in Western countries would not fall within the highest tax bracket. The government chose to ignore the disincentive effect of its policy and also the potentially negative impact on programme design and implementation. The government’s fear of brain drain was another source of tension. The government felt that the private (NGO) sector, which could provide higher wages, better working conditions and the acquisition of skills, such as the English language and computer operation, would present competition for workers. To counter this, in addition to the already heavy restrictions placed on international NGOs, the Eritrean government imposed wage ceilings for local people employed by UN

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Towards an Explanation agencies and NGOs. As a result, Eritrean local staff and local consultants working for the UN were among the least well-paid in the entire UN system. According to Ahmed Baduri, the former commissioner of ERREC, the government was determined to discourage ‘an unjustifiable social gap and differentials in terms of remuneration and other privileges’ (Government of Eritrea 1997a). This is laudable in principle, but does not make sense unless what is forfeited by private sector workers benefits those employed by the state – which was not the case in Eritrea. Moreover, it fails to take into consideration the non-financial benefits of working for an international organisation – such as learning new skills or working in a more supportative environment. Representatives of NGOs told the author that, in their opinion, the restrictions were punitive and impracticable. The concerns with local staff salaries were one issue; the concern of the salaries of international staff was another. While international salaries are known to inflate house rents in developing countries and can lead to a dual local economy, decreasing staff salaries cannot lead to an increase in project budget lines, as staff costs and activity costs are budgeted for separately. When the government enacted its policy in 1997, it also ordered international agencies to pool their cars and other equipment and declared that ‘the authorities’ would decide who would use what (van Beurden 2001). Some cynical observers, Eritrean and expatriate, told the author that the high-ranking government officials found the expensive 4WD land cruisers irresistible and could not wait to see the international agencies leaving the country so that they could requisition them. Some could not wait and they seized vehicles before the agencies who owned them had left the country. This move was described by staff of the NGOs involved as ‘illegal confiscation of property by a government which does not care about its own domestic laws and international law’.30 The border war of May 1998 to June 2000 left the government with no choice but to ‘eat humble pie’ and invite back the international NGOs which it had expelled unceremoniously a year earlier. Many NGOs in spite of their bitter previous experience responded positively and returned to the country to assist the nearly one million Eritreans who were displaced by the border war. However, although international response to the crisis in the immediate aftermath of the border war was positive, the Eritrean government’s lack of respect for the sanctity of the rule of law and its violation of citizens’ basic human rights dampened down donors’ enthusiasm; consequently the government was unable to mobilise resources for emergency relief operations. For example, in mid-2002, Eritrea’s total emergency relief requirement was US$95,725,525, of which US$69,230,233 was still unmet by the time the UN Consolidated Inter-agency Appeal was launched (Table 3.11). At the time when UN agencies were facing difficulties in raising funds for the current Consolidated Inter-agency Appeal (CAP) and the country was threatened by another impending food crisis, the government asked all the demining NGOs except the HALO Trust to leave immediately. The official reason for their expulsion was ‘ineffectiveness’ and the government’s claim that it could do a better job. Caught by surprise, the UN sent delegations to urge the government to reconsider its decision but to no avail. The UN deputy emergency relief Coordinator, Carolyn McAskie, for example, said:

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Towards an Explanation My first request is that the parties sit down and talk. I know that the government has concerns about the fact that the international organisations’ method of removing mines is slow, its technology is complicated and it’s expensive. Our defence of that is that it is better to be slow and to demine properly and without any casualties. We’ve asked the government to reconsider because we feel there must be a way in which we can all work together.31

She went on to say said that the international community was keen to help in the demining and that there was plenty of work for all of the parties. ‘Why not let them work alongside the Eritreans and let’s get this done more quickly?’ This was a reasoned stance, but fell on deaf ears. The Eritrean authorities also expelled the British-based demining agency, HALO Trust, from the country in June 2003 ten months after the other demining agencies had left the country.32 In explaining the rationale underlying the government’s decision, the acting information minister, Ali Abdu, argued that the Eritrean government had the necessary capacity and experience to clear the country’s minefields on its own. When the capacity of the less-than-a-month-old33 Eritrean Demining Agency (EDA) was questioned, he said, ‘nobody is entitled to certify us, whether we are capable or not.’34 A representative of the EDA also justified the decision by saying, ‘We have the national capability.’ He also said, ‘Demining should be under national ownership and not done by an international organisation.’35 In spite of the government’s claim of capability, a year later, ‘the rate of de-mining in Eritrea was just 25 percent of what it had been a year before.’36 The decision to expel the demining international NGOs was taken just weeks after the government had warned the international community that the country was facing an ‘exceptionally severe and prolonged drought’ and a ‘looming humanitarian crisis’ (ERREC quoted in ICC 2002a). The author was conducting fieldwork in Eritrea in 1997, when the NGOs were first expelled, and again in 2002 when the same thing happened to the demining NGOs. Eritreans from all walks of life, including those working for the government, were livid about ‘yet another’ measure that could affect donor response when the country was facing another crisis – and was littered with landmines. The author asked a high-ranking UN official whether the UN agencies could do anything to restrain the government from taking measures that were evidently detrimental to the interest of the population. He had this to say, ‘Nothing except talking to them politely. These guys think they know best and seldom heed any advice. In fact, they tend to do the opposite.’ Intrigued, the author asked him, ‘What if you say that you would stop raising funds unless they reconsider their decision?’ He replied, ‘They would ask all UN agencies to pack and leave immediately regardless of the effect of such a decision on the people and the country.’37 Informed sources have indicated that the government’s decision concerning the demining NGOs was influenced by short-term economic considerations rather than by a careful analysis of the negative repercussions it might have had on the peace process or on appeals for emergency relief and development aid. The Eritrean Demining Agency owned by either the PFDJ, the ruling party, or the government38 assumed that in the absence of competing international NGOs, the US$400,000,000 earmarked for demining by the international community would go to it; it also had access to the unpaid labour of tens of thousands of Eritreans

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Towards an Explanation involved in national service (NS) or in the Warsay Yikaalo Development Campaign (WYDC). The government again wrongly took for granted that funds earmarked for demining would automatically be allocated to the Eritrean Demining Agency, on the assumption that the Agency was competitive although it lacked experience, training, equipment and resources. While this is not to imply that a national agency cannot achieve the same level of excellence as an international one, it would have been important to view this in the context of the severe financial and human capital constraints faced by the country. Finally, the scars left by the expulsion of international NGOs in 1997 had not healed at the time this second announcement was made. It is reasonable to assume, therefore, that international donors were ‘twice shy’ of tolerating the government’s arbitrary exercise of power. Immediately after the severe hunger alert was issued in July 2002, the government and the UN agencies formed a Technical Task Force (TTF) to assess the situation and draft an appeal for the 2003 CAP. In the document, the UN said that more than 2.3 million people were vulnerable (UNOCHA 2003) and attributed the crisis to drought, widespread crop failures and shortage of water, as well as the effects of war, and poverty. They added that the NS and the WYDC had also created scarcity of labour and 40 percent of all households were headed by women, who had to bear the burden of raising families, tending fields and fetching water (UNOCHA 2005). The impact on agricultural production could not be underestimated (see World Bank 2002; IMF 2003). The CAP also recommended the creation of a safe environment for the return of thousands of internally displaced persons (IDPs), expellees and returning refugees and reiterated the ‘urgency’ of demobilisation, de-mining, and territorial demarcation to consolidate peace and stability.

The obsession with self-reliance Those who use foreign aid to disguise their political motives and agendas have been trying and continue to try to belittle this progressive policy [self-reliance] by distributing wrong and misleading information. (Government of Eritrea May 2006a)

The fifth reason for the Eritrean government’s decision to abolish aid and expel NGOs is closely linked to the preceding one. It was its inflated sense of pride, which is inextricably linked with its policy of self-reliance. This was first expounded in the 1977 EPLF manifesto: Pursuance of a policy of self-reliance is essential for total independence and liberation of a society. Politically it is the only means to complete freedom. Economically, it is likewise the only means, given prevailing international conditions, that enables a people to develop their economic potential depending on their own material and human resources. Socially, it is an essentially liberating process, emphasising as it does working cooperatively and collectively to satisfy your own needs. Dependence breeds subservience and lack of self-confidence. Freedom from dependence enhances a people’s independence of thinking, innovativeness, perseverance and pride in work and struggle. (Quoted in Hayman 2003: 7)

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Towards an Explanation In the 1990s, some observers thought that the EPLF had seemingly moved away from what Connell (1997: 186) called a ‘bunker mentality’. However, as the case studies in the preceding chapter show, appearances notwithstanding nothing substantial has changed since their early manifestos. Since Connell made this remark, as seen in Chapter 3 and as will be seen in Chapters 5 and 6, the PFDJ has regressed to its old Maoist days in every respect. The EPLF’s point of departure was that an organisation that received foreign aid or grant could never be able to exercise political independence without external interference. The same is true of the PFDJ and the Eritrean government. By the same token, any non-governmental organisations, including NGOs that receive assistance from governments, foundations, constituencies and international financial institutions, are considered as agents of those who finance their projects or programmes. Whenever the author criticised the policies of the Eritrean government on civil societies and NGOs, most government officials interviewed said, ‘men kem zmwlomn nay men luukat mqanom nfelit ina’ (‘We know who finances them and whose messengers they are’). Behind every donation, they assume there is a sinister ulterior motive. The interviewees’ belief is based on the oversimplified assumption that an organisation or a government that is dependent on external assistance cannot pursue an independent domestic and foreign policies. This conception is inconsistent with the EPLF’s experience during the liberation struggle. As we saw in CS 8 (p. 105), the Front was heavily dependent on external assistance provided by international NGOs channelled through ERA in the cross-border operation. Heavy reliance on international assistance, instead of being a constraint on selfsufficiency, constituted a key to its success and viability. That is why the postindependence government’s policy on NGOs and consequently on grant/aid does not make sense. It cannot be denied that too much reliance on external assistance may constitute a constraint on unfettered exercise of sovereignty and political independence. However, unless a government is paranoid, the pursuit of unfettered sovereignty or political independence is not necessarily always desirable. Sovereignty or political independence is not an end in itself. Both are means to an end which could be skilfully and flexibly mobilised as resources in pursuit of different goals. Self-reliance as conceived by the PFDJ leadership is fundamentally incompatible with the contemporary world where intricate global networks simultaneously interconnect and fragment the world. The structure of Eritrea’s economy also militates against ‘self-reliance’ as rigidly conceived by the Eritrean government and the PFDJ. Although the country depends on rain-fed agriculture, which supports over 80 per cent of the population (World Bank 2002), recurrent droughts, erratic rainfall, crop failures, locusts and loss of animals are very common (Eisenloeffel and Ronnback 1983). For example, between 1961 and 1998, domestic cereal production represented only 31 per cent of total cereal consumption in the country. But the EPLF’s policy of self-sufficiency has always been the linchpin of the political approach to national liberation. This may have been both a pragmatic response to the lack of international political support and a reflection of the Maoist ethos of national liberation struggles emerging across Africa in the 1960s. During the war, the EPLF implemented the self-sufficiency strategy (sometimes referred to as ‘self-reliance’ by the Front) very effectively. It was actually one of the

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Towards an Explanation factors that contributed to the survival and growth of the Front despite the unfavourable international situation. Nevertheless, it is important not to exaggerate the success of ‘self-reliance’ or, rather, of self-sufficiency which was made possible by international aid (CS 8, p. 105). This is because the future of the Front, and therefore of the liberation struggle was only assured after the establishment of the Emergency Relief Desk (ERD) in 1981, when international NGOs and groups in the diaspora channelled substantial support to the liberated areas. As we saw in Chapter 3, self-sufficiency in the neutral sense of partnership rather than the negative sense of dependence and autarchy was one of the sources of ERA’s strengths. The post-independence government instead of building on this rich experience squandered it wantonly. International NGOs’ intervention was important not just in terms of the quantity of support provided but also in terms of their principled defiance of the prevailing international norms of sovereignty – a stand which helped to start the process of modifying those norms to fit the realities on the ground. It has often been noted that NGOs were the unsung heroes of the Eritrean revolution because, without them, Eritrean ‘self-reliance’ (read self-sufficiency) would have been impossible. The only time they were honoured was during the first independence anniversary when the president thanked a few NGOs and invited representatives to the stadium as important guests.39 Otherwise, the EPLF discourse in relation to the war has maintained that ‘thanks to its strategy of self-reliance, the Front led the struggle to a victorious end’. While it is true that the courage of the Eritrean people and the EPLF’s meticulous and efficient allocation of scarce resources and their (until the early 1980s the ELF’s) fighting capability led to victory, the refusal to fully acknowledge the role of international support is not only pusillanimous but belittles the greatness of collaborative achievement. Worse still, the government often chose to claim other people’s successes. For example, in 1998, the author attended the opening ceremony of Tessenei hospital, which was built and equipped with funds raised single-handedly by a German NGO through the initiative of a returnee Eritrean nurse who was originally from Tessenei but had lived in Germany. Although the nurse was amongst the crowd, the regional Ministry of Health officials told everyone that the hospital was built by the government. She later told the author she had often been marginalised by government officials, but insisted that what hurt her most was not the failure to acknowledge her contribution and invite her to thank the people for the opportunity they had given her, but the immoral act of misinformation.40 Several Eritreans who worked for international NGOs in Gash Barka before 1997 told the author that the government routinely took the credit for projects funded or even implemented by international NGOs. It was common in opening ceremonies not to acknowledge or announce to the people where the funds came from. This was because the government’s opposition to the presence of NGOs was based on the assertion that they did not make any difference and therefore most of its public statements were geared towards belittling or ignoring the role they played (Afwerki 1995). The message the government seems to have been passing onto the international NGOs was that they were unwanted and their employees were there only in pursuit of self-interest, that is, to advance their careers, to draw ‘fat salaries’ and to lead luxurious lives. By the same token, Eritreans were being told that the NGOs

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Towards an Explanation were there to take advantage of or to waste the country’s resources. NGO successes therefore contradicted the official discourse and eroded the government’s legitimacy which, as in the case of most post-colonial states, was based on what Fowler (1991: 62) calls ‘distributive patronage’. In most sub-Saharan African countries where shrinking revenues have reduced the ability of states to provide for the well-being of their citizens, NGOs have often stepped in to fill the void. Whilst this has provided an opportunity for the voluntary sector to expand, it has also eroded the legitimacy of states which came to power promising ‘distributive patronage’. This, Bratton (1989: 63) argues, is ‘one of the most significant sources of political tension between existing regimes and the voluntary sector’. While the ‘self-reliance’ slogan acted as a considerable morale booster for the guerrillas and the desperately impoverished population during the war of national independence, it has been one of the major obstacles to real economic sustainability in the post-independence period. When the author asked a key government technocrat (an ex-fighter) whether it was proper to ask the international NGOs to leave, he said, without hesitation, ‘We fought alone and won our independence against all odds. If we could achieve that much in war time, we can move mountains in peace time.’41 This view echoes that of president Afwerki, who told a CNN journalist that, as long as Eritrea kept its own house in order, aid was unnecessary and irrelevant (Afwerki 1995). Such a view is not only naïve but is not consonant with the realities of an interconnected world. Moreover, the Eritrean state has clearly demonstrated that it is unable to keep its house in order. As seen earlier, over 66 per cent of the population live below the national poverty line (UNICEF 2004). A state that cannot meet the basic needs of its citizens cannot claim it is able to put its house in order. As the following examples of four ‘white elephants’ demonstrate, the Eritrean government’s ability to invest the country’s scarce resources intelligently is also highly questionable. These include the five-star Intercontinental Hotel in Asmara, the International airport in Massawa, Eritrean Airlines and a planned highway between Massawa and Assab. The luxurious, multi-million dollar Intercontinental Hotel has not attracted much market. Charging US $140 a night for a basic room, the only people who can afford this were the UNMEE personnel (who occupied the rooms at a subsidised UN rate). They were also the only ones who could use the health centre, the restaurants, two heated swimming pools and the coffee bar. The only time the catering facilities were fully used was 24th May, when the PFDJ, the owner of the hotel, hosted an elite party for national independence – the majority of Asmarans, meanwhile, cannot even dream of affording a ticket to the gala event. Due to the government’s isolationist and intransigent stance, the European members of UNMEE were expelled from the country and consequently the Intercontinental Hotel has lost its reliable customers. The government’s recent embargo (December 2007) on diesel and food has led to relocation of the UNMEE and, as reported by recent visitors to Asmara, the only five-star hotel in the country is completely empty. Eritrea, and especially Asmara, used to boast of many small, family-operated hotels or pensioni. Most of them almost crumbled under the socialist rhetoric of the Derg, because of hostility to the private sector, lack of maintenance and under-

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Towards an Explanation investment. Nevertheless, the physical structures and some of the skills necessary to run such businesses are still there. It would have made sound economic sense for the government to have provided incentives in the form of subsidised loans and industrial extension services to revive the vibrant small catering industry, instead of squandering scarce foreign exchange on a ‘white elephant’ – the five-star hotel. The international airport at Massawa is another such beast. It was completed in 2002 at an unknown but nevertheless considerable amount of money and very high opportunity cost. The airport was originally aimed at charter traffic for the beach resorts. Although under favourable political circumstances with a thriving private sector and well-developed infrastructure, Massawa and its Red Sea environs could have enormous potential for tourism, the government’s dismal human rights record, lack of rule of law, the state of ‘no-war-no-peace,’ and the strangulation of the private sector have rendered the Eritrean Red Sea an unlikely destination and, as a result, the airport remains unused. The unrealistic ambition of the government is causing massive disruption for a city that was almost destroyed in 1990. The government has declared that Massawa will be a hub of international trade and tourism and, therefore, unphotogenic poor people are unwelcome, and the poor areas of the central part of the city are being demolished and the people displaced. Considering that there is a huge corpus of knowledge on ‘development-induced’ displacements, and even the World Bank has learned critical lessons from the negative impacts of such policies (see Cernea 1988a, 1995; Cernea and McDowell 2000; Kibreab 2000) one would have hoped the Eritrean government, as a latecomer to statehood, would know better. In the meantime, the Italian investors who demanded the demolition of residential areas have since withdrawn from the project after the government rendered the previous occupants homeless. Eritrean Airlines is another sorry tale of profligacy and arrogance. The terrorist attacks in the US on 11 September 2001, and subsequent instability in the oil markets, threw the global airline industry into a tailspin. Established airlines felt the pinch, and some actually went out of business. Notwithstanding the unfavourable international and regional climate, Eritrea entered the airline market not only at the most inappropriate time, but also without considering the opportunity cost of its scarce resources. Eritrea does not have the infrastructures necessary to run a competitive airline. The Eritrean government, however, decided to throw financial resources at the national carrier, despite the fact that its operations are seasonal and dependent on the school and summer holidays of the diaspora. Moreover, government actions in other sectors have affected the ostensibly secure customer base. From summer 2003, all visitors of Eritrean extraction, including citizens of other countries are required to obtain an exit visa from the Eritrean Department of Immigration before their departure. This was in the hope of identifying young people who left the country, after 1994 to dodge NS and the WYDC. Those who were caught were prevented from leaving and sent to military training for an indeterminate period. This, and the long queues at the understaffed government offices, made holidaymakers, even small children, spend days queuing in the heavy summer rains, and has put many people off returning home in spite of family ties.42 Consequently, the airline has been facing serious financial problems and as a result, it has been unable to service debt or meet the running costs. It has returned one of its two leased aircraft and is currently working with only

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Towards an Explanation one which makes it very vulnerable in this fiercely competitive branch of industry. This can be vividly demonstrated by events that took place in August 2006. The Eritrean Airlines’ aircraft was sent for repair and a replacement aircraft was leased temporarily. According to the manager of Eritrean Airlines, Kubrom Dafla, on 3 August 2006 the owner of the leased aircraft withdrew it unilaterally. This was the apex of the peak season when thousands of diaspora Eritreans and their families visit the country. As a result, four flights were cancelled between 3 and 11 August, leaving passengers from the US and European countries stranded in Milan, Rome and Amsterdam. Returning passengers were also stranded in Asmara, missing their connections in different parts of the world. The asphalting of the Massawa–Assab highway is an equally prodigal use of scarce resources. While it may be important to link the two main ports for social and political reasons, there is no justification for using asphalt, which is unsuitable for the extremely high temperatures on the desert coastal stretch. These ill-conceived ‘prestige projects’ clearly indicate that the Eritrean government, instead of ‘financially putting its house in order’ as the president suggested in a CNN interview in 1995, is squandering the scarce financial and manpower resources with high opportunity costs in unsustainable projects – and of course scaring away the few external lenders willing to risk their money in a war-torn and marginal country. These examples show that the idea of ‘self-reliance’ is an illusion. ‘SELF-RELIANCE’ AND THE ERITREAN ECONOMY A central question that arises is the extent to which the Eritrean government’s strategy of self-reliance is working. Most available economic and social indicators show a bleak picture (see Tables 4.3–4.4 and Figures 4.1–4.9) and clearly suggest that the strategy is not working. The government itself has directly undermined the goal of ‘self-reliance’ through its policies and practices, especially those related to international relations, the defence budget, governance, justice and forced conscription of labour, as well as human rights and freedom. Some people the author interviewed have argued that factors such as drought or war are more responsible for the country’s poor economic performance than the government’s policies. However, although the government cannot be held responsible for natural hazards, it is responsible for the national response. Drought has always been part of life in the Horn of Africa, and was factored into traditional systems of production and consumption (Kibreab 1996a, 2002b). These coping strategies have been undermined by war and by the government’s ill-conceived policies on both mobilisation of the labour force (IMF 2003; World Bank 2002), and civil societies, including international NGOs. War is not natural and the border war between Eritrea and Ethiopia was not inevitable. Both sides negotiated a solution, but only after over 70 thousand people had been killed and thousands more wounded, and millions of dollars worth of damage had been done to infrastructure and agriculture. Not only did the war divert human and financial resources from agriculture, manufacturing, services and trade, but it also led to long-term disruption to agriculture, trade and pastoralism because of landmines and high rates of inflation, as well as debt and loss of revenues from trade (see Tables 4.3 and 4.4 and Figures 4.1–4.9; World Bank 2002: v; IMF 2003).

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Towards an Explanation Table 4.3 GDP by industrial origin, 1993–2001 (in millions of constant Nakfa, 1992 =100 1993

1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

Agriculture Crops & livestock Staple crops Cash crops Livestock

482 386 109 54.2 223

658.5 554.8 217 107.9 229.9

581.5 472.3 160.1 79.6 232.6

548 437.4 134.6 66.9 235.9

551 444 135 67.3 241

867 756 356 167 253

800 684 279 139 266

454 331 97 48.2 186

616.8 488.2 195.6 97.2 195.4

Forestry & fishing Forestry Fishing Industry

96.1 92.6 3.5 338

103.7 95.3 8.4 384.6

109.2 98 11.2 466.2

110.6 100.8 9.8 638.4

107 104 3.4 765

111 107 4.5 715

117 110 6.7 735

123 128.6 113 116.3 10.1 12.3 688 732.2

Mining & quarrying Manufacturing Handicrafts & small industry Electricity & water Building & construction

4 166 28.1 24 115

4 176.6 32.7 26.2 145.1

4 213 38.1 27.8 183.3

4.1 240.9 50.2 29.5 313.7

8.8 257 93 32.2 374

6.8 234 85 32.9 357

6.1 235 88.4 35.5 371

3 3.0 243 256.2 91.5 96.5 35.5 35.8 316 340.7

Services Distribution services Trade, wholesale, & retail Transport & communications Other services

1331 1659.3 828 970.2 568 641.4 261 328.8 503 689.1

1729 1074 717.8 356.6 654.9

1846 1149 763.9 384.9 696.9

1952 1228 809 414 729

1813 1019 649 370 794

1868 1029 655 374 839

1856 1941 968 1026 590 625.2 378 400.4 889 915.7

GDP at factor costs Indirect taxes less subsidies GDP at market prices

2150 2702.4 144 130 2295 2832.4

2777 125.2 2902

3032 137.4 3170

3267 156 3423

3395 133 3528

3404 147 3551

2999 3290 124 135.6 3123 3426

Source: International Monetary Fund referred to in World Bank, Obstacles to Expansion of Eritrea’s Manufacturing Sector, Final Report, December 2002, 1.1

The unending conflict with Sudan has been equally catastrophic In December 1994; Eritrea decided to sever diplomatic relations (on this see Kibreab 1996b) with Sudan. In an unprecedented move, the Eritrean government also handed over the Sudanese Embassy premises to Sudanese opposition groups. This resulted in the closure of the border between the two countries. The Eritrean-Sudan border is the lifeline of the two economies, but particularly Eritrea’s, and cross-border trade is a key source of revenue and livelihood for the frontier communities on both sides.43 The data in Tables 4.3 and 4.5 on sectoral economic growth and key economic indicators for the period between 1993 and 2001 show that claims to self-reliance are a charade. After almost 12 years of independence, Eritrea’s economy, measured as GDP, remains tiny and therefore vulnerable to regional instability. Moreover, as the data in Tables 4.3 and 4.4 show, with few exceptions, the growth rate of the economy has been small, stagnant or negative throughout the postindependence period. A 2003 IMF report paints an equally bleak picture of Eritrea’s economic performance (see Figures 4.1 and 4.10). Figure 4.1 shows that the highest rate of

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Towards an Explanation Table 4.4 GDP by industrial origin, 1993–2001 (percentage change in millions of constant Nakfa (1992=100) 1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

36.6 43.7 99.1 99.1 3.1

-11.7 -14.9 -26.2 -26.2 1.2

-5.8 -7.4 -15.9 -16.0 1.4

0.5 1.5 0.3 0.6 2.2

57.4 70.3 163.7 148.1 5.0

-7.7 -9.5 -21.6 -16.8 5.1

-43.3 -51.6 -65.2 -65.3 -30.1

35.9 47.5 101.6 101.7 5.1

7.9 2.9 140.0

5.3 2.8 33.3

1.3 2.9 -12.5

-3.3 3.2 -65.3

3.7 2.9 32.4

5.4 2.8 48.9

5.1 2.7 50.7

4.6 2.9 21.8

Industry Mining & quarrying Manufacturing Handicrafts & small industry Electricity & water Building & construction

13.8 0.0 6.4 16.4 9.2 26.2

21.2 0.0 20.6 16.5 6.1 26.3

36.9 2.5 13.1 31.8 6.1 71.1

19.8 114.6 6.7 85.3 9.2 19.2

-6.5 -22.7 -8.9 -8.6 2.2 -4.5

2.8 -10.3 0.4 4.0 7.9 3.9

-6.4 -50.8 3.4 3.5 0.0 -14.8

6.4 0.0 5.4 5.5 0.8 7.8

Services Distribution services Trade, wholesale & retail Transport & communications Other services GDP at factor costs Indirect taxes less subsidies GDP at market prices

24.7 17.2 12.9 26.0 37.0 25.7 -9.7 23.4

4.2 10.7 11.9 8.5 -5.0 2.8 -3.7 2.5

6.8 7.0 6.4 7.9 6.4 9.2 9.7 9.2

5.7 6.9 5.9 7.6 4.6 7.8 13.5 8.0

-7.1 -17.0 -19.8 -10.6 8.9 3.9 -14.7 3.1

3.0 1.0 0.9 1.1 5.7 0.3 10.5 0.7

-0.6 -5.9 -9.9 1.1 6.0 -11.9 -15.6 -12.1

4.6 6.0 6.0 5.9 3.0 9.7 9.4 9.7

Agriculture Crops & livestock Staple crops Cash crops Livestock Forestry & fishing Forestry Fishing

Source: International Monetary Fund referred to in World Bank, Obstacles to Expansion of Eritrea’s Manufacturing Sector, Final Report, December 2002, 1.1.

growth of real GDP was recorded in 1993 (9.9 percent) and in 1994 (25 percent). However, these high growth rates are contradicted by other sources and, according to the World Bank, the reliability of the figures cannot be ascertained until the authorities publish the official GDP figures for the post-independence period (World Bank 2002: 6). In 1995, the real GDP growth rate decreased considerably, measuring about 4 per cent compared to about 25 per cent in 1994. After a slight improvement in 1996, the rate of growth plummeted to about minus 12 per cent in 2000, probably as a result of the border war. After the cessation of the war in 2000, the rate of growth of real GDP improved in 2001 but fell again by 1.2 per cent in 2002 (see Figure 4.1). The data in Figure 4.1 show dramatic changes, from rapid growth in the immediate post-independence period to near collapse at the end of the 1990s. The high growth rate in real GDP after the end of the war of independence is more a reflection of the collapsed state of the war economy than real economic growth.

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Figure 4.1 Growth of real GDP and agricultural production, 1993–2002 (percentage changes) Source: IMF (2003)

Figure 4.2 Food and non-food price inflation, 1997–2002 (annual percentage changes) Source: IMF (2003)

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Figure 4.3 Government revenues and expenditure, 1993–2002 (percent of GDP) Source: IMF (2003)

The dramatic negative growth in 2000 is largely because of the war, which led to a suspension of economic activities and to skyrocketing spending on defence. The data in Figure 4.2 illustrate the percentage change of prices in food and non-food commodities. In 1998, the price inflation of food increased dramatically, a reflection of the change in policy concerning aid, especially food aid (Government of Eritrea 1997a,b). Although data on inflation are incomplete, the IMF report of 2003 recorded a rise in inflation from 8 per cent in 2001 to almost 24 by the end of 2002; the Bank of Eritrea’s figure for the same period was 34 per cent (IMF, 2003: footnote 6). According to the World Bank’s Country Brief for Eritrea, in 2003, inflation was 23.8 per cent, one of the highest levels in history (World Bank 2004). Drawing on the Asmara Consumer Price Index, a recent report by the FAO/WFP notes that overall inflation reached 29 per cent during the 12-month period up to September 2004. The increase was to a large extent driven by food products with prices for food during the same 12-month period up 37 per cent, cereals 58 per cent and pulses 83 per cent (FAO/WFP 2005: 4). The increase in food prices between March and September 2004 was ‘proceeding at an annualised rate of 78 per cent for all foods, 112 per cent for cereals and 178 per cent for pulses’ (ibid.). Inflation rates during the second half of 2005, were also very high, reaching 77 per cent for meat and 61 per cent for fish (ibid.). Since 2005, the country has been facing acute shortages of fuel (ibid.). Rampant inflation has had a devastating effect on livelihoods. The high rate of inflation was not, for example, matched by rises in wages or salaries. The public sector is the biggest employer in the formal sector and ‘civil service pay has been frozen since 1997’ (Government of Eritrea 2004: 23).

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Figure 4.4 Domestic and overall fiscal balance, 1993–2002 Source: IMF (2003)

The data in Figure 4.3 show government spending and revenue between 1993 and 2002 and it is clear that the government spent much more than it received. From 1995 onwards, government expenditure on sectors such as education and health began decreasing whilst spending on defence rose continuously until 1999. The ‘pre-border conflict levels’ are what the government, in its Interim Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper (Government of Eritrea 2004), refers to as an ‘unacceptable level’. Though government borrowing from domestic financial institutions and banks was an understandable short-term response to the border war, the data in Figure 4.3 clearly show that the fiscal deficit was unsustainable, especially if spending on education and healthcare was curtailed. Between 1999 and 2001, government spending on education was 2.7 per cent of GDP, but in 2002, two years after the comprehensive peace agreement, military expenditure represented 23.5 per cent of total GDP and expenditure on health in 2001 was 2.7 per cent of GDP (UNDP, 2004). In 2002, the proportion of GDP Eritrea spent on defence was the highest in the world. In fact, no other country spent even half as much on defence as Eritrea did in proportion to its GDP. The second highest spender was Oman which spent 12.3 per cent while Ethiopia spent 5.2 per cent (UNDP 2004). Eritrea’s defence spending should be looked at in the context of its small economy, estimated at 0.6 billion in 2002 (UNDP, 2004). Ethiopia’s total GDP in 2002 was US$ 6.1 billion, meaning that it spent US$0.32 billion on defence that year whilst Eritrea’s spent US$0.14 billion. Thus even though Ethiopia spent much less on defence than Eritrea as a proportion of GDP, its spending was much higher than Eritrea’s in absolute terms. The 2005 FAO/WFP report observes that Eritrea’s official foreign exchange

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Figure 4.5 Balance of payments indicators, 1997–2002 (in percentage of GDP) The data in Figure 4.5 show the balance of payment situation in Eritrea. There appears to be a net flow of resources from Eritrea probably due to spending on arms and imports of goods and services. It seems the problem became less severe between 1997 and 2001 only to deteriorate in 2002. Source: IMF (2003)

Figure 4.6 Gross official reserves, 1997–2002 The data in Figures 4.6 and 4.7. show a dramatic reduction in official reserves between 1997 and 2002. In 1997 alone, nearly a year and a half before the border war, official reserves fell by about three-quarters. Source: IMF (2003)

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Figure 4.7 Balance of payments indicators, 1997, 2002 (as percentage of GDP) Source: IMF (2003)

reserve has plummeted so low that it would not cover imports for even half of a month (15 days). In 2001, the reserve was US$ 50 million which was reduced to US$30 million in 2002. Official gross foreign reserves have been around US$16 million on average during 2003 and 2004, and are not expected to increase in the short term. They are expected to be reduced further (FAO/ WFP 2005: 4). This is exacerbated by the country’s mounting debt. Eritrea is no longer a debtfree country. With agriculture and industry both in steep decline, indebtedness has grown. In 2000 the country’s total debt was estimated at US$311 million (World Fact Book 2001). In 2003, total debt stock in nominal terms reached US$635 million (Jubilee Search 2004). Donors have become unwilling to support the government, largely because of concerns about political governance (IMF 2003). For example, the withdrawal by the European Union of its budgetary and balance of payments support to the Eritrean government in 2001 led to the breakdown of discussions between the Eritrean government and the IMF (IMF 2003), which deprived the country of stability loan facilities. In the year between September 2001 and October 2002, Africa Confidential estimated that the country lost as much as US$400 million in aid as a direct result of poor governance. The problems facing Eritrea are displayed starkly in Figure 4.7. The current account balance shows that imports far exceed exports. ‘SELF-RELIANCE’, GOVERNANCE, WAR AND ECONOMIC CRISIS When the border war with Ethiopia broke out, Eritrea lost a major source of revenue from trade with Ethiopia. Also lost was revenue from Massawa and Assab ports, which were boycotted by Ethiopia, hitherto the major customer. In

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Figure 4.8 National debt, 1993–2002 (as percentage of GDP) Source: IMF (2003)

1997, a year before the border war, Eritrea’s non-tax revenues rose to about 23 per cent of GDP, half of which were derived from port services (World Bank 2002: 7). The worsening budget deficit was further made worse by donors’ withdrawal of budgetary and balance of payments assistance. The government was forced to finance the deficit with domestic banking resources which led to dramatic increase in domestic debt, which reached 128 per cent of GDP in 2000 and 123 per cent two years later (see Figure 4.8).44 Consequently, Eritrea has become one of the most highly indebted countries in the world. According to the World Bank, in 2002, the country’s debt in net per cent value (NPV) terms was 311 per cent more than the highly indebted poor country eligibility criteria (World Bank 2002). In September 2004, the World Bank’s lending alone to Eritrea reached US$379 million (World Bank 2004). The country’s indebtedness is inextricably linked to the issue of governance. Poor governance led not just to the withdrawal of donor assistance (save limited humanitarian aid and funds earmarked for demobilisation), but it has also led to a substantial decline in remittances. In the immediate post-independence period, remittances from the Eritrean diaspora constituted the main source of foreign exchange – estimated at 45 per cent of GDP between 1993 and 1997, compared to 16 per cent in donor support. Since 2001, the ratio between private transfers and donor support has been reversed. In 2002 private transfers declined to 27 per cent and donor support increased to 34 per cent of GDP (World Bank 2004).45 Owing to the government’s unfortunate policy towards the private sector both domestic and international, the level of foreign direct investment in the country has been woefully low. The average FDI in 1990–2000 was US$67 million and the corresponding figures for 2002, 2003, 2004 and 2005 were US$20 million, US$22 million, US$8 million, and US$11 million, respectively.46 These as a percentage of

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Figure 4.9 National debt servicing, 1993–2002 (as percentage of GDP) Source: IMF (2003).

gross fixed capital formation are in 1990–2000 (annual average), 2003, 2004 and 2005 29.4 per cent, 13.1, –3.9 and 5.4, respectively.47 The mainstay of the country’s economy is agriculture (Fig. 4.1). The data in Table 4.5 show great variation in production from year to year. The two major causes of the drop in crop production are landmines and failure to demobilise young, productive men and women. These have exacerbated the natural propensity to drought and turned a hazard into a crisis. As we saw earlier, despite the large number of landmines, the government expelled demining NGOs in 2002, one of the three factors that precipitated a 77 per cent decline in agricultural production (IMF 2003). The other major cause was the government’s lack of commitment to demobilisation, which has also affected the manufacturing sector (World Bank 2002). After the peace agreement in December 2000, the Eritrean government established a National Commission for the Demobilisation and Re-integration Programme (NCDRP) and formulated a proposal to demobilise 200,000 combatants in three phases. In the first phase to end in January 2003, 70,000 combatants, including female, low and semi-skilled workers and those with family needs and sick relatives, were to be demobilised (IMF 2003). The second phase was supposed to include 60,000 combatants and be completed by the end of July 2003 while the date for the demobilisation of the remaining 70,000 was left open because of uncertainties relating to financing. However, although the government had issued demobilisation ID cards to about 64,000 conscripts, most of these were professionals and persons with high levels of education who have since then been working for the government, the firms of the ruling party and regional governments within the framework of the NS and the WYDC. Although most of the 64,000 working for the state are salaried, they are still considered as members of the NS and the WYDC. As of April 2009, only 5,000 combatants have been

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Towards an Explanation Table 4.5 Crop production in Eritrea, 1997-2004 (tonnes) 1997 CEREALS Sorghum Maize Wheat Barley Pearl millet Finger millet Taff Hanfez Total

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

55 316 269 772 207 197 52 370 78 759 28 434 64 061 6 406 28 986 15 899 4 054 9 051 3 008 4 456 5 131 22 945 19 010 10 579 25 423 2 637 3 442 16 085 56 605 31 835 25 786 44 934 9 736 8 576 4 332 44 183 17 829 1 515 18 174 4 931 11 748 3 156 7 622 5 402 2 716 12 093 865 5 187 4 150 18 706 13 147 10 415 19 551 3 191 7 161 4 504 8 992 8 508 3 197 11 067 1 728 1 313 99 080 457 811 318 827 110 632 219 052 54 530 105 944

44 646 3 164 5 053 11 134 7 118 4 436 7 574 1 859 84 984

OTHER FOOD CROPS Peas Chick peas Horse beans Green peas Haricot bean Lentils Total

175 492 176 364 0 1 1 208

398 1 783 659 399 36 0 3 275

581 2 793 3 301 718 36 272 7 701

1 670 1 130 2 972 8 284 1 420 4 022 722 2 730 0 36 116 211 6 900 16 413

2 797 225 445 3 484 0 110 7 061

60 1 600 600 N/A 0 100 2 360

91 3 459 603 N/A 31 86 4 270

Source: FAO global information and early warning system on food and agriculture World Food Programme, Special report, FAO/WFP crop and food supply assessment mission to Eritrea, 18 January 2005

effectively demobilised. Strangely, not only has demobilisation stagnated but mobilisation and forced conscription have been on the increase. One of the reasons given by the government is the persistent lack of security caused largely by the Ethiopian government’s refusal to accept the decision of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission. The Eritrean government’s intransigent refusal to engage in constructive diplomacy with the UN, AU, EU and USA is also partly to blame. The government’s reneging on demobilisation is a fundamental contradiction of its so-called strategy of ‘self-reliance’. It is not possible for the country to become self-sufficient in food and other necessities when a substantial proportion of the agricultural, industrial and service sector labour force is mobilised into the army and scarce resources with high opportunity costs are squandered in the purchase of weapons. In April 2006, an estimated 300,000 Eritreans were serving in the military (Reuters 2006). According to the reports of the World Bank and the IMF, the main cause of the poor economic performance of agriculture and manufacturing is shortage of labour caused by mobilisation into the army of the skilled and unskilled labour force (IMF 2003; World Bank 2002).

Incompatibility of civic pluralism with a monolithic and centralising political movement The sixth reason why the Eritrean government has an aversion to autonomous civil society associations and social movements is the fear that rival visions and ideologies

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Towards an Explanation will undermine the idea of ‘one people, one heart,’ which has been enshrined in the PFDJ’s latest slogan ‘hade hizbi, hade libi’. In other words, Eritrea has neither political space nor civic need for more than one party and one ruler, a worldview embodied in President Afwerki.48 As a long-term goal, the slogan ‘one people, one heart’ is laudable. However, this cannot be achieved on the basis of exclusion. There is a fundamental contradiction between the government’s slogan of ‘one people, one heart’ and its policy of ‘winner takes all’ and the vanquished are excluded from power sharing. After independence, the single most important preoccupation of the government was to assert its authority over Eritrean society and territories. This was necessitated by the fact that, whilst the EPLF was the dominant political and military organisation, there were other legitimate political organisations waiting to be included in the provisional government and to compete for power in an open political market. The new government also had to deal with the thorny political issues of ethnicity, religion, region, and language. The EPLF government called for unity of all ethnic groups, regions, religions and classes under its exclusive leadership. They even invited individuals from the exiled ELF factions to return and rebuild the country. However, rather than invite the organisations the people belonged to, the EPLF focused only on individual members, a clear sign that the government did not recognise the right to form political organisations outside the EPLF. The provisional government declared that Eritrea and its mass organisations were open to all individuals, regardless of their previous political affiliations (with the exception of those who had ‘collaborated with the enemy’), provided they renounced their past political convictions and embraced the EPLF. Thus when the ELF-RC called for a reconciliation meeting, it was scorned by the EPLF and a meeting scheduled in Asmara in 1992 between the ELF-RC’s leader, Ahmed Nasser, and the Eritrean government was unilaterally cancelled by the government just before the ELF-RC contingent boarded a plane at Khartoum. The large majority of the ELF-United National Organisation’s leadership, their followers and some ELF veterans returned to Eritrea as individuals. They expected to be given positions in government commensurate with their experiences but they were booked into run-down government hotels (Mahmoud 2005)49 and blamed for draining the new state’s scarce resources. On the one hand, the government appeared to care for their welfare by allowing them to stay in government-owned accommodation free of charge but on the other, it wanted to humiliate and discredit them. Sure enough, after being marginalised and humiliated for some time, most of them left the country. In order to put some flesh into the slogan of ‘one people, one heart’ and in their quest for unity, the government and the ruling party sought to deny the heterogeneity of Eritrean society. This was because heterogeneity was perceived as being divisive and undesirable, consistent with the default EPLF-fighter ethic (Afwerki 2003a). However, what in wartime may be a necessary contingency in an ethnically heterogeneous and impoverished country becomes a profoundly antidemocratic hegemony when peace has come. In forming a new nation, the EPLF failed to transform itself from a military organisation with no room for dissent, to a democracy that could embrace difference. This outlook was a continuation of the culture of intolerance and denigration of the ‘other’ that was developed in the war

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Towards an Explanation of liberation (see Kibreab 2008a). For almost three decades, the leadership of the EPLF had not been held to account for its actions and failures. By the time the country achieved independence, the privilege of not being questioned had become entrenched as a culture. A friend who was not generally critical of the EPLF during their first years in government described their attitude as ‘commando io’, an Italian expression meaning ‘It’s me who is in command’ which characterised the arrogant colonial mentality of axiomatic superiority. In the situation, the ‘colonised’ were expected to defer to this or risk being branded as ‘remnants of the Derg,’ ‘Jihadists’ or in the aftermath of the border war, ‘Wayne’.50 The only institutions that could not easily be decreed or wished out of existence in the EPLF/PFDJ’s project of reducing the multiple identities and aspirations of Eritrean communities and institutions were the historically rooted religions, Islam and Christianity, to which over 96 per cent of all Eritreans subscribe.51 Associations, such as ERA, had played critical roles in bringing about the demise of dictatorial regimes, including the Derg, and the Eritrean government was aware of this. It therefore tried to ensure the dominance of its vision and ideology by stifling the development and consolidation of alternative and pluralistic institutions and power bases. Fowler (1991), in a study of NGOs in mediating state-society relations, argues that voluntary sector organisations can provide an institutional home for those who do not fit within, or who fall foul of, prevailing regimes. In Eritrea, where economic and political control is centralised in one party (Chapters 3–6, this volume), the voluntary sector is by definition outside the prevailing regime. Thus the government has made the state the only avenue of upward mobility, status and power, even for the weak private sector. Before its demise, the government controlled the private sector through licences, arbitrary taxation and contracts, especially for development or construction projects. The state and the PFDJ see themselves as the dominant important actors in the national economy and no individual or firm can survive without their patronage. An inevitable consequence of this has been that the middle class, including intellectuals and the business community, which could have played a key role in the development of civil society and democratic institutions, are instead focused on penetrating the state and engaging in what Jua (2001: 9) calls, ‘the politics of the belly’, becoming ‘organic intellectuals’ whose opportunism is elegantly encapsulated as ‘the treason of the clerks’. This gives the leadership leverage to coerce officials, entrepreneurs and intellectuals, including those in the diaspora.52 For example, mdskal, the ostracism or ‘freezing’ of civil servants and high-ranking government officials who question the presidents, is one of the most pernicious forms of ‘disciplining and punishing’, to use Foucault’s phrase. The Eritrean government is uncompromising in its commitment to the idea of a homogenous Eritrean society. However, the real values of that society are incompatible with the idea of ‘one people, one heart and one leadership’. Not only does the government’s conception of national unity undermine difference and democracy, but it is also self-defeating. Unity cannot be built on exclusion and oppression. The surest route to unity, courage and tolerance is a political system that is respectful of difference, accountable, transparent and competent. Unity obviously is a greater good than disunity, but it is wrong to equate difference with disunity. In fact, recognition of difference is a sine qua non for convergence.

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Towards an Explanation Therefore one of the reasons why the Eritrean government and the ruling party loathe civil society associations and NGOs is because they represent multiplicity and espouse pluralism.

Perceived threat to national security Generally security appears to represent a universal good that all in society strive to achieve. However, drawbacks can emerge when security becomes a primary or allconsuming emphasis: this focus can foster (1) paranoia and a counter-productive focus on constantly unearthing potential threats to security or (2) a drain of resources away from societal values (such as economic well-being) deemed important. Portraying concerns as security issues can elevate them into crisis requiring extreme emergency measures that may be unwarranted and may provoke similar harsh responses from others. (Robert Mandel 1994: 16) If the vertical tension (tikulawi mtfnan) [caused by the G-15] in the society is unleashed, as what we have been witnessing in Somalia, in which people are incited to fight against each other, there will neither be a people nor a country (President Isaias Afwerki, 23 January 2003)53 When issues of national sovereignty or state security are felt to be at stake, governments are likely to securitise the international connections of NGOs with particular care. (Bratton 1989: 570)

Invocation of threat to national security is often used by governments to justify sweeping and often extra-legal powers. As Fowler (1991) argues, the issue of national security is one of the main causes of tension between governments and NGOs. This is because civil society, including NGOs could induce changes in the social and economic order or operate outside government control. The Eritrean government is hostile to democratic civil society associations and NGOs because it fears that they may foster social norms and values incompatible with the government’s and that these may make people aware of their rights and of the need to organise in autonomous and independent civil and political society associations in pursuit of their common interests. Such cultural norms and civic values, the government fears, may foment resistance to its rule and undermine its legitimacy. This is seen by the government as constituting a threat to national security rather than to its dictatorial rule. The Eritrean government has, in its short life, exhibited an unmistakable proclivity to over-securitise issues, including those that cannot be remotely connected to the security of the country and its people. As seen in the quotation above, the president’s Somalia analogy is intended to dramatise the alleged danger posed by the change-seeking forces, including the G15, in order to legitimise their indefinite illegal incommunicado detention without being charged with any offence. Failure to do so, in the president’s view, would imminently threaten the survival of the country, as has been the case in Somalia. The corollary is that in the absence of such dramatic measures – incommunicado incarceration of suspects without establishing any wrongdoing – there would have been no Eritrea. By framing the question of dissident groups in an existential manner, the message is

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Towards an Explanation clear – any measure taken by the government to secure the survival of Eritrea and its people, no matter how illegal, is justifiable. When an issue is securitised, argue Buzan et al. (1998: 23–4), ‘it is presented as an existential threat, requiring emergency measures and justifying actions outside the normal bounds of political procedure’ (see also Waever 1996; Huysmans 1995). Because the Eritrean government places every dissent and criticism of its policies on the security agenda, there are unknown but nevertheless many Eritreans that have been in incommunicado detention throughout the country without being charged on the alleged grounds that they constitute a risk to national security. For example, Amnesty International has documented many cases of Eritreans detained without charge or who have disappeared after being picked by the police or the security forces. As we saw in Chapter 2, one of the most famous cases is of the eleven members of a group of fifteen – EPLF veterans and senior government officials,54 who signed an open letter to PFDJ members in May 2001 calling for democratic reforms in the country. Although they have never been charged, the president and his spokesmen have accused them of having committed a ‘grave crime’ against Eritrea’s national security. For example, the director of the president’s office, Yemane Gebremeskel, when asked about the situation of the former prominent leaders of the EPLF, former ministers and army generals, said, ‘they are guilty of crimes which are very grave and nobody can be absolved from a crime’ (2005). According to the law of the land, only a legally constituted court of law that applies the relevant criminal law and procedure can pass a guilty verdict and not the president’s office or its director. The second, de facto, spokesman of the government, Woldai Futur, also said the following when asked about donor concerns regarding the poor human rights performance of the government and the fate of the incommunicado detained citizens:55 ‘Who would not believe in good governance? Who will not believe in freedom of the press? Who would not believe in human rights? …This is a very small country. There are matters of national security. You take [actions] for national security purposes’ (Futur 2003). In addition, he said, ‘Human rights are relative to me, they are relative’ (ibid.). Those who believe in human rights do not think they are relative. Freedom against torture, freedom against incommunicado detention without trial and freedom to express one’s views peacefully are not relative but universal. If one does not believe in the universality of such rights, then one cannot claim to believe in human rights, good governance and freedom of the press. The ‘crime’ the G15 committed was that they challenged the head of state by asking him to convene the long overdue meetings of the central council of the PFDJ and the National Assembly in accordance with the constitution and regulations of the party (G15 2001). It is worth noting that, although this was the first time the president and the people around him took such dramatic measures against the prominent leaders of the liberation war under the pretext of national security, this was not the first time he was challenged. According to Haile Durué, the first challenge the president faced was in December 2000 when the central council of the PFDJ met and urged him to implement the constitution and to conduct multi-party elections, but he refused (Connell 2005: 19). The PFDJ Central Council and the National Assembly held consecutive meetings in August 2000 and September 2000, respectively. At the Central Council’s meeting, issues

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Towards an Explanation relating to war and peace, implementation of the constitution and timing of national elections were discussed and the president was subjected to scathing criticism (ibid.). The September 2000 meeting of the National Assembly discussed the president’s handling of the border war and established a commission to assess the experience and to draw up rules for multi-party elections agreed to take place in December 2001. The president was confronted by the question, ‘Why don’t we have the regular meetings of all the legislative bodies of the front and the government and the executive bodies of the front and the government?’ (Haile Durué in Connell 2005: 109). The president is said to have claimed that ‘it was not convenient to convene meetings.’ However, when he was challenged he is said to have retorted ‘because of the war situation’. When he was reminded that the war ended seven months before, he blatantly told them, ‘I am the chairman and I am telling you it is not convenient.’ He even went as far as saying: ‘And in the future, if I don’t feel it is convenient, I am not going to convene these meetings;’ (quoted in Haile Durué in ibid.: 110). When he refused to convene the meetings, 15 of the 75 members of the Central Council wrote the ‘open letter’ on 5 May 2001. The letter was posted on the internet during the brief flurry of press freedoms and in newspapers and magazines inside the country. In the ‘open letter’ the head of state was accused of acting illegally and unconstitutionally, and it called upon all PFDJ members and the Eritrean people to express their opinion through legal and democratic means concerning the implementation of the constitution and on the general situation the country was in. The government, instead of responding to the critical issues raised in the ‘open letter,’ accused the G15 of crimes against the nation’s security (AI 2001a). The president told the National Assembly, which convened after a long time in February 2002, that they were guilty of treason (AI 2002a). When the G11 were arrested in September 2001, the government shut down all private newspapers and 10 media workers, including editors, owners of the private newspapers and photographers, were detained. Between 2001 and 2002, many more government officials were also detained (see Chapter 2), and arrests have continued unabated since then. None of these people have been formally charged even though the Eritrean Constitution (which was finally ratified in May 1997), and the Penal Code require that detainees be charged or released within 48 hours. The maximum period of detention for questioning is 28 days. For example, when Amnesty International protested at the detention without charge of the Asmara University Students’ Union president, Semere Kesete, in July 2001 and wrote a letter to the Eritrean head of state stating, inter alia, that his detention was illegal, they received the following response. In a letter written to Amnesty on 21 August 2001 by Yemane Gebremeskel, the director of the office of the president, they were told that Kesete’s detention was ‘legal’ because his detention beyond 48 hours was allowed ‘on the basis of Article 59 of the Transitional Criminal Procedure Code.’ More importantly he stated, ‘Eritrean law allows – like most legal systems – remand up to 28 days’ (Gebremeskel quoted in AI 2001a). It is interesting to note that even the president’s office director admitted that according to Eritrean law, the maximum the authorities could keep a person in custody without being charged was 28 days. Kesete was detained in an unknown place for more than a year without being charged before he escaped along with his guard.

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Towards an Explanation On 23 January 2003, the president was interviewed by Elias Amare, a member of the PFDJ mass organisation. He asked the president about the legal handling of the ‘defeatists’,56 the G11. The president said that it is true that people are asking questions saying, ‘why are they not brought before a court and why are no measures taken against them?’ (Afwerki 2003). It is interesting the way the president misconstrues the public outcry concerning the illegal detention of the G11. In his view, it was not because people thought that the G11 deserved to be charged or discharged, as a demand for punishment. This is consistent with the common explanation party activists and their supporters give as to why the G11 have not been charged for seven years. They say, ‘because the level of crime they committed is so serious that they would probably be sentenced to death if brought to court’. The corollary is that ‘it is in the G11’s interest to suffer indefinite incommunicado detention rather than face the sword of justice.’ The reason why the G11 have not been brought to court the president said: Firstly, this case is not political. It is first and foremost a question of national security. The crime that was committed [by G15] imminently threatened the security and survival of the country. … Now, how do we handle the case? Firstly, we need to take a deterrent measure. … It is easy to finish the case by bringing it [the people concerned] to the court. But the case should be investigated and this is complicated by the fact that the questions are intertwined. New issues are emerging and are adding to the clarity of the case. (Afwerki 2003) (emphasis added)

In other words, four years after trusted comrades from the field and government were thrown into prison; the president would have liked the nation to believe that investigations were ongoing and that issues of national security were at the root. This argument was repeated almost verbatim by one of his henchmen, Yemane Gebremeskel. When asked in an interview with IRIN in April 2004 about the fate of those who were detained incommunicado, he said, This is a very clear-cut issue. These are not political detainees in the sense that these are not people who have been imprisoned because they expressed, as some say, alternative ideas on how the country should be governed etcetera. These are people who betrayed the country at a critical time, who tried to oust the president through unlawful means during a time of war, during Ethiopia’s third invasion in May [2000], who even tried to establish a liaison with Ethiopia (Gebremeskel 2004) (emphasis added)

Gebremeskel also opined that three years was not so long a time (referring to the period of detention without trial) and wondered aloud what people were moaning about. This is the same person who had earlier told Amnesty International that the maximum number of days the government could hold a person in custody without being charged was 28 days. It has been over seven years since the G11 and many other citizens have been incarcerated incommunicado without being charged. It is common knowledge that these people were detained because they challenged the president’s refusal to be answerable to the law (see Sherifo’s, Haile Wodensae’s, Petros Solomon’s, Ogbe Abraha’s and Berhane Gebreghziabher’s Conversations with Connell 2005). As the BBC reported, ‘Fifteen senior members of the party, including government ministers and army generals, accused the president of working in an illegal and unconstitutional manner’ (BBC 2004). The report further pointed out, ‘The signatories said Mr Isaias had consistently refused

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Towards an Explanation to allow collective leadership, and failed to convene legislative bodies intended to regulate presidential power’ (ibid.). The ideas of treason, betrayal, defeatism and threat to national security were reconstructions intended to dramatise the danger and to justify their illegal incommunicado incarceration. It is a case of securitising a benign call for peaceful political debate, accountability and change. Over time, the incarcerated journalists’ labelling has also changed from being ‘agitators and defeatists’ to being guilty (without trial) of the specific crime of espionage. In April 2003, in an interview with Radio France International, President Afwerki was asked why there had been such a clampdown on democratic freedoms when these had been one of the ostensible goals of the national liberation struggle. In response, the president said that the detained journalists had been bribed by foreign agents. External interference went to the extent of abusing the freedom of the press that we introduced in the middle of the war by buying journalists, financing them. It was not journalism; it was not freedom of the press. It was one way of conducting psychological war in the middle of the war, dividing society into religious, ethnic, regional, linguistic divisions. That kind of intervention is not acceptable. These are not even journalists. You cannot say a spy is a journalist. I do not know of any journalist, a professional journalist, who was supposed to communicate objective information about realities and developments to the population under detention. (Afwerki 2003c)

This was again repeated verbatim by his spokesman, Yemane Gebremeskel, in an interview with IRIN on 1 April 2004 in which he said: ‘They [the journalists] could have been easily manipulated, easily infiltrated, especially if there is money involved’ (IRIN 2004). This is another example of how champions of democratic change are transposed by the Eritrean government into threats to the social order. If the government had found evidence to prove that the G11 and the journalists were guilty of the ‘crime’ the government claims, there would have been a massive show trial and triumphant media campaign. The fact that investigations have been allegedly going on for over seven years is a clear indication that there is no case after all. The Eritrean head of state and his inner circle have a high propensity to label any person or a group who criticises their attitudes or the government’s policies and its human rights record as a security risk. The unresolved border dispute is often used as a pretext for securitising every demand for accountability, justice, fairness and rule of law. The reason the border has not been demarcated is because of Ethiopia’s obdurate refusal to accept the ‘final and binding’ decision of the EEBC contrary to the spirit and the letter of the Algiers Agreement of December 2000. This has been exacerbated by the Eritrean government’s poverty in diplomatic acumen and irrational behaviour towards the United Nations peacekeeping mission, the Security Council, national and international NGOs, and others such as the African Union, European Union and the US government. It is not rocket science to understand that, without collaboration with these bodies, the stalemate cannot be overcome. The law is obviously on Eritrea’s side, but because the government has been unable to seize the opportunity to benefit from the justice of its cause, it has been creating enemies right and left unnecessarily and therefore has squandered its political, social and diplomatic capital. This may not only be due to the Eritrean

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Towards an Explanation head of state and his cronies’ lack of acumen in international relations and diplomacy, but more importantly their inability to work with whoever holds a different view. For example, Kidane Mengisteab and Okbazghi Yohannes in their book on the tragic post-independence condition argue that the reason Eritrea’s foreign policy has been imprudent is because: ‘The Eritrean leader is characteristically known for his tendency to put arrogance in place of prudence, petulance in place of patience, contempt in place of deference and tactical calculation in place of strategic considerations’ (2005: 203). This is exacerbated by the fact that the few people around him sing from the same hymn sheet – a classic case of group think. The consequence of this has been, inter alia, Eritrea’s complete isolation in the international arena in spite of the fact that it is a victim of Ethiopia’s intransigence at least with regard to the border dispute. The Eritrean government’s inability to work prudently and intelligently with the forces that have been trying to overcome the stalemate, such as the UN, the US government, the EU, AU and others, has given intransigent Ethiopia an opportunity to appear to be in favour of peace when, in fact, it is mainly responsible for the state of no-war-no-peace and consequently for the hardship suffered by Eritrean communities – especially those in the border areas and for whom cross-border economic activities are indispensable for their livelihood. Notwithstanding the government and its apologists’ claim, it is important to guard against confusing the issues. The questions of human rights and democracy are completely separate from the border demarcation question. In fact, the correlation is much stronger on the positive side. In view of the Ethiopian government’s rejection of the decision of the EEBC, there is need more than ever before for democratic governance in Eritrea. A democratic government would, on the one hand, be able to lobby aggressively among the international community in order to bring strong pressure to bear on Ethiopia and, on the other, create a government of national unity so that all the national political organisations stand together on the border question. Eritrea’s long-term security can only be guaranteed through a government of national unity in which the PFDJ will have an equal right with the rest of the national organizations provided it renounces its exclusionist policy based on the divisive formula of the ‘winner takes all’ and the vanquished receives nothing but humiliation. Unity is impossible without inclusion. In the context of exclusion and disunity, Eritrea is likely to remain vulnerable to the forces that want to destabilise it. It is also important to emphasise that, although there is an unsettled problem with a neighbouring government and this should concern all Eritreans, there is no justification for the Eritrean authorities to use this as carte blanche to treat citizens, UN peacekeeping forces and civil society with contempt in the name of national security Both the Eritrean and Ethiopian governments are determined to wage proxy wars against each other. However, ironically, the Ethiopian government’s refusal to implement the decision of the EEBC instead of weakening the Eritrean government has, on the one hand, given it an ideal alibi to hold democracy as a hostage and, on the other, to use the issue of demarcation as a rallying cry to mobilise public support. Although it is difficult to know how much of this is true, there are some Eritreans who consider themselves to be ‘fair-minded’ who claim that the reason why they do not condemn the government’s violation of human rights is

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Towards an Explanation because of the threat Ethiopia poses to Eritrea’s national security. Although the two issues are distinctly separate, there are some Eritreans, including diaspora intellectuals, who claim the questions of human rights and demarcation of the border are inseparably linked. To anyone with functioning faculties, it is not difficult to see that the two issues are different. There is a Tigrinya saying which aptly describes such a stance – inda sem’a zidekeses haramz nei yetes’e’o (Even elephants cannot wake up a person who pretends to be asleep). As stated earlier, in spite of the fact that Eritrea has made it clear that it is willing to accept the decision of the EEBC notwithstanding the fact that it has lost territories to Ethiopia and the latter has refused to accept the decision, nevertheless, the Ethiopian head of state has been scoring numerous diplomatic gains at the cost of Eritrea without moving an inch from his original intransigent stance. In November 2004, the Ethiopian government ostensibly ‘accepted’ ‘in principle’ the April 2002 decision of the EEBC in conjunction with its own Five Point Peace Proposal.57 Ethiopia’s prime minister, former TPLF leader, Meles Zenawi, characterised the decision of the EEBC as ‘unjust and illegal,’ but said that his government would accept it in the interests of ‘development, good governance and peace’ (Zenawi 2004). He did not explain why he thought the decision was illegal. In fact, this is strange in view of the fact that the two governments had, in the presence of international witnesses, stated that the decision of the EEBC was going to be ‘final and binding’. As seen earlier, the reason why ‘in principle’ he accepted the decision was because this would enhance the goals prioritised by his government. He said that failure to do so would constitute a constraint on the realisation of the principal goals allegedly prioritised by his government. However, he did not hide the fact that pressure was brought to bear on his government by the international community and the acceptance ‘in principle’ of the EEBC’s award was, inter alia, a response to such pressure.58 The central thrust of his reasoning was that unless Ethiopia accepted ‘in principle’ the EEBC’s decision, the amount of aid flow would decline and the government’s goals would be unachievable. Ethiopia’s acceptance was premised on the assumption that the practical problems that would arise between the two countries during the demarcation process would be overcome through dialogue and negotiation.59 This is Zenawi’s usual fraudulent style but, nevertheless, a masterful stroke because, on the one hand, it alerted the Ethiopian people to the fact that its embattled government is being forced to act in such a way by the international community, but, on the other, it is couched in the very rhetoric of the international community and assuages their fears that they are dealing with two intransigent governments. Ethiopia, the principal intransigent and the major cause of the postAlgiers stalemate, has been rewarded with increased humanitarian and development aid thanks to its leader’s lip service to the good governance agenda. Eritrea has thus found it extremely difficult to dismiss Ethiopia’s appeasing words without looking like the obstacle to peace. It took the international community nearly a decade and a half to find out that Zenawi was a tyrant under cover when he incarcerated the entire opposition in connection with the May 2005 Ethiopian elections. The European Union’s chief election observer in Ethiopia, Anna Gomes, for example, declared that ‘recent elections failed to meet international standards in several key respects’.60 She said that, in some areas, there

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Towards an Explanation were ballots for sale in the black market.61 Amnesty International also reported ‘widespread human rights violations against opposition party members … including mass arbitrary arrests, torture and ill-treatment, extrajudicial executions and unfair trials.’62 In spite of its irrational behaviour towards its international partners, it has to be said that the Eritrean government behaved patiently over the demarcation issue. However, instead of using the opportunity to demonstrate its capacity for diplomacy and reasoned discussion, it has used it as a means of stifling demands for democracy at home ‘in the name of national security’. This has undermined its credibility in the national and international arenas leading to reduced willingness to listen to Asmara’s evidence of Ethiopian intransigence. Ironically, the appalling behaviour of the Addis Ababa government towards Ethiopian citizens of Eritrean origin and Eritreans residing in Ethiopia (see AI 1999; High Commissioner for Human Rights 1998; Human Rights Watch 1999; Kibreab 1999a; Klein 1998; Legesse 1999; Woldeselassie 2000), as well as its refusal to accept the outcome of an agreement which was final and binding, could have been rallying points for Eritrean civil society associations and their voice could have added credibility to the government’s position. In the absence of such organisations, the Eritrean government presented its case alone and the international community has been unable or unwilling to look at the demarcation issue independently of the government’s unacceptable treatment of its citizens, national and international NGOs, the diplomatic corps, the UN peacekeeping mission and governance. What the Eritrean government fails to realise is that the international community is not a neutral charitable entity. It has its own agenda designed to promote liberal democratic core values, such as human rights, multi-party elections, freedom of press and association, due process and rule of law. Rightly or wrongly, the dominant forces in the international arena under the leadership of the US government consider these liberal core values as being good for all societies. If a government, as the one in Eritrea, is inimical to such liberal core values and consequently stymies the development and consolidation of democracy, pluralism and freedom, as well as the political and civil society associations that espouse such liberal core values, no matter how just its particular cause may be it is regarded as a strategic enemy rather than an ally. If the Eritrean government were to understand this, it would have behaved in accordance with the rules of the game or accepted the consequence as given. The so-called ‘in principle’ acceptance of the EEBC’s decision by the Ethiopian government was premised on the assumption that the two governments would enter into dialogue before implementing the decision on demarcation. This is in spite of the fact that the Algiers Agreement nowhere mentions the idea of dialogue. The Eritrean government considers pre-demarcation dialogue as an unviable proposition. As a result, it obdurately refused to see the UN secretary-general’s special envoy, the former Canadian foreign minister, Lloyd Axworthy (BBC 2004). In explaining why Eritrea rejected the new peace envoy, the Eritrean head of state’s spokesman said, ‘We have conveyed to the secretary-general that the concept of a special envoy is not acceptable to us as it would constitute an alternative mechanism to demarcate the border’ (ibid.). However, a peace envoy was not intended to create an alternative mechanism but rather to ‘facilitate the

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Towards an Explanation decision of the boundary commission’ (UN Security Council 2004). Unless the Eritrean government’s refusal to take part in a dialogue is seen contextually, not many people would see any benefit to be had by refusing to see the party one is trying to make peace with. One does not make peace with one’s friends but rather with one’s enemies. However, the Eritrean and Ethiopian heads of state are not normal enemies. Both of them are determined to get rid of each other rather than make peace with each other. Both regimes are determined to use each other’s opposition groups in their proxy ‘wars’. The situation is further complicated by Ethiopia’s invasion of Somalia and Eritrea’s support for the Somali opposition groups, including the Islamists. Both governments see each other as representing an imminent threat to their national security. Taking all this into account, the idea of dialogue between two such uncompromising governments is unrealistic. It is also necessary to question how genuine Ethiopia’s call for dialogue with Eritrea is. During the border war and after, Ethiopia’s responses to the proposals of peace, including to the American/Rwandan proposal, were premised on the assumption that Eritrea would never say ‘yes’. The Ethiopian government’s disingenuous responses have invariably been based on such an assumption and time again they have been proved right. Eritrea seems to say ‘no’ as a habit regardless of whether this undermines its case. In 1999 or 2000, a top PFDJ official came to London to give a talk at Chatham House. An Eritrean friend and myself went out with him and his diplomat colleague for a drink. In the presence of four or five people, he told us that a common friend of the EPLF and the TPLF during the armed struggle who knew that the Ethiopian government’s acceptance of the Rwandan-American peace proposal was disingenuous asked the Ethiopian prime minister or the people around him: ‘what would the Ethiopian government do if Eritrea also said “yes” to the US–Rwanda peace proposal?’ They blatantly told him, ‘They will never say yes.’ The person concerned passed the message on to the Eritrean government and the latter did nothing about it. We heard this from the ‘horse’s mouth’. The Eritrean government, instead of rising to the challenge to expose the alleged fraud of the Ethiopian government, continued trudging along its fruitless intransigent route and Ethiopia came across as being in favour of a peaceful settlement. The same is most probably true of the Ethiopian government’s call for dialogue. It is premised on the assumption that Eritrea would never say ‘yes’ to a dialogue and that is fundamentally true. Although only the Ethiopian government characterised the EEBC decision as being unjust, Eritreans need not have the illusion that the decision is blatantly in their favour because Eritrea has apparently lost more territory than Ethiopia. The fact that Eritrea has been awarded the dusty and rock-strewn symbolic village of Badme does not mean it has benefited from the award. The whole of the Badme plains and all the villages in Akran (around 20 of them) are said to have been lost to Ethiopia. This is in spite of the inhabitants of the villages identifying themselves as ‘pure’ Eritreans. Ethiopia has also gained substantial amounts of territory in the eastern part of Eritrea, that is, in the vicinity of Bada while Eritrea was awarded three villages in Irob. This is no gain because the inhabitants of the villages regard themselves as ‘pure’ Ethiopians, and have no intention of becoming Eritreans. The question that arises is: what will happen to the inhabitants of the villages (in Akran

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Towards an Explanation and Irob)? The only way these practical anomalies can be addressed is through understanding and reconciliation. For these to be effective and judicious, there should be provision of mechanisms through which the border communities can articulate their interests, and these should be absorbed in the final decision. Ethiopia’s refusal to accept the decision of the EEBC and the state of no-warno-peace has given the Eritrean government an opportunity to securitise every form of dissent. Securitisation discourse is empty of referents except in the drama of the discourse itself (Buzan 1991; Huysmans 1995; Waever, 1996: 106–7). Once an issue is dramatised through an arbitrary ‘speech act’, the danger that can unfold from the failure to avert it is equated with life and death and transcends everything else. ‘Security’ is thus a self-referential state, and whoever is evoking it asserts the right to resort to anything to ensure its survival (see Buzan 1991; Waever, 1996). The government’s response to the G15 was not intended to address the issues raised but rather to move the matter to the national security agenda, thereby automatically rendering the substance of their claims irrelevant and only highlighting the context – war. This enabled the authorities to bypass ‘normal’ judicial procedures in the name of national survival. The Eritrean government, emerging from the trenches, made free speech and criticism abnormal, a situation that seems set to continue judging from the deafening silence of the national intelligentsia, apart from a courageous few. The tragedy of independent Eritrea is the silence of its fighters, the mass organisations and the intellectuals in exile who promised to create and nurture a cradle of liberty for their children where tyranny, arbitrariness, injustice and inequality would be relegated to the dustbin of history Had there been a vibrant civil society and a free and critical mass media, the government would have found it more difficult to violate its own laws and international human rights norms. It would also have been unable to wage a war with Ethiopia. However, as European civil society associations are discovering, peaceful mass demonstrations by civil societies are no guarantee against war.63 Nevertheless, it may be safe to say that had there been autonomous civil society associations in Eritrea and Ethiopia, the two governments would have been less confident of mass acquiescence in the slaughter of tens of thousands of their citizens. In addition to securitising dissent, the development of political organisations is securitised by the government. Political associations are critical elements in the consolidation of civil society associations (de Tocqueville 1969; Keane 1988), but these are banned in Eritrea on the grounds of ‘national security’. In an unconscious echo of British colonial policy (see Kibreab 2005a), according to the government, the Eritrean people are not ready for democracy because of the ethnic and tribal nature of traditional society. If allowed to form parties, they would do so based on religious or ethnic lines and this, according to the president, would allow enemies to destroy the unity and security of the country and its people (Afwerki 1996a; 2001; 2003b). When the Central Council discussed the question of the law on political parties in August 2000, the president, Yemane Gebreab and Zemhret Yohannnes opposed the idea, but they were defeated (Haile Durué in Connell 2005: 111). When the president realised this, he kept quiet and in the ‘discussions, it was only Yemane and Zemhret who strongly opposed the formation of political parties’ (ibid.). Because the president had said prior to the meeting, in an interview: ‘We don’t have an incubator to hatch political parties,’ Yemane and Zemhret must have been simply reiterating the president’s view.

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Towards an Explanation The same argument was also the central thrust of a paper Zemhret Yohannes presented at an international conference on Eritrean Studies in Asmara in 2001.64 The gist of Yohannes’ argument was that the Eritrean people were not ready for democratic change. The corollary is that if they were allowed to form political parties, ethnic and religious entrepreneurs would set up their own associations for personal gain without considering the consequences for national security and unity. This argument was repeated by government officials interviewed after the conference and therefore reflected the position of the government. The government has insisted that, even when political parties are allowed in the future, no parties based on religion, ethnicity, region, clan or tribe would be tolerated. This echoes the statement made in 1990 by Afwerki when he was the secretary-general of the EPLF in which he warned that ‘political organisations waiting to form political parties in independent Eritrea without participating in the war of independence would not be allowed to do so’ (Afwerki 1990: 12–18). At that time, Afwerki must have been referring to the various factions of the ELF, because this was the only political organisation in existence at that time. This position has not changed – the ELF and all its break-away factions have not been allowed to organise as part of a democratic process in independent Eritrea on the grounds of national security. As head of the Provisional Government of Eritrea (PGE), Afwerki said that Eritrea would not be a ‘playground of political organisations’ (‘nay wudbat hashewiye kemzeyele’ (Afwerki 1991). His speech in Asmara Stadium on Martyrs’ Day (20 June 1991) was marked, on the one hand, by ostensible magnanimity to individuals who had collaborated with Eritrea’s enemies but who were now willing to work with the government to rebuild the country, and to criminals who would be answerable before the law and, on the other, by narrow-minded sectarianism towards rival organisations. In the euphoric haze of independence, few people analysed closely the importance of the phrase used by the president – ‘nay wudbat hashewiye kemzeyele’. What he was saying was that if political parties65 were allowed to operate in Eritrea, the country would be reduced to chaos and its security and consequently its political stability would be imminently threatened. ‘Hashewiye’ in Tigrinya is a game played by female children and, though it appears chaotic, it is in fact governed by very precise rules that are enforced by the players. As noted previously, whilst his speech, on the one hand, ushered in the politics of exclusion and narrow-mindedness, it was, on the other hand, marked by an unusual willingness to forgive, albeit at an individual rather than an organisational level. Although Eritrea was going to be beyond the reach of political organisations and autonomous civil associations, he said: those who committed murder (kitlet), theft (sirki) and embezzlement (mitfifaén) will be required to account for their actions before the law, all those who betrayed their country and collaborated with the colonising forces in different capacities are forgiven and all doors are open for them and should they therefore participate in all aspects of national life. (Afwerki 1991)

It is important to state, however, that this was more than anything else a publicity stunt by a government that had just come out from the trenches. In spite of the president’s promise, some of those he said would be forgiven have

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Towards an Explanation disappeared since then. The independence celebrations diverted most people from following the paths of those who did not believe the presidential amnesty of 20 June 1991. Instead of benefiting from the alleged presidential amnesty, many detainees were taken before secret courts which sentenced them to many years in prison (AI 1997). According to Amnesty International, a dozen of them have disappeared without a trace and are feared to have been summarily executed (ibid.). One of those is Daniel Gebrekidan, a lawyer who joined the EPLF’s underground cell in Addis Ababa – T’hisha – in the early 1970s. He was arrested and tortured by Haile Selassie’s government and subsequently changed sides and worked with the Derg as a political commissar. Gebrekidan was allegedly arrested by plain-clothed EPLF men outside his home in Addis Ababa in 1991 immediately after the Ethiopian Peoples’ Democratic Front (EPRDF) backed by their former allies, the EPLF, marched to Addis Ababa and was supposedly taken to Asmara.66 In April 1989, Daniel was accused by the EPLF’s Dimtsi Hafash (radio station) of being one of the 11 Eritreans who were instrumental in the Derg’s project of dividing the Eritrean people in order to undermine their unity and their just cause (EPLF 1989a).67 These disappearances may show that the EPLF leadership is not often serious about the promises it makes. According to the head of the PGE’s 20 May speech, all Eritreans who betrayed their country by collaborating with the enemy were pardoned. How could the government explain Daniel and the others’ disappearances? Whenever it serves their purpose, the government and the ruling party do not hesitate to make misleading and false promises. For example, in 1993, they promised a full transition to a democratically elected government by 1997. In order to make this promise credible, a committee to draft a constitution was appointed. The drafting exercise was completed successfully and the draft constitution was ratified by the Constituent Assembly in May 1997. However, the elections that were to take place in 1997 never occurred and the government refused to promulgate the ratified constitution. There is only one political party or what the president calls ‘national organisation,’ i.e. the PFDJ, in the country (Afwerki 2001: 3).68 The failure to hold elections in 1997 was retroactively explained by the state of insecurity the country found itself in, due to the threat posed by Ethiopia as a result of the border war that broke out exactly a year after the ratification of the constitution. As seen before, two committees were formed to draft guidelines and rules for elections and the establishment of political parties in 2000. The committees completed their work successfully but because they had exhibited some degree of independence in developing the guidelines and the rules, the committee leaders fell out with the government and they were subsequently incarcerated without trial. This was because they allegedly constituted a threat to national security. National Assembly elections were again scheduled to take place in December 2001. The elections never took place and, worse still, no explanation was given either before or after, except the repeated assertions that the country’s security was under an imminent threat due to the unsettled border dispute with Ethiopia. Although the Eritrean government established a commission to draft a constitution and to hold free and fair elections, it did not mean to implement any of these. This is clear from what the head of state said in June 1996. When the drafting of the constitution was completed and the whole nation was preparing to

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Towards an Explanation celebrate the ratification and implementation and to welcome a democratically elected constitutional government, Afwerki told the nation in unambiguous terms that it was futile to expect any credible political party and consequently democracy to emerge in the near future. He said that though it would be difficult to predict what might happen beyond five years or be certain whether there would be political parties or not, ‘in the near future, what is certain for sure is that the Front [PFDJ] will continue to be dominant’ (Afwerki 1996: 15). In May 2001, at a time when the short-lived openness in the country was at its peak, the president said that, whilst the Front might not continue in its present shape, it was absolutely clear that the PFDJ was indispensable for the continued existence and security of the country and its people. In his view, the absence of the EPLF/PFDJ would create an ‘unnecessary vacuum’ (Afwerki 2001: 3) which could threaten the security of the country and its people. This does not compare with what he said on the same subject on 24 November 1992. When asked about the future of the EPLF in post-referendum Eritrea (post-May 1993), he unequivocally said: ‘The EPLF is certainly committed to dissolve itself.’69 Not only does the Eritrean head of state see multi-partyism as constituting a threat to national security, but he regards leaving the ruling party to join another as a crime. In a 1996 interview, he said that he will always remain EPLF/PFDJ. He further pointed out, ‘I never intended to commit a crime by joining new camps and groups that would be created in the future. I consider this measure to be insane’ (Afwerki 2001: 3). This may clearly demonstrate that if he gets his way, he will never legalise independent and democratic political parties. He would also regard those who try to create political parties as criminals. The idea of political party is itself securitised. Although it is not clear why the president considered those who join new political organisations or opposition groups as insane, it is more dumbfounding that he thinks joining new political organisations constitutes a crime. In an interview with the PFDJ’s monthly magazine, Hidri, the head of state made the government’s conception of opposition groups more explicit and unequivocal. When asked why the government had not allowed or recognised other political parties except its own five years into independence and whether the government was in principle opposed to pluralism or was afraid of a multi-partybased political system, the head of state clearly implied that the existing political organisations would never be allowed to form political parties because of the danger they posed to the country’s security. He seemed to perceive the existing exiled political organisations as being based on religion, ethnicity, region, clan and tribe. After reiterating that his government’s view was different from the conventional wisdom on multi-partysm, he said that allowing political parties along the organisational experiences, structures and ideas developed and consolidated during the war of independence would ‘amount to saying that there should be no Eritrea’ (Afwerki 1996: 15). The organisations created during the war of independence and the ideas that underpinned their existence and their visions were seen by the president as being the gravediggers of the Eritrean nation. He further pointed out that they (the government and the PFDJ) had inherited the politics of division and tension and if they were to allow the formation of political parties according to the tradition of the war of independence, ‘we will create another Rwanda, Yugoslavia, Somalia, and Liberia. There will never be any political parties that are based on clan, tribe and religion in this country’

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Towards an Explanation (Afwerki 1996: 15). In the head of state’s view, legalising the various political organisations that fought for independence before their ejection from Eritrea in July 1981 would threaten the security and stability of the country and lead to genocide, as was the case in Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia. The Rwanda and former Yugoslavia analogies are used to dramatise the danger in order to justify his autocratic rule. He said that the only mature organisation in the country was his own, the PFDJ, and in the short and medium term he saw no substitute for it. It was therefore difficult, in his view, to say whether there would be political parties in the future. However, ‘what was evident’, he observed, ‘was that in the near future, the Front will continue to play a dominant role and the question of political parties would be discussed when favourable conditions are created and when there would be visible improvement in the standard of living and other conditions’ (ibid.). As seen before, these were the arguments he used to refuse to convene the regular meetings of the Central Council of the PFDJ and the National Assembly. The time the president made these pronouncements is interesting. The interview was conducted in mid-1996 when the country was at peace with itself and its neighbours. The drafting of the Eritrean constitution had also been completed and was awaiting ratification and implementation. This indicates that the government was not telling the truth to the people when it promised to hold national elections based on the principles embodied in the new constitution. The president and his entourage often give the border war as the reason for the failure to hold multi-party elections. However, there was no border war in 1996 when the president, with no qualms, stated that the political and economic conditions for a multi-party political system were absent and he therefore doubted whether there would be any political parties except his own in the foreseeable future. The border war which broke out exactly two years after the president’s statement was used as a convenient alibi for dictatorship. The Eritrean head of state had in previous statements made it clear that there needed to be a constitution before a multi-party political system could be established (Afwerki 1993). But what he said in the June 1996 interview when the constitution was awaiting ratification and implementation shows that he was being insincere. It is often said by the Eritrean government, the party and outside observers, that the reason the constitution was shelved and multi-party elections were postponed was because of the border war. This is not true. By the time the drafting process of the constitution was completed, the Eritrean head of state had already made up his mind that the draft constitution was going to be shelved. The border provided him with a convenient retroactive justification to do what he had already decided to do on 20 June 1991 when he used the ‘hashewiye’ parable to declare his position on multi-party and participatory democracy. While it is not suggested here that parochial political organisations based on faith, ethnicity and region are good for Eritrea’s security, political stability or development, this does not justify the government’s blanket characterisation of all opposition groups as being parochial and sectarian. In a multicultural and multifaith society such as Eritrea, the indispensability of a secular government that governs through consent and on the basis of equal representation has no substitute. This, however, can never happen in the absence of democracy and politics of inclusion and compromise.

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Towards an Explanation National independence still remains the most treasured principle for most Eritreans, partly because of the price they paid – over 60,000 fighters and an estimated 40,000 civilians died during the independence war. In 1991, there were an estimated 90,000 orphans and about 10,000 disabled people (Government of Eritrea 1993: 23). Because the government understands this, it exploits it by invoking external and internal threats and the mantra that it is the only guarantor of Eritrean independence and security whilst the liki-chifliki (riffraff) – the opposition groups – will wantonly squander this. As long as there is an actual or perceived threat to the country’s independence, which is also partly reinforced by the Ethiopian government’s refusal to accept the ruling of the Eritrea–Ethiopia Border Commission, many Eritreans seem to be willing to trade freedom for ‘security’. What is worrying, however, is that the proponents of this myth, who include many Eritrean intellectuals in the diaspora, ignore the fact that Eritrea’s survival is not just a function of military capability. Worse still, they do not seem to realise that the argument of threat to national security can be used to perpetuate dictatorship indefinitely. After admission into the UN family of nations, what Eritrea needed most was not firepower, but statesmanship and mastery of international relations and diplomacy which could be deployed in pursuit of its interest within the framework of the rules of the game. The government has neither been able to reassure those who, from the beginning, suspected that it was not endowed with such resources nor made any effort to cultivate these indispensable skills. Although there are some Eritrean career diplomats who had served under the Ethiopian government or with the United Nations and who joined the EPLF or sympathised with their cause, the government has filled its diplomatic posts with apparatchiks, some of whom cannot even spell the word ‘diplomacy’. The handful of capable diplomats – namely, Haile Menkarios, Tesfai Germatzion, Hebret Berhe, Abdella Adem, Humed Ahmed Kulu and Adhanom G. Mariam – have gone into exile to protest the government’s poor record of human rights.70

Arrogance: ‘We know better than the rest’ Cabinet ministers were not meeting. The National Assembly was not meeting. The Central Council of the PFDJ was not meeting. There were no institutional meetings. The information we received was by rumour – bado seleste (rumour mill). I was protesting the lack of participation at the policy level. When the country was plunged into deep crisis during and after the border war, the president refused to convene the regular meetings of the Cabinet, the National Assembly, the Central Council and the Executive Committee of the PFDJ. So people became furious. (Haile Durué in Connell 2005: 110)

According to Petros Solomon, the president dismissed his colleagues’ call for the meetings of the National Assembly and the Central Council saying: Why do you want to make meetings? I don’t want to make meetings. What is the necessity of meetings? I don’t make meetings. I don’t see the necessity of making meetings. Have the people of Eritrea asked me about that? Who are you guys? (in ibid.: 130)

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Towards an Explanation The president’s behaviour towards the most prominent leaders and founding members of the liberation front, members of the cabinet, National Assembly and the Central Council was, to say the least, a manifestation of boundless closed-mind arrogance. Another reason the Eritrean government has been stifling the transition to democracy and the development of any autonomous civil society is because the ruling clique think they have a monopoly of truth, knowledge and of what is supposed to be ‘good’ for the muzzled people. The author has interviewed, formally and informally, many government officials of various ranks and in different regions for over ten years and most of them genuinely believe that they have unrivalled knowledge of Eritrean cultures and history, as well the solutions of the problems faced by the communities. They also strongly believe that the task of ‘outsiders’, including Eritreans in the diaspora, is simply to help the government realise the goals set long before independence. When this exclusionist approach is questioned, many ask, ‘Why do you think we fought all these years?’ If one criticised the exclusionist policy of the government in the immediate post-independence period, some combatants used to ask: ‘Where were you when the stones were burning?’71 This is not an irrelevant question, considering that many individuals sacrificed lucrative careers and families, and indeed many gave up life itself to join the war as fighters. Nevertheless, it is equally important to acknowledge that prosperity, freedom, democracy and peace cannot be built on the basis of exclusionary politics. Nor did the Eritrean people pay the enormous price just to hoist a national flag, or to give a few individuals power and status. Instead, independence was to be a stepping stone to freedom, justice, equality and protection of the sanctity of the rule of law and human life. It was a means and not an end in itself. Consequently, one does not need to have been there ‘when the stones burned’ to raise fundamental questions regarding the direction the country was heading. As noted earlier, one of the tragedies befalling Eritrea is the deafening silence of many of its intellectuals. The reason for this silence could be due to the fact that they believe the country is in the hands of safe people who demonstrated unflinching courage and commitment during the war, or due to opportunism, or because they are afraid to speak out. However, those without guns have a role as important as those with them, and that is to question and to help others learn. As a statement by the esteemed Eritrean Catholic bishops warns, ‘If we have learned anything from history, it is the fact that we have failed to draw lessons from it.’ (Catholic Bishops 2001). When officials ask, ‘Why do you think we fought all these years?’, they are asserting axiomatic knowledge based on having been in the field. The assumption underlying this is that, since they were there, they know better than anyone else how to develop the country and its people. To them, the role of outsiders is to support them financially without asking questions. As a result, questions on the importance of opposition parties, autonomous civil society associations and social movements as checks to autocracy are rejected by the president and the group around him as utter nonsense because the notions of pluralism and autonomy are inherently flawed in their view. The prevailing assumption is that no national or international organisation can be as concerned as the Eritrean government with the well-being of the Eritrean people.

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Towards an Explanation One interviewee, for example, said, ‘The whole idea stinks because those who are exercising power on behalf of the people are individuals who dedicated their lives to the revolutionary cause of the masses. To say that there can be individuals, groups or organisations more concerned with the plight of the Eritrean people and thus more committed to ameliorating their situation is, to say the least, pure deceit.’72 The general feeling of the majority of the interviewees was that no individual or organisation had a clearer insight into the causes and consequences of poverty in Eritrea, as well as the short- and long-term needs, aspirations and rights of the Eritrean people. Some ex-fighters explained, ‘Ms hizbina teqamatêina zemsanayo filtet yikun tewofaynet mesetan metekaetan yeblun. Kulu kalei hasotn hateftefn iyu.’ (The knowledge and insights we acquired through direct participation and sharing of our peoples’ drudgery, suffering and deprivation, as well as our dedication, is unequalled. Anything else is deceit and empty talk.) At the time the interviews were conducted, some of the government officials denied the democratising function of civil society because, to them, democracy has to grow from within. What they overlooked was the fact that the government’s hostile policies were depleting the nutrients that could provide an enabling environment for the growth of democracy and civil society from within. The fact that they believed civil society associations are ‘outsiders’ was an extension of their conviction that any organisation that is not initiated by or affiliated to the government was an ‘outsider’. It became clear from the data elicited from many government and party officials that they are obsessed with the pigeonholing of people and groups. They thought only in terms of boxes, so that one was either inside or outside the box. Many pointed out that allowing people to organise spontaneously without being ‘guided’ would lead to chaos and fragmentation. To them, pluralism represents danger that needs to be avoided rather than fostered. In other words, it is important to organise the ‘masses’, but not to let the ‘masses’ organise themselves. This is contrary to the rhetoric of the government, which committed itself to supporting a ‘pluralistic system that encouraged both political parties and civic organisations’ (Government of Eritrea 1993: 30), but very much in line with the democratic centralism that prevailed in the field. The ex-fighters’ view mirrored the classic, but nevertheless deformed, MarxistLeninist notion of a ‘vanguard’ which could transform the masses through the application of knowledge and design or, as James Scott put it, ‘The Party is to the working class as intelligence is to brute force, deliberation to confusion’ (1998: 48). In their view, only when the ‘masses’ join the PFDJ will they be able to ‘play their historical role and transform themselves and fight for their rights’. But the EPLF, later the PFDJ, was not a Marxist-Leninist party of the vanguard type. Although it was led by a secret party throughout its history until 1989, it was a national movement made up of all classes and this is reflected in the pragmatism demonstrated in the early years of independence. This fundamental contradiction between the notion of the vanguard and the recognition of diversity surfaces despite attempts to create a homogenous ‘Eritrean’ identity. The volume of dissenting voices has increased as the ‘peace dividend’ (‘what we were fighting for’) is increasingly being squandered and the country’s resources, including its youth, mishandled. Since mid-2001, when government’s clampdown on dissenters began in earnest, the country has been gripped by fear

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Towards an Explanation and it is difficult to tell whether interviewees were simply giving the ‘party line’ (the most current one, as it is constantly shifting depending on the whims of the president) or whether they were speaking their minds. The PFDJ cadres interviewed by the author, especially before the mid-1990s, wholeheartedly believed that they had a monopoly not only of power but also of truth. What is more, they were also convinced that ‘others’ were ignorant or wrong and do not deserve to be heard. A government based on such arrogance and selfrighteousness cannot be a vehicle for transition to democracy and the emergence of a pluralist, diverse and tolerant society. The EPLF/PFDJ’s unwillingness to share power with other organisations shows they have no respect for them and consider their ‘truth’ lesser. However, lack of respect lessens tolerance, and a lack of tolerance increases the risk of destroying rather than accepting compromise. The ruling clique fails to realise that when opposition groups understand that there is no chance of compromise or power sharing, they could seek to oust the government through violence. The consequences for the people are war and deprivation. The president and his cronies’ arrogance and ‘know it all’ attitude is also reflected in their behaviour towards those who extend a helping hand to the country, such as the United Nations, including the peacekeeping mission (UNMEE), USAID, and international and national NGOs.

Misconceived notion of national unity The final reason for the government’s animosity towards the civil and political society associations is the ruling clique’s view of diversity as being intrinsically divisive and a threat to national unity. To them, unity is the antithesis of diversity. However, the government’s experiment with ‘social engineering’, decreeing national identity into existence, and the reaction against this unitary perspective, may in fact constitute the principal threat to Eritrea’s unity. Unity to the PFDJ means abolition of diversity and complexity, a monolithic culture forged through the smelting and disintegration of constituent heterogeneous elements – gender, ethnicity, religion, region – and shaped on the anvil of the PFDJ. The PFDJ-forged Eritrean identity is permanent, immutable – and non-negotiable (Afwerki 2003). It is also unreal; no society, especially one as diverse and fluid as Eritrea’s, can ever attain such stasis. The president’s and consequently the PFDJ’s philosophy reflect this fundamental contradiction. On the one hand, the Front’s position is that Eritrea is not ready for multi-party democracy because of the risk of disintegration along the lines of ethnicity, religion and region. This is the main reason given for the banning of political parties based on religion and ethnicity (Government of Eritrea 1993: 30) and was also the central thrust of the arguments of the president and his cronies, Yemane Gebreab and Zemhret Yohannes, at the August 2000 PFDJ Central Council’s meeting, as well as Zemhret’s speech at the international conference of Eritrean Studies held in Asmara in July 2001. On the other hand, the president adamantly claims that the ‘victory of the masses’ over Ethiopian and other forms of colonialism has united the country into an indissoluble whole and that threats to unity have been vanquished (Afwerki

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Towards an Explanation 2003). This is in his view because Eritrean society has undergone a fundamental transformation, a process guided by the vanguard underground Maoist party, the EPRP, and the Front. If this argument was based on fact and the multiple identities of the Eritrean people have been wiped out, then the government would have nothing to fear, either from faith- or ethnicity-based political parties or from civil society and social movements. These contradictions are illustrated in an interview given by president Afwerki to state radio on 18 April 2003 in Tigrinya (ibid.). The following paragraphs are based on the author’s translation of the interview. Note, however, ought to be taken that the president’s use of the Tigrinya language is convoluted and at times much better than the author’s, and that it was often difficult to translate some words into English. Moreover, the president not only gives complex answers to straightforward questions, but the EPLF and ELF sought to develop Tigrinya as part of their strategy to forge a national identity, and their vocabulary can be inaccessible to those who were not in the field and do not have regular access to their literature. President Afwerki was asked what was meant by ‘national unity’ in the context of nationalism (hadnet ab hagerawinet). He responded by first pointing out the difficulty of dealing with complex issues such as that one in the limited amount of time.73 He then noted that unity is a process and that the nationalist movement had, in the course of its development, faced many problems, particularly during the early period of the armed struggle. These included divisions based on tribalism, regionalism, and religion but a long learning process had culminated in the birth of a dominant (armoshshawi) national organisation, the EPLF (hizbawi ginbar). National unity grew and deepened, and by 1991 the Eritrean people had become one and were able to achieve independence (Afwerki 2003). According to the president, unity is not a mosaic. A mosaic is a means by which pictures or images are created by piecing together different broken parts. Unity is a mixture of different colours. Once the colours are mixed, it is not possible to separate them from each other … Unity of a people is on the one hand, a process of mixing (mtehwewas) ethnic (biherawi), linguistic, cultural, and social elements and on the other, one in which a people organise themselves in pursuit of a single goal, in order to become one. (Afwerki 2003) (emphasis added)

It is true that the war united Eritreans against Ethiopian aggression (Kibreab 2000a, 2005a, 2008a),74 but it is also true that the leaders of the liberation fronts tried to divide the civilian populations in order to discredit each other. This affected their rank and file, who learned to view combatants from other fronts with suspicion. Therefore although the fronts generated powerful bonding social capital, they failed to produce a bridging social capital that could connect the rank-and-file combatants across the organisational divide. Moreover, tactical unity against a common enemy does not equal oneness and neither does it inevitably proceed from ‘strength to strength’ as this depends on the balance of power within the tactical coalition. To Isaias Afwerki, unity does not mean bringing together representatives of different social groups in an alliance (kidan) or contract of disjointed disparate parts but is ‘an irreversible sovereign value based on the immutable common destiny (idl)75 of a particular people and transmitted from generation to generation’ (2003). For him, unity is irreversible, permanent and a non-negotiable condition.

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Towards an Explanation What the president does not seem to understand is that ethnic or religious identity is created and intensified in opposition to others or to the forces that deny them political and social spaces. The more social identities are suppressed or denied, the more they thrive and become aggressive – the Eritrean identity being a case in point. When the British denied the existence of a national Eritrean identity and proposed to dismember the country along ethno-religious lines in the 1940s, all Eritreans stood together to assert their ‘Eritreanness’ (Kibreab, 2000a; 2005a), an approach facilitated by the perspicacity of the Muslim/Christian national leadership, cited here by one of the founding fathers of modern Eritrean nationalism, Woldeab Woldemariam: When we set out to organise our party, the Liberal Progressive Party, our aim was to preserve the unity of Eritrea under the banner of ‘Eritrea for Eritreans’. Six Christians and six Moslems initiated it with a vow. All twelve of us first went to Saleh Kekia’s home in Asmara and after swearing on the Koran to preserve unity of our people and our nation, we sat down to eat a chicken stew blessed and prepared by a Moslem.76 The next day we went to Dejatch Abraha’s home at Mai Edaga and swore on the Bible to operate solely on issues of political lines and never resort to religious or regionalist line. Then we sat together to eat the chicken stew which this time was prepared by a Christian. We were all determined to maintain above everything else the unity of our people and our country. Because of this unity, we were able to defeat the British schemes for partition of Eritrea. The people of Eritrea were not divided, neither was our country. They were unable to divide us into two peoples or two countries. All this came about because we were all agreed on an unpartitioned unified Eritrea. (Quoted in Tsesgai, 1988)

The second founding father of modern Eritrean nationalism, Ibrahim Sultan, had the following advice for his fellow Eritreans: May God bless you with harmony and unity. May Eritrea’s unity be solidified. Allow me to advise all of you, my Eritrean brothers and my Eritrean children! Respect each other and work together on the basis of common agreement. Join hands (hade id kunu) don’t say Muslims or Christians, face your enemy together, and face the good and the vice (evil) by avoiding religious, ethnic, and regional differences. If you are united, you will be blessed only with the good, you will never be faced with the evil. (Sultan 1987)77 (emphasis added)

Eritrean identity was reinforced and fortified by the threat posed by Ethiopia’s claim that there was no distinction between them and the Ethiopians.78 When the country was federated with Ethiopia and when the latter, in collaboration with the unionist government in Eritrea, systematically dismantled the symbols of Eritrean autonomy such as the flag, repressed national languages and tried to stifle national civic society, its efforts had the opposite effect and simply reinforced an Eritrean identity (Kibreab 2000a; 2005a; 2008a: Chapter 4). The corollary of this historical experience is unmistakable. The more the Eritrean government denies the multiplicity and complexity that characterise Eritrean polity, the more reinforced and fortified the differences become. Hence, the Eritrean head of state and the government are, by denying the multiplicity and complexity of Eritrean society, inadvertently eroding the unity of the country. This is because the groups, whose separate identities are subsumed into the vague notion of ‘oneness,’ are likely to respond by sticking to the features that distinguish them from, rather than to those that unite them, with the rest of their compatriots.

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Towards an Explanation Contrary to the unreasonable fear of the president and his cronies, the majority of Eritreans are proud of both their ethnic and national Eritrean identities. For example, a study conducted by Garcetti and Gruber six years after the country’s independence found no problem of ‘double loyalty.’ Instead they recorded 78.1 per cent of respondents as being proud of their ethnicity and 100 per cent as also being proud of being Eritrean (cited in Hailemariam, 2002: 80). This should not, however, be construed to imply that multiplicity of identities should be promoted at the expense of Eritrean national identity. The best way to promote the latter is through voluntary interactions on the basis of equality. In what follows some examples are discussed to demonstrate the counterproductive effects of the government’s conception of national unity and Eritrean identity. The thrust of the argument is that, if a given social identity is denied, sooner or later it becomes a powerful weapon of mobilisation and political opposition which is not good for national unity and stability. In order to shed light on this important postulation, three short case studies are discussed relating to the Jeberti, the Asaorta and the use of the Arabic language in schools and public life. THE JEBERTI The Eritrean government, following its rigid classification of Eritrean society along linguistic nomenclatures, has been denying the existence of a distinct social group known as the Jeberti, a Tigrinya-speaking highland Muslim community. The author grew up with many Jeberti friends, classmates, and neighbours who were referred to and, more importantly, referred to themselves as Jeberti. Their Jebertiness was taken for granted and it was not an issue. It was only when, first, the EPLF and later the government, denied them their Jebertiness that they began to react collectively to assert their identity.79 The Jeberti speak Tigrinya and are indistinguishable, except by their religion, from other Tigrinya speakers. Although some aspects of their culture are influenced by Islam, their songs, folklore, dances, dwellings and ways of life are identical to those of their Tigrinya-speaking compatriots. However, in spite of these similarities, they are identified by their neighbours and by themselves as Jeberti rather than as Tigrinya. Some Jeberti groups in the diaspora have been campaigning for the formalisation of their self-definition. For example, those in London have their own association and a club where they meet to socialise, to celebrate, and mourn their dead. Simple logic demands that if that is how they prefer to be identified, that should be the case because no one has the right to impose upon them identities which they do not recognise. This is made worse by the knowledge that involuntary imposition of identities is potentially dangerous to inter-ethnic harmony and in the long term to national unity (see Kibreab 1996a; 2000a; 2005a, 2002a). Recently the Eritrean Jeberti have formed a new political organisation called the Nahda Party. Like all ethnic or faith-based organisations which purport to represent the interests of ‘their members’ without even bothering to seek their mandates, it is difficult to say the extent to which the new political organisation is the creation of a few disillusioned exiled individuals or that of the majority Jeberti people. The same is true of the ethnic- and faith-based members of the EDA who speak on behalf of Eritrean Muslims: Afar, Kunama, Jeberti, for example, without even considering that some members of these groups might loathe their sectarianism. It

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Towards an Explanation was in such circumstances that Deleuze eloquently put his abhorrence of such tendencies, ‘You have taught us something absolutely fundamental: the indignity of speaking on someone’s behalf’ (Deleuze quoted in Sheridan 1980: 114). However, it is not only ethnic- and faith-based organisations that suffer from the indignity of speaking on behalf of others. Even the PFDJ are the masters of such indignity. In 2006, the Nahda Party joined the Eritrean Democratic Alliance (EDA). The latter has been instrumental in legitimising sectarian organisations as a result of its unprincipled open-door policy. Thus it welcomes any Eritrean ‘organisation’ no matter how divisive and sectarian it is, as long as it has an elected leadership and is opposed to the government in Asmara. Aspiring organisations are not required to meet any democratic or anti-sectarian criteria. The chairman of the EDA, Hussein Khalifa, told the author that the EDA is open to any Eritrean political organisation that is committed to the struggle against the dictatorship in Asmara (Khalifa 2006).80 When asked whether the organisations that aspire to join the EDA needed to be democratic and non-sectarian, his answer was; ‘Absolutely not. Even sectarian organisations are welcome.’ When the author asked him whether the EDA would open its door to a political organisation that believes in the supremacy of Christianity or Islam and wanted the establishment of a Christian or an Islamic state in Eritrea, the author was taken aback to hear him say, ‘Yes, such an organisation would be most welcome and that is why we welcomed the Islamist organisations’ (ibid.). Not only is the formation of a single-issue and an ethno-centric political organisation an unwelcome and regressive development, but also it is likely to exacerbate the already structurally gridlocked alliance comprising groups more committed to their sectarian than the national project. Although each organisation is responsible for its own follies, the government is partly to blame for creating a conducive niche for ethnic and religious entrepreneurs. However, as long as groups feel excluded, the multiplication of identity-based organisations will be unavoidable. To its credit, the Nahda party has hitherto been trying to play a unifying role by adopting a neutral stance in the internal feuds of the EDA. THE ASAORTA The Asaorta is another ethnic community that do not identify themselves solely through language, and feel threatened by the rigid definitions of the government. The Asaorta are a Saho-speaking community but believe they are different from other Saho-speaking groups. Until their identity was threatened by the EPLF’s homogenising tendency, it was an ascriptive label and uncontroversial. However, it has now become an intensely contested political issue, especially among the people in the diaspora, refugees in Sudan and returnees from that country. When the collective nomenclature of Saho was applied to all the Saho-speaking groups, the Asaorta pleaded with the EPLF that, though they spoke Saho, they identified themselves as Asaorta rather than as Saho. Until they were told what they were not, being a Saho or an Asaorta was not a major issue. In the refugee camps in Sudan, particularly in the settlements of Umzurzur, Adingrar and Dehema (Eastern Sudan) and Kilo 7 and Awad el Sid in Es Suki (Central Sudan) where there were high concentrations of Saho-speaking Eritrean refugees, the issue of being a Saho or Asaorta was so contested that, at times, the situation was explosive. For example, in the second half of the 1980s when the EPLF cultural troupe

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Towards an Explanation went to perform at Umsagata, the centre of the six Eritrean refugee camps in the Qala en Nahal district, the members of the Asaorta organised themselves to disrupt the show in anticipation that the group singing and dancing in the Saho language would be introduced as representing the Saho culture. Some of the EPLF performers were Asaorta but the distinction which the elders considered important was meaningless to them.81 The situation would have probably degenerated into bloodshed had the troupe leaders insisted on introducing the performers as representing the ‘Saho culture’. After being informed of the impending danger, the leaders of the EPLF troupe, in an unusual degree of flexibility and wisdom dropped the term Saho and all the communities celebrated the occasion. The author interviewed some of the people who were organising the sabotage and they said that they were ready to die and that they were armed with swords and knives.82 In fact, the conflict between the Saho and Asaorta refugees in Eastern Sudan had other unforeseen consequence. Some of the individuals who established the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement (EIJM) were initially members of a committee created in the late 1980s in the Eritrean refugee camps, particularly around the Umsagata area to mediate between those groups who identified themselves as Saho and those who rejected this and preferred to be identified as Asaorta.83 (It is by no means suggested here that there were no other reasons that accounted for the emergence of the EIJM. On the genesis of the Eritrean Jihad movement see Kibreab 2008a: Chapter 9). The thinking underlying the formation of the committee was to underscore the fact that ‘Muslims should co-operate to fight against their common enemies rather than fight against each other.’84 The EPLF and later the Eritrean government by rejecting the self-definition of the Jeberti and Asaorta, naively believed and still believe that they are enhancing Eritrean unity through lumping together different cultural groups into larger units even against the wishes of the groups concerned. However, it is such misplaced policies that undermine not only individual security but also Eritrean national unity. Those who understand the genesis of Eritrean nationalism know that national Eritrean identity was formed in opposition to those who denied its existence (Kibreab 2000a; 2005a; 2008a; Chapter 4 this volume). The more the existence of a multi-ethnic and multi-religious territorial Eritrean national identity was rejected by Ethiopia and its allies, the more Eritreans insisted on being identified as such, and in the process, their Eritreaness was bolstered. In fact, within a multi-cultural geopolitical state entity, the only way to strengthen national unity is by recognising and embracing differences and by putting in place mechanisms that guarantee fair and just representation of all cultural groups. This should not be on the basis of ‘one man one vote’ but on the basis of a fair and just system that gives voice even to the smallest units within the said geopolitical state entity. ARABIC AS AN OFFICIAL LANGUAGE The third example that demonstrates the counter-productive homogenising nature of the Eritrean government’s misconceived notion of national unity is the question of Arabic language. The government’s misplaced language policy is having a detrimental effect on Eritrea’s long-term unity and common national identity. It is common knowledge among all Eritreans that the two official languages in the

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Towards an Explanation country during the federation were Arabic and Tigrinya. After independence, there is no evidence to suggest that Eritrean people expected to see anything else but reinstitution of the two official languages which had been banned by the Ethiopian government against their will. In fact, this was embodied in the Eritrean constitution ratified by the Eritrean First Assembly and promulgated by the Eritrean government of the time. The articles of the draft Constitution were discussed by the members of the First Assembly one by one. Article 38 was on languages. The idea of adopting Arabic as one of the two official languages was at the beginning contested,85 but in accordance with the Eritrean customary practice of compromise and reconciliation, a mutual understanding was reached.. The debate on Article 38 was opened on 7 June 1952 and conducted intermittently between 7 and 16 June 1952. After intense discussions, on 16th June 1952, the debate on Article 38 was resumed. Blata Demsas Woldenkiel when moving the adoption of the amendment proposed by the UN Commissioner, Señor Eduardo Anze Matienzo, with a typical Eritrean elder’s magnanimity stated: Arabic was not really a language of Eritrea but that since a number of Members desired it he and many for whom he spoke, to show the true spirit of brotherhood that existed in the Assembly and in Eritrea, wished to agree in order that not only the amendment but all the articles or amendments should be adopted with that unanimity which all desired to see and which hitherto had formed such a marked feature of the assembly’s debates.86

Cagn. Hadgembes Kuflom afterwards moved the closure of the debate on the article and the Assembly proceeded to vote. Thirty-seven members voted for the adoption of Arabic, two voted against and another twenty-seven were absent. Article 38 was thus adopted as amended by the UN Commissioner. It states: 1. Tigrinya and Arabic shall be the official languages of Eritrea. 2. In accordance with established practice in Eritrea, the languages spoken and written by the various population groups shall be permitted in dealings with the public authorities, as well as for religious or educational purposes and for all forms of expression of ideas. Post-independence Eritrea’s language policy is enshrined in a document issued by the Provisional Government of Eritrea (PGE) of 2 October 1991 known as Declaration of Policies on Education in Eritrea (Department of Education referred to in Hailemariam 2002: 88). The PGE stated, ‘In Eritrea we will work hard to bridge up the linguistic and cultural gaps existing within our society. As part of this endeavour, learning opportunities in the elementary will be given to all nationalities in their own languages…’ (quoted in Hailemariam 2002: 88). Tigrinya and Arabic are given a special status in which the policy document states: All school-boys and school-girls of primary level and whose medium of instruction is Tigrinya, will take Arabic as a compulsory subject. All school-boys and school-girls of primary level and whose medium of instruction is Arabic, will take up Tigrinya as a compulsory subject. All school-boys and school-girls of primary level whose medium of instruction has been other than Tigrinya or Arabic, by the time they join the Middle Schools, taking into consideration their standard, will commence the learning of Tigrinya and Arabic. (Department of Education, Articles 2, 3 and 4 quoted in Hailemariam 2002: 88)

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Towards an Explanation English is the medium of instruction at post-primary level and the other languages are only taught as subjects (Article 5 quoted in ibid.: 90). The decision to teach Arabic and Tigrinya to students whose media of instructions are Tigrinya and Arabic respectively, is ‘motivated by national [nation] building and national unity concerns…’ (ibid.: 90). However, if this is the rationale underlying the decision: why are Arabic and Tigrinya not taught to those students where the media of instruction are the other mother-tongues rather than Tigrinya and Arabic? According to the then head of the Department of National Curriculum, the aim of the government’s language policy was: ‘To foster Eritrean national consciousness and national unity, ensure social justice, commitment to nation building and the cultivation of good citizenry’ (Gerahtu quoted in ibid.: 91). This indicates that language was seen by the EPLF and the PGE as an essential instrument of social engineering. It is not clear, for example, why there was need to use language as a means of fostering ‘national consciousness’ in a society that was so much aware of its national identity that it fought a bloody and costly thirty years war to defeat sub-Saharan Africa’s second strongest army. However, in spite of the fact that the government is opposed to the idea of an official language, in reality Tigrinya is, de facto, elevated to such a status. While it is difficult to determine with an acceptable degree of certainty the rationale underlying the government’s decision, on the one hand, to elevate Tigrinya to undeclared official language status and, on the other, to relegate Arabic to the background, it is not difficult to imagine the reason. Although speculation is not an appropriate substitute for evidence-based argument, it is still possible to interpret the government’s position from its general hostility to pluralism and multiplicity. Since the government is obsessed with the rhetoric of national unity, one of the main reasons behind the Eritrean government’s dislike of the idea of adopting Tigrinya and Arabic as official languages might be to avoid ‘the danger’ of the development and consolidation of crosscutting Islamic identity among peoples who otherwise have nothing much in common except religion, based on their lingua franca – Arabic. If this is the case, the government fears that the adoption of two official languages – namely, Arabic and Tigrinya – would polarise Eritrean society along religious lines and therefore threaten its ‘homogeneity’ and national unity. If for analytical purposes we assume that the adoption of Arabic as an official language would play a divisive role in the Eritrean context, there is an incentive for those who want to unify a certain section of Eritrean society either to countervail the real or perceived dominance of the ‘other,’ or to elevate themselves to a dominant position to demand the use of Arabic as a lingua franca. By the same token, those who want to perpetuate the status quo or who do not want their dominance countered, or fear domination by the ‘united other’, may also fiercely oppose the use of Arabic as a second lingua franca. Consequently, by imposing Tigrinya as the only ‘de facto’ official language, the government might hope to foster a united national Eritrean identity based, inter alia, on a common language – Tigrinya. It needs to be emphasized that the government’s fear or concern cannot be dismissed off-hand. This is because there is empirical evidence to show that a society that is highly heterogeneous faces less risk of conflict than a society that is relatively homogeneous. Indira de Soysa’s study on the relationship between conflict and homogeneity/heterogeneity shows that highly plural societies are less

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Towards an Explanation conflict-prone than homogeneous societies. De Soysa states that, ‘Ethnicity is related to conflict when society is moderately homogenous; a highly plural society faces less risk’ (2002: 395). Eritrea has nine ethno-linguistic groups. If we add to this list the Jeberti and the Asaorta who speak Tigrinya and Saho, respectively, there are eleven distinct social groups in the country. Contrary to commonsense-based belief that homogeneity is positively correlated to social cohesion and harmony, not only is the highly plural nature of Eritrean society good for the peaceful coexistence of the various groups, but it also minimises the risk of identity-based conflicts and tensions. Although ethnic and religious boundaries in Eritrean society are highly ambiguous and constantly shifting and renegotiated, it is said that the country is inhabited by an equal number of Muslims and Christians. If Eritrean society were solely marked by such a division, it would have been highly homogenous and, therefore, polarised into dangerous duality. However, Eritrean communities do not identify themselves on the basis of religion but rather on their Eritrean national identity and ethnicity. For example, in a country-wide poll in 1997 by Garcetti, National pride is very strong, with 100 per cent of the respondents affirming that they were proud of being Eritrean. Ethnic pride is strong, though less than national pride, among all ethnic groups in post-war Eritrea, with 78.1 per cent of the respondents saying that they were proud of their ethnicity. Furthermore, when describing themselves on a spectrum of national and ethnic identity, most Eritreans (69.5 per cent) define themselves by their national identity (‘Eritrean’ or ‘more Eritrean’ rather than by their ethnic affiliation (7.1 per cent). (in Garcetti and Gruber 1999: 224)

This does not only show no problem of double loyalty, but more importantly, that Eritrean society sees religion as being a private affair and not a basis of social identity or association. If Arabic were adopted as a second official language, given the close association between Islam and Arabic, all Eritrean Muslims, including members of the minority ethnic groups, may embrace it and over time, they may adopt a common identity based on the common lingua franca. This in effect would mean not only transformation of Eritrean society into a highly homogeneous and polarised bilingual and bi-faith society, but also the pre-existing highly plural and heterogeneous nature of the society would be lost. This is likely to foment conflict and consequently squander the achievements of the last seven decades. When considered from this perspective, the Eritrean government’s reluctance to adopt two official languages that may polarise and homogenise the society into two religious groups is theoretically sound. However, it is equally if not more important to underscore the fact that the government got the politics of it wrong. If we relinquish the theoretical analysis and ground the discussion on the reality on the ground, at least, among the Eritrean diaspora where, thanks to the internet, there is unlimited freedom of expression, the relegation of Arabic to the background is having exactly the converse effect. There is unmistakable forging of coalescence of Muslim forces which, if the marginalisation of the Arabic language continues unabated, could engender the very ‘threat’ the Eritrean government dreads or seeks to avoid. Of course, a word of caution is necessary. The argument is counterfactual and therefore fraught with the weaknesses that are intrinsic in any analysis based on

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Towards an Explanation counterfactuality. Thus, it may not be 100 per cent safe to assume that, had it not been for the relegation of Arabic, there would have been no coalescence of Eritrean Muslims or Muslim-based organisations, such as the now defunct Eritrean National Alliance (ENA) in which 95 per cent of the leaders were bearers of Muslim names (Younis 2003). The question that arises, therefore, is: how can the potential danger of a relatively homogeneous bi-polar society be averted or minimised? Worse still, in the particular case of Eritrea, this is likely to coincide with faith-based bi-polarity. The only way this can be avoided is not by relegating Arabic or Tigrinya to the back-burner, but rather by the creation of a society that is fluent in both Tigrinya and Arabic. This would not only mean that Arabic and Tigrinya will cease being the monopoly of Muslims and Christians, respectively, but more importantly, the perceived links of Arabic with Islam and Tigrinya with Christianity would diminish and cease over time. This is likely to foster cross-cultural and cross-faith understanding, respect and empathy, and also foster Eritrea’s historical, cultural and economic ties with the Arab world (on Eritrea’s historical, religious and cultural links with the Arab world see Tash 1993; Shakra in Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005). Whilst it is difficult to say with certainty whether the ENA, and later the EDA, were created in response to the PFDJ’s exclusionist policies, there is no doubt that rightly or wrongly, the perception that the EPLF/PFDJ represents the Tigrinya (Christian) ethnic group and discriminates against the Arabic language and, therefore, Eritrean Muslims, is part of the discourse and therefore one of the reasons behind the coalescence of Muslim organisations that allegedly represent the interests of Eritrean Muslims. The corollary is had the EPLF opted in the immediate post-independence period for a government of national unity in which all Eritrean political organisations regardless of their past were invited to participate on the basis of equality, and if Arabic and Tigrinya were adopted as active official languages, it is reasonable to assume that the majority of the exiled organisations would have seized the opportunity to work with the government rather than with its enemies and against it. The failure of the government to reinstate Arabic as one of the two official languages has meant that Eritrean Muslims who studied in the Middle East, where the medium of instruction is Arabic, are not employable because they do not know Tigrinya or, according to Idris AbaArre, they are ‘illiterates’ (AbaArre 2001).87 Thus, these individuals have no incentive to return home, notwithstanding the fact that the factors that prompted them to flee have long ceased to exist. Worse still, most of them tend to either join the opposition groups, or dissociate themselves completely from the country. The thousands of Eritrean diasporic Muslims in Europe and Australia that are buying second homes in Sitta October (Six October), Cairo, rather than in their own homeland is an expression of dissociation and disenchantment. Otherwise, why would one buy a second home in Egypt rather than in Spain, Portugal, France or Italy as is common among northern European families? Although the individuals undoubtedly bear the responsibility for their actions, the government is inadvertently conspiring not only against Eritrea’s national unity and interest but also against itself. From the point of view of long-term national unity, there is nothing more dangerous than the PFDJ’s mistaken notion of unity, which as we saw in the

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Towards an Explanation president’s conception, is based on oneness. It is from this false notion of oneness that the government’s ill-conceived policies on languages, nationalities, political parties, religion and civil society associations seem to emanate. History is replete with examples to show that denial of diversity is one of the lethal enemies of unity.

Notes 1 Interview on a wide range of issues with the EPLF Secretary-General, Isaias Afwerki, Adulis vii (8), October 1990 quoted in Resoum Kidane, What did the EPLF promise the Eritrean people? www.http//: news.asmarino.com (23 May 2005). 2 Several interviewees in Sudan, including Michael Ghaber (March 1983) argued that none of the factors preventing unity between the ELF and the EPLF had anything to do with national interests but were rooted in personal animosities. As the ELF/EPLF civil war was not supported by any section of the Eritrean people, it is not possible to dismiss these claims out of hand. 3 The border conflict between Eritrea and Ethiopia also seems to be marked by the same tensions resulting in the loss of hundreds of thousands of their ‘toy soldiers’ – the innocent men and women they sent and still threaten to send to the deadly front. 4 Isaias Afwerki, Haile Woldensae, Ainom Berhane and Habteselassie Ghebremedhin. 5 These included Seyoum Ogbamichael, Woldedawit Temesghen, Gherezghiher Towolde, Melake Tekle, Woldeyesus Ammar and Michael Ghaber. 6 See Eritrea: Agriculture and Food Profile. Available at http://earthtrends.wri.org/text/ agriculture-food/country-profile-58.html (accessed 5 October 2006). 7 These countries include: Angola, Burundi, Benin, Burkina Faso, Botswana, Cape Verde, Central African Republic, Chad, Cameroon, Comoros, Congo, Cote d’Ivoire, Djibouti, Ethiopia, Equatorial Guinea, Gambia, Ghana, Guinea Bissau, Kenya, Lesotho, Liberia, Madagascar, Mauritania, Mauritius, Malawi, Mali, Mozambique, Niger, Nigeria, Rwanda, Senegal, Sierra Leone, Somalia, Sudan, Swaziland, Tanzania, Togo, Zaire, Zambia and Zimbabwe. 8 IRIN (United Nations Integrated Regional Information) (2006) http://www.irinnews.org/ Rss/Eritrea.xml (accessed 11 May 2006) 9 ‘Sustainable Livelihoods in Practice: Early Applications of Concepts in Rural Areas’, Natural Resources Perspective 42. Found at http://www.oneworld.org/odi/nrp/42.html (accessed 15 September 2004) 10 Woldai Futur was an advisor on macro policy to President Isaias Afwerki and is now Minister of National Development. 11 See ‘Eritrea: UN Peacekeeping Mission Voices Hope Eritrea Will Release 11 Arrested Local Staff.’ UN News Service (New York). 12 May 2006 Posted to the web 12 May 2006. It was stated, ‘We at UNMEE have written letters of protest, as we always do when such arrests take place. We have as yet not received any responses from the Eritrean Authorities regarding these arrests,’ Deputy Information Chief Musi Khumalo told reporters in the two capitals, Asmara and Addis Ababa, by videoconference from Addis yesterday. ‘It is a matter of great concern to us when some of our colleagues are detained in this manner. We have also taken the initiative to remind the Eritrean authorities of the immunities and privileges of UNMEE staff working in the country and we are hopeful that we will get some response from the authorities in the form of the release of the detained members of staff of UNMEE to enable them to come back to work and to continue to help the Mission fulfill its mandate obligations.’ Available at http://allafrica.com/stories/200605120754.html (accessed 13 May 2006). 12 Ali Abdu, acting minister of information, in response to criticism by the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) relating to secret and arbitrary detentions of journalists since 2001, quoted in Amnesty International, September 2005, Eritrea: Religious Persecution, AI Index: AFR 64/013/2005, December 2005, p. 28 (emphasis added). 13 R61, Asmara, 25 Feb. 1995; R62, Asmara, 4 March 1995; R17, Asmara, 11 December 1994; R9, Keren, 13 Feb. 1994; R58, Asmara, 17 Feb. 1995; R40, Asmara, 25 Jan. 1996;

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16 17

18

19

R44, Asmara, 26 Jan. 1996; R108. Asmara, 4 March 1997; R109, Asmara, March 4, 1997; R112, Asmara, March 6 1997; R111, Asmara, 21 April 1998; R108, Asmara, 1998; R55, Barentu, 22 Nov. 1997; R52, Barentu, 19 Nov. 1997; R109, Asmara, 12 April 1998; R115, Asmara, 1998; R45, Tessenei, 24 Nov. 1997; R49, Agordat, Nov. 27 1997; R266, Tessenei, 16 Jan. 2001; R267, Tessenei, 17 Jan. 2001; R279, Asmara, 30 July 2002; R273, Asmara, 25 July 2002. Not all the interviewees had identical views and the views of some shifted over time but many of them were hostile to NGOs. Although the United Nations can theoretically rescind membership of a state that does not abide by the UN Charter and resolutions, this power is theoretical rather than real. There are many countries that consistently flout UN resolutions and decisions with impunity and yet face no serious consequences. Some obvious examples include Israel on the question of the occupied territories, Ethiopia’s obdurate refusal to be bound by the decision of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission, Eritrea’s refusal to comply with numerous Security Council Resolutions concerning the restrictions of the monitoring activities and treatment of the UN peacekeeping force, including imprisonment of local staff, and Sudan’s recent adamant refusal to allow the UN peacekeeping force to stop the bloodshed in Darfur in spite of incessant warnings and UN Security Council’s Resolutions. R58, Asmara, 2 November 1997. In some instances, such as in former Yugoslavia, the so-called safe havens were death traps in which thousands of innocent Bosnian civilians were slaughtered. The slaughter of an unknown but many Bosnian men in Scebrenitza in the presence of the Dutch peacekeeping force is a tragic case in point. According to Security Council resolution 1320 (2000) of 15 September 2000, UNMEE has the following mandate: • Monitor the cessation of hostilities; • Assist in ensuring the observance of the security commitments agreed by the parties; • Monitor and verify the redeployment of Ethiopian forces from positions taken after 6 February 1999, which were not under Ethiopian administration before 6 May 1998; • Monitor the positions of Ethiopian forces once redeployed; • Simultaneously, monitor the positions of Eritrean forces that are to redeploy in order to remain at a distance of 25 kilometres from positions to which Ethiopian forces shall redeploy; • Monitor the temporary security zone (TSZ) to assist in ensuring compliance with the Agreement on Cessation of Hostilities; • Chair the Military Coordination Commission (MCC) to be established by the United Nations and OAU in accordance with the Agreement on Cessation of Hostilities; • Coordinate and provide technical assistance for humanitarian mine-action activities in the TSZ and areas adjacent to it; and • Coordinate the Mission’s activities in the TSZ and areas adjacent to it with humanitarian and human rights activities of the United Nations and other organisations in those areas. The Security Council emphasised that the Agreement on Cessation of Hostilities linked the termination of the United Nations peacekeeping mission with the completion of the process of delimitation and demarcation of the Ethiopian-Eritrean border. By its resolution 1430 (2002) of 14 August 2002, the Security Council adjusted the mandate of UNMEE in order to assist the Boundary Commission in the expeditious and orderly implementation of its Delimitation Decision, to include: • demining in key areas to support demarcation, and • administrative and logistical support for the Field Offices of the Boundary Commission in accordance with the recommendations provided by the Secretary-General in his report of 10 July 2002 (S/2002/744) and Security Council resolution 1398 (2002). Available at http://www.unmeeonline.org/index.php?option= com_content& task=view&id=128&Itemid=46 (accessed 1 December 2006) Quoted in UN Peacekeeping Mission Voices Hope Eritrea Will Release Staff. Available at http://newsblaze.com/story/20060513075751tsop.nb/topstory.html (accessed 1 December 2006.

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Towards an Explanation 20 See ‘At the UN-chaired meeting, Ethiopia and Eritrea trade blame for rising tension.’ Available at http://www.reliefweb.int/rw/RWB.NSF/db900SID/KOCA-6JKG4Q? OpenDocument (accessed 1 December 2006). 21 See Report of the Secretary-General on Ethiopia and Eritrea. UN Security Council, S/2008/40, 23 Jan. 2008. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid. 24 Eritrea, Ethiopia: UN Force may have to pull back, Reuters, 23 January 2008. 25 Report of the Secretary-General on Ethiopia and Eritrea. UN Security Council, S/2008/40, 23 Jan. 2008. 26 Article 8 (5), Proclamation 145/2005, Gazette of Eritrean Laws, Vol. 14, No. 4, Asmara, 11 May 2005. 27 Article 8(6), in ibid. 28 See Proclamation 145/2005, Gazette of Eritrean Laws, Vol. 14, No. 4, Asmara 11 May 2005. 29 IRIN, ERITREA: UN envoy urges stronger links between Govt agencies, 27 April 2006. Available at http://www.IRINnews.org/report.asp?ReportID=54323 (accessed 1 December 2006) (emphasis added). 30 R121, Oxfam’s representative, Asmara, 14 March 1998; R122 Staff of International NGO, personal interview, 14 March 1998; R123 Staff of International NGO, personal interview, 18 March 1998; R124 Staff of International NGO, personal interview, 18 March 1998; R125 Staff of International NGO, personal interview, 23 March 1998. 31 IRIN, ‘ERITREA: Government has capacity to clear mines itself – information ministry,’ Asmara, 13 Jun 2003. Available at http://www.irinnews.org/report.asp?Report ID=34733&SelectRegion=Horn_of_Africa&SelectCountry=ERITREA (accessed 1 December 2006). 32 See J. Fisher, ‘Eritrea expels demining group,’ BBC, Asmara, 3 June 2003. 33 The Eritrean Demining Agency was created in August 2002, the same month the government asked the demining agencies to leave the country. 34 IRIN, ‘ERITREA: Government has capacity to clear mines itself - information ministry,’ Asmara, 13 Jun 2003. Available at http://www.irinnews.org/ report.asp?ReportID= 34733&SelectRegion=Horn_of_Africa&SelectCountry=ERITREA (accessed 1 December 2006). This view is identical to what he said on the question of sovereignty seen earlier. His views which are identical with the Eritrean government’s view is, ‘We are sovereign and therefore we are free to do whatever we want within the sovereign territory of Eritrea.’ 35 Quoted in J. Fisher, ‘Eritrea expels demining group’, BBC, Asmara, 3 June 2003. 36 Ibid. 37 R301, Personal Interview, Asmara, 30 August 2002. 38 Access to information concerning ownership of enterprises is difficult to come by in the country. Some sources said that the Eritrean Demining Agency was owned by the PFDJ, some said it was government-run. However, since there is currently no clear separation of party and government ownership, this is not important. 39 Not only was this the first and the last acknowledgement of the NGOs’ important contributions to the war of independence, but it is important to realise that the debt of gratitude was expressed to representatives of a few organisations not to all the NGOs and their constituencies that helped the Eritrean war of independence achieve its goal. 40 The way the regional officers treated the nurse even embarrassed the minister of health, Saleh Meki, who was in Tessenei for the celebrations. In an uncharacteristic gesture of wisdom, and contrary to the whole PFDJ ethos, he went to her house the next day early in the morning and apologised – but did not publicly challenge the official version of events. 41 R117, Personal interview, Asmara, November 1997. 42 Although by African standards, Eritrea does not suffer from widespread corruption, visitors allege that it is becoming an increasing problem in the department of immigration and other government offices. 43 After over ten years, the border between Eritrea and Sudan reopened in October 2006 following the rapprochement between the two governments which was to a considerable degree due to the positive role played by Eritrea in brokering a peace agreement between

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47 48 49 50 51 52

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the Sudanese government and opposition groups in Eastern Sudan. Given Eritrea’s strong links with the SPLA, the Eritrean government also played a positive role in the comprehensive peace settlement of the Southern Sudan problem. However, given the fact that the Eritrean opposition groups are stationed in Sudan, it remains to be seen how long the good relations between the two governments are likely to last. The ability of the government to finance the deficit with domestic loans was facilitated by its monopoly of the banking sector. The figures are from World Bank (2004). However, the explanation for the decline in private transfers is mine. United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD), Division of Investment, Technology and Enterprise Development, World Investment Report 2006, FDI from Developing and Transition Economies, Implications for Development, Fact Sheet – Eritrea. Ibid. In fact, before it plunged into crisis, the ELF-RC’s vision of national unity, state and religion, was identical to that of the EPLF and its exclusion from power-sharing had nothing to do with differences that existed between the two organisations. Mahmoud Ismail Haj was one of the leaders of the ELF-UO who returned to Eritrea in the immediate post-independence period and left the country disillusioned, as did many others. A derogatory term for Tigriyan; the cross-border equivalent being ‘Shabi’a’ for Eritrean. Although there are no reliable statistics, about 4 per cent of the population probably belong to indigenous religions. The Eritrean government owns all land and the ruling party’s firms have absolute monopoly over the supply of building materials, as well as in the construction industry. Most members of the Eritrean diaspora dream of owning a house in their homeland. Those who are in the government’s bad books cannot realise their dream of home ownership. Most members of the diaspora also want to resettle in Eritrea after retirement. This goal cannot be achieved unless one is an obedient ‘citizen’. Most Eritreans in the diaspora also regard annual visits to the country as a worthwhile ritual. All these contribute to the diaspora’s passivity and docility. There may also be some who support the government because they agree with its policies no matter how oppressive they are. None of these apply to those in Sudan who watch the government’s violation of human rights from close proximity. See Kalemeteyik ms president Isaias Afwerki. Shaebia Interview––Special Issue. General Ogbe Abraha, formerly chief of staff of the defence force, minister of trade and industry, and minister of labour and social welfare (MLSW); Aster Fessehatsion, director in the MLSW and executive of the National Union of Eritrean Women; General Berhane Gebregriabeher, head of the National Reserve Force; Beraki Gebreselassie, formerly ambassador to Germany, minister of education and minister of information and culture; Hamad Hamid Hamad, former head of the Middle East Department in the ministry of foreign affairs and ambassador to Sudan; Saleh Kekiya, former minister of transport and communication, vice-minister of foreign affairs and head of the office of the president; Germano Nati, regional administrator; Brigadier-General Estifanos Seyoum, former head of the inland revenue; Mahmoud Ahmed Sheriffo, EPLF co-founder, former vicepresident, minister of local government, minister of foreign affairs; Petros Solomon, former minister of marine resources and minister of foreign affairs, EPLF military commander and intelligence chief; Hailemariam Woldetensae (Durué), former minister of trade and industry, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Minister of Finance. The other four, among the G15, escaped because three were out of the country at the time and the fourth withdrew his support for the letter and the reform movement The government and its supporters refer to the G14 as ‘defeatists, traitors, etc.’ for having criticised the president for acting ‘illegally and unconstitutionally’. The group is known as G15 but since one of them, Mohamed Berhan Blata, withdrew his signature and apologised to the government, those who stood by to the end were 14 and that is the reason they are referred to here as G14. Mohamed Berhan Blata has since sometime ago been living in Sweden most probably on the grounds of family reunification. G11 refers to the

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60 61 62 63 64

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members of the G14 who were incarcerated on 18 September 2001 and are still in incommunicado detention. Three members of the G14 were abroad when their colleagues were detained. The five proposals are: (i) resolve the dispute between Ethiopia and Eritrea only through peaceful means; (ii) resolve the root cause of the conflict through dialogue with a view to normalising relations between the two countries; (iii) Ethiopia accepts in principle the decision of the EEBC; (iv) agrees to pay its dues to the Commission and to appoint field liaison officers; and (v) start dialogue immediately with the view to implementing the EEBC’s decision in a manner consistent with the promotion of sustainable peace and brotherly ties between the two peoples. This is clear from his statement, ‘…the international community has … been asking Ethiopia not to appear to be violating the decision of a court and not seem to be defying international law, and demanding, in this regard, that Ethiopia declare its acceptance of the decision of the Commission. As the result of the confusion surrounding Ethiopia’s position, it has been difficult for the international community to support aggressively the proposal made by Ethiopia for dialogue between the two countries. This has been expressed by the international community in various ways’ (Zenawi 2004). The Five Point Peace Proposal states, ‘The acceptance of the decision in principle, and then proceeding with implementation in a manner consistent with durable and sustainable peace and, in this connection, making adjustment as and when necessary in the course of implementation, is an internationally accepted demarcation practice. It is necessary, in this regard, for an understanding to be reached between the two parties for the implementation to be carried out in this spirit. In order to proceed accordingly there is a need for a dialogue to be conducted between the two parties swiftly. In the course of the dialogue it is critical that the negotiations take into account and the resulting agreement be based on the two key considerations: the acceptance by Ethiopia, in principle, of the decision of the Commission, on the one hand, and adherence to the principle of give and take, in the course of implementation of the decision, on the other.’ BBC, EU Criticises Ethiopian Elections. 26 August 2005. Available at http://news.bbc. co.uk/2/hi/africa/4184328.stm (accessed 5 February 2008) Ibid. Amnesty International, Ethiopia prisoners of conscience on trial for treason: opposition party leaders, human rights defenders and journalists. AI Index: AFR 25/013/2006, May 2006, p. 12. Tony Blair and George Bush were unhampered by the massive demonstrations staged by civil society organisations throughout Europe and North America in their decision to invade Iraq. Yohannes, Z. (2001) ‘Hateta’ for critical discussion. Paper presented at the First International Conference on Eritrean Studies, Asmara, 22–26 July. For a discussion on Zemheret’s paper see Zeineb Ali, Call for Action, 15 October 2001. Available in http://www.eritrea1.org/home/articles/102101za.htm (accessed 20 October 2001). The author attended the conference and this is based on Yohannes’ oral presentation. The paper was not distributed in the conference. The president does not consider the EPLF and later the PFDJ as a political party but rather as a national political movement (see Afwerki, Hiwyet no.19, Special Issue, May 2001, p. 3. Daniel’s late mother suffered an agonising death trying to find out the whereabouts of her son. She was by no means the only Eritrean mother who succumbed to the unbearable burden of uncertainty. What makes her case particularly sad is that certain individuals who were aware of her desperation and vulnerability pretended to be police officers and promised to help her secure Daniel’s release. They informed her that her son was held in the Central Prison of Sembel. Every time they came with ‘manufactured new information’ and promises, they demanded more cash. The remittances she received from her children abroad were used for such payments. After exhausting all her savings, she paid them in kind – namely, her jewellery and her TV set. In desperation, Daniel’s mother decided to sell her house to buy his release. The house was rescued before the completion of the transaction because her children detected something was wrong with their mother’s

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68 69 70

71 72 73 74

75

state of health. Once she found out that she had been conned and consequently had squandered her life-long savings and her children’s hard-earned cash, she could not bear the ‘shame’ and ‘guilt’ and passed away probably as a result of the unbearable pressure. What the poor mother wanted was nothing more than information about whether her loved one was dead or alive. This was not too much to ask from a government that came to power promising to relegate disappearances, extra-judicial executions and arbitrary detentions to the dustbin of history. Since Daniel and the people who disappeared with him were never charged and proved guilty, according to the principle of ‘the presumption of innocence,’ their disappearance is of serious concern. Daniel’s mother’s sad story was reported in detail in Hadas Eritra, the government newspaper, on 2 April 1998. In a twisted logic, the piece was not written to show the folly of the government’s illegal activities such as detaining people incommunicado in violation of the country’s own laws which require that a detainee should either be charged or released within 28 days, but rather to warn the public against resorting to illegal means to solve their problems. The piece was titled – girhina: metalelti zeindrulu baita iyu (Naiveté is a breeding ground for tricksters). The central thrust of the piece was that, had it not been for Adey Nigisti’s attempt to resort to illegal means of gaining access to information concerning the whereabouts of her son, the swindlers would not have been able to take advantage of her and others like her. However, the reason she sought alternative sources of information was that no one in government was willing to listen to her for over seven years. Contrary to the Eritrean police’s claim, it was not public naiveté or lack of public vigilance that provided fertile ground for swindlers but rather the government’s lack of respect for the sanctity of the rule of law and human life. If the government had brought Daniel to an open court in accordance with the Criminal Procedure Code of the country, there would have been no need for his mother to seek alternative sources of information. Another well-known national who disappeared without trace was Tesfa-michael Gorgio. EPLF (1989) Dimsit Hafash Eritra. April. The others were Brigadier-General Afwerki Woldemichael, Ali Higo, Yisehak Tsegai, Mussie Bekit, Brigadier-General Gebremedhin Medhanie, Denbai Adm, Tesfahuney Measho, Ijel Abdelrahman, Mebrahtu Lebassi and Grazmach Ahmed Saleh. See Dimtsi Hafash Eritra, no. 153, 15–21 April 1989. In the president’s view, the PFDJ is not a political party. It is a ‘national movement’ whatever that means. See his interview in Hiwyet no. 19, Special Issue, May 2001, p. 3. Press Conference, Asmara, 24 November 1992. Most representatives of NGOs and UN agencies present in the country at that time were present at the conference. It was in response to a question from a representative of one international NGOs that he said this. For example, Haile Menkerios, the Eritrean ambassador at the UN, was removed from his post in 2001 and replaced by Ahmed Baduri. He subsequently joined the United Nations and in recognition of his competence, he was appointed as a senior advisor to the Special envoy of the Secretary-General to the Inter-Congolese dialogue in 2002 by the then Secretary-General of the UN Mr Kofi Annan. In May 2007, the United Nations Secretary-General Mr Ban Ki-Moon appointed him as assistant secretary-general for political affairs (see Secretary-General SG/A/1066 BIO/3875, 16 May 2007). Tesfai Germatzion is now deputy country representative of the FAO in Sudan. The phrase is Pateman’s (1998) R119, personal communication, Asmara, 20 March 1998. In fact the broadcast time of the interview was three and a half hours. Data for Kibreab (2000a) were collected in the immediate post-independence period when most Eritreans, particularly those in the Sudanese refugee camps, were gripped with a powerful desire to return to their country. Since then, many have become either disillusioned or have found a new home in the Sudan. The large majority of the preindependence refugees who have stayed in Sudan in spite of the elimination of the factors that prompted their displacement are Beni-Amer from the border areas and their historical allies, the Muslim Blin and also the Bet Juk. The latter two can easily pass as Beni Amer and therefore as Sudanese. The large majority have managed to regularise their stay in Sudan by making use of their links with members of their ethnic groups in eastern Sudan. The literal translation of the Tigrinya word ‘idl’ is opportunity, or chance/fate.

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Towards an Explanation 76 According to the customs of the two religions in Eritrea, Muslims and Christians from the older generation do not eat meat not blessed by their own co-religionists. Message to the Second Congress of the EPLF, Sahel 1987. Printed in Fitsametat, No. 193, 15 April 1987. He could not attend due to ill health and old age. 77 Message to the Second Congress of the EPLF, Sahel 1987. Printed in Fitsametat, No. 193, 15 April 1987. He could not attend due to ill health and old age. 78 See, for example, Ethiopian Ministry of Foreign Affairs to His Britannic Majesty’s Minister, British Legation, Addis Ababa, encl. 1 in (1) Howe to Eden, 29 May 1942, FO 371/31608. 79 See for example http://www.jeberti.com for one view of the Jeberti question. 80 According to the Fundamental Structure of the Eritrean Democratic Alliance (Constitution) in Article 3 under the heading of ‘conditions of membership’ are listed the following: (1) The entity requesting membership in the EDA has to be an opposition political organisation or political party; (2) the requesting entity has to have held its founding conference and declared its programs and leadership; (3) the entity has to have clear and practical means for struggle; (4) the entity has to have crystallized its programs for the Eritrean people by all means; (5) the entity has to accept the Charter and the fundamental structure of the EDA; (6) the entity has to have some elements of its leadership or cadre dedicated to political work; and (7) the central leadership has to approve the admission with three-quarters of its attending members. Translated by Gabeel Team from Arabic. Available at http://www.gabeel.com/doucments/ ENGLISH/EDA_Fundamental_Structure.htm (accessed 18 April 2005). 81 For the EPLF and the Asaorta performers, the issue of being identified as Saho or Asaorta had no meaning whatsoever, but the same could not be said of the civilian Asaorta. 82 Although the interviewees did not admit to the author that they were armed with bombs and other deadly weapons, it was widely rumoured that some had access to such weapons. 83 This was recounted to the author by several informants in the said refugee camps in the first half of the 1990s. 84 Since there was no Eritrean state at that time, it is not suggested in any way here that Muslims had fewer rights than non-Muslim Eritreans. Of course, with the ejection of the ELF and its subsequent amoebic multiplication into fragmented small organisations, there was an increasing disillusionment reflected, among other things, in the perception among some extremist individuals or groups that the EPLF was predominantly a Christian organisation and if it came to power, it would discriminate against Muslims. This was exacerbated by external conditions such as the emergence of Islamic fundamentalism worldwide and the ascendance to power of the National Islamic Front (NIF) in June 1989 in Sudan. Even before its ascendance to power, the National Islamic Front was a dominant political force in Sudan. 85 See No. 29 Minutes, Saturday 7 June 1952, FO 371/96740 and No. 32 Minutes, Wednesday 11th June 1952, FO 371/96740. 86 No. 34, Minutes, Monday 16 June 1952, FO 371/96740. 87 In his scathing criticism of the government’s failure to introduce Arabic as a medium of instruction in primary schools, Idris AbaArre (2001) states, ‘a university graduate from the Middle East becomes an illiterate in front of translators who arrange alphabets with difficulty.’

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Five The Demise of the Private Sector

Those who profess outrageous zeal for liberty and prosperity of their country, and at the same time infringe her laws, affront her religion and debauch her people, are but despicable quacks. (S. Jenyns 1757)1

In the preceding chapters, we saw evidence of how the government: stymied the transition to a democratic future, hampered development and consolidation of autonomous civil and political society associations, weakened the livelihood systems of the people; and pursued foreign and domestic policies that effectively left the country isolated in the international and regional arenas rendering it vulnerable to the vagaries of nature due to lack of development and food aid. The latter was caused by poor governance and the government’s refusal to receive food aid because of its misperception that it engenders a dependency mentality and therefore undermines its strategy of self-reliance. The government’s aim in doing all this is to stifle the country’s transition to democracy and consequently create auspicious conditions for the unfettered exercise of social and political control. This chapter shows how the Eritrean government and the ruling party, the PFDJ, in spite of their initial ‘favourable’ rhetoric towards private enterprise, stigmatised the private sector by characterising it as the ‘font of evil’. Anything considered the ‘font of evil’ deserves to be destroyed rather than enhanced and, as we shall see in this and the following chapter, that was what the government intended to achieve by enacting the laws that killed private enterprise. The promulgations of the anti-private enterprise laws and regulations were preceded, accompanied and followed by fierce campaigns of stigmatisation of the private sector. The president and the minister of trade and industry equated profit with theft, corruption and embezzlement. This is astonishing in view of the fact that not only do the business enterprises of the ruling party, the PFDJ, make profits, but they also never make losses because, as we shall see in Chapter 6, they operate on the basis of a bizarre so-called rule of ‘cost plus profit’. The reason PFDJ firms are able to operate under such rule is because they have absolute monopoly over economic and political power. The chairman of the PFDJ is the chairman of the executive, the legislative body – the National Assembly – and is also the head of state.

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The Demise of the Private Sector Evidence collected from interviews with members of the business community in different parts of Eritrea – Asmara, Keren, Agordat, Barentu and Tessenei – shows that the post-independence government’s hostility towards private enterprise left them dumbfounded and confused. This was because after a decade and a half’s suffering under the Derg’s hostility to private enterprise and private ownership, they expected independence to render null and void all the institutional and practical constraints that annihilated their livelihoods and way of life. None of the people I interviewed expected the Eritrean government to emulate the most hated anti-private enterprise policies of the Derg. These optimistic expectations were reinforced by the unequivocal promises made by the EPLF in its second (1987) and third (1994) congresses. It is important to state, however, that as a leftist organisation, in spite of the ostentatious liberal promises the Front made during its second and third congresses; in practice it never abandoned its anti-private enterprise stance. For example, during the war of liberation, it ran a highly organised network of international, regional and domestic trade under the auspices of its secret business organisation Bado Showate (Zero Seven), the predecessor of the present Red Sea Trading Corporation. Although these activities were indispensable sources of income and supply of scarce goods and services, there is no doubt that they weakened if not stymied the activities of small traders in the liberated areas and those who eked out a living from cross-border trade. The same was true even in the immediate post-independence period. In spite of the fact that the ruling party and the government declared that the Eritrean economy would be led by the private sector and the role of the public sector would be limited to creating an enabling environment, the enterprises of the ruling party were encroaching on every aspect of the country’s economy, crowding out the private sector from the already constricted space. After a brief discussion of the EPLF’s policies concerning the private sector during the war of independence, the chapter will analyse: (i) the EPLF’s (later PFDJ’s)2 and the Eritrean government’s policies on the private sector in the immediate post-independence period; (ii) how these policies subsequently changed over time, evidenced, inter alia, by attacks upon the private sector for allegedly being the sole cause of the high rate of inflation and economic crisis; (iii) the extent to which the allegations are justified; and (iv) the real causes of inflation and the economic crisis. The chapter will finally evaluate the combined impact of the range of inimical policies, and laws and regulations on development and survival of the private sector.

EPLF policies and the private sector During its first congress in 1977, the EPLF pledged that an independent Eritrean government would nationalise all land and industries that were in the hands of the enemies of the Eritrean people. Furthermore, the EPLF incorporated within its National Democratic Programme an additional commitment which involved the conversion of the big nationalised farms and the farms that required modern techniques into state farms.3 The Front also stated that nationals who were not opposed to Eritrea’s independence would be allowed to participate in national

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The Demise of the Private Sector reconstruction through owning small factories and workshops in line with the national development and the system of administration.4 With regard to trade, the Front declared that large trading companies would be nationalised while the small ones would be regulated.5 The programme further stipulated that the exchange and pricing of various domestic products would also be regulated. The EPLF held its second congress in March 1987 and adopted a new political programme. It declared that in independent Eritrea, all land and industries belonging to the Ethiopian government would be nationalised.6 Concerning the private sector, it was declared that in independent Eritrea, nationals ‘with capital’ would be encouraged ‘to participate in national reconstruction by setting up factories and enterprises’.7 It seemed that the EPLF had, at least rhetorically, abandoned its Maoist orientation in favour of liberalism. In this new programme, the sole enemy of Eritrea was said to be Ethiopian colonialism. The terms ‘imperialism’ and ‘Zionism’ which previously occupied a central position in the slogans of the EPLF were dropped from its vocabulary since they were no longer regarded as Eritrea’s enemies. The idea of prohibiting Eritrean capitalists who opposed Eritrean independence from participating in national reconstruction (by owning small factories and workshops) was also dropped. However, although it was stipulated that both the private sector and the state would take part in trade, the programme required that the state would regulate private sector trading to ‘ensure its compatibility with national reconstruction’.8 For example, the exchange and pricing of various domestic products would be regulated by the state.9 It is interesting to examine the extent to which the EPLF’s attitudes and policies towards the private sector changed over time and the degree to which the independent state’s policy concerning private enterprise was shaped by the Front’s policy of the 1970s when the private sector was targeted for onslaught. The second congress witnessed the election of the former vice-secretary general of the EPLF and the chairman of the secret Maoist party, Isaias Afwerki, to the post of secretary-general. In October 1990 (six months before the country’s independence), he answered a large number of questions put by Eritreans worldwide. Given its Maoist stance, there was general concern among Eritreans that, once in government, the EPLF could move to suppress the private sector. People from different parts of the world therefore asked the leader of the Front whether a post-independent Eritrean economy was likely to face a crisis as had been witnessed in other fellow post-liberation sub-Saharan African governments.10 In answering the question, he said that whether an economy succeeds or fails is to a large extent a function of the political system in place. There are countries, he said, that are rich in natural resources but whose economies are plunged into deep crises. One of the causes of these crises, in his view, was political corruption. ‘We need to draw lessons from the experiences of the countries that squandered such opportunities,’ he responded. The only way Eritrea could avoid similar problems, he added, is by getting the issue of governance right. Without the latter, neither a high rate of economic growth nor citizens’ prosperity is possible. ‘Unless we establish a political system that is free from corruption, theft, embezzlement and bribery, the economy will go down the drain.’11 We shall see later, how the PFDJ and the government under his leadership got the issue of governance woefully wrong and how this has been blighting the country’s economy and the people’s well-being.

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The Demise of the Private Sector Other Eritreans wanted to know the extent to which the EPLF expected the private sector to contribute to national reconstruction and development in postindependent Eritrea. They further asked, ‘What kind of guarantees will the private sector have both at present and in independent Eritrea?’12 In response, Isaias Afwerki envisaged that an Eritrean economy would be composed of three sectors – namely, private sector owned by Eritrean nationals, public sector, and foreign investment. In order to determine each sector’s role and their relationship, we are undertaking a study, he remarked. In the EPLF’s view, he said, ‘The role of the state in the economy should be limited. Many Third World countries that gave primacy to the public sector have failed.’ Isaias further pointed out that Eritrea’s food insecurity could only be addressed by the combined effort of the public and private sectors, as well as by direct foreign investment. After independence, the role of the government was to be limited to creating an enabling environment by providing the institutional framework within which economic interactions of different but nevertheless interconnected sectors would take place.13 He also said, ‘The Eritrean private sector will receive encouragement. It will be given all the necessary support to enable it to compete with foreign capital. The aim of the EPLF is to establish a national economy in which all Eritrean nationals and capitalists will play an active role. It has also decided to pave the way for the private sector by creating a favourable environment.’14 Later we shall see how the PFDJ leader (and his government), in spite of the unambiguous promise made towards the end of the war, have been implementing the failed approach and thereby plunging the economy into deep crisis. In the following the actual policies the EPLF (later PFDJ) and the government adopted in the postindependence period will be discussed.

The EPLF/PFDJ and the private sector in the immediate post-independence period Prior to Eritrea’s annexation into Ethiopia in September 1962, there was a relatively well-functioning private sector.15 However, after the country became an Ethiopian province, different pressures were brought to bear on factory and trading house owners. For example, owners were required to relocate their plants and activities to Addis Ababa. Those who resisted were subjected to unfavourable fiscal and other pressures.16 After the Derg’s (military junta) ascendance to power, most of the big firms in the private sector were nationalised and the small enterprises systematically undermined through different means. The situation was exacerbated by the 30 years’ war. In the last ten years of the war, most economic activities in the urban centres under Ethiopian control either ceased or were at a standstill. When Eritrea gained independence, there were 42 factories in the public sector and 650 small-scale enterprises in the private sector. Under normal conditions of operation, the former accounted for 85 per cent of total production.17 The enterprises in the private sector were small, employing between two and three workers and were mostly operating workshops, such as woodwork, electronics, automechanics, metalwork, plumbing, bakeries and leather processing.18 At the time of

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The Demise of the Private Sector independence, the private sector operated under considerable bottlenecks such as ‘low capitalisation and underdeveloped marketing and business management skills’.19 In short, when the country achieved independence, the private sector was very weak,20 in spite of the country’s rich ‘tradition of entrepreneurial spirit’ (World Bank 2002: 2). In February 1994, the EPLF held its third congress. The resultant National Charter for Eritrea (approved by the same congress) stated that the state should play an important role in terms of creating favourable conditions for economic development by initiating appropriate strategies and policies that promote human resources development and sustainable utilisation of the country’s natural resources. The party also declared: ‘Eritrea’s economy must be a market economy’ (EPLF 1994a: 27). The Charter further stated that the regulatory role of the state in the interim period was not to be seen as a symptom of a command economy; rather, it was to have a mixed economy based on a market (ibid.). The private sector was expected to play a leading role while the government had the responsibility for creating a favourable climate to enable it to thrive (ibid.). We shall see later the extent to which the government lived up to its promise. The Front also acknowledged, ‘The private sector we inherited … was as devastated as was the public sector. In order to play a leading role in our economy, to be viable, free and competitive, the private sector has to be revived and developed with modern economic knowledge and skills’ (ibid.: 28). In 1994, the government defined the central aim of the national development as being the creation of a modern and technologically advanced and internationally competitive economy.21 The realisation of this ambitious national development objective was to a large extent assumed to be a function of the ‘establishment of an efficient, outward looking, private sector-led market economy, with the government playing a proactive role to stimulate private economic activities’.22 It was also noted that public sector intervention in the economy would be limited to economic activities that the private sector was not keen to undertake because of externalities. The main reason for initiating the macro-policy framework was said to be to ‘stimulate private investment’ in order to ‘engender economic revival and growth’.23 Thus, the document on Macro-Policy unequivocally declared, ‘Eritrea has opted for an open, private sector-led, free market economy’.24 The same policy document stated that: (i) the private sector is the lead actor in the economic activities of Eritrea; (ii) it is allowed to participate in all sectors of the economy with no restrictions and discrimination; and (iii) the government will take all necessary policy and other supportive measures to promote, encourage and develop the private sector and protect its interests.25

Hostility towards diaspora, expellee and stayee entrepreneurs During the thirty years’ war of independence, tens of thousands of professionals and entrepreneurs left Eritrea either to seek protection in Sudan, Kenya, Uganda, Western Europe, North America and Australia or to work in the Gulf States.

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The Demise of the Private Sector Some of them were able to re-establish themselves as successful entrepreneurs and professionals in exile. During the war of independence, the EPLF was to a large extent dependent on the financial contributions made by these groups and other transnational Eritrean communities, as well as international non-governmental organisations. After independence, a considerable number of entrepreneurs with wide international networks, knowledge, capital and creative business ideas returned home to help the government rebuild the war-ravaged economy and to help develop the private sector which by then had been systematically undermined by the Derg. Without a viable private sector, it was thought that the task of national (re)-construction would be unachievable. Donors and diplomats urged the Eritrean government to tap into the invaluable resource of the Eritrean diaspora in the reconstruction of its post-war economic, social and physical infrastructures as it did in the liberation war. However, rhetoric notwithstanding, the government and the ruling party systematically frustrated most business proposals initiated by Eritrean expatriate entrepreneurs and foreign investors. This was because both the government and the PFDJ feared that a thriving private sector would undermine their determination to exercise unfettered political, social and economic control. For example, a frustrated returnee entrepreneur who subsequently left the country told the author that the government encouraged people to present detailed business plans in order for them to steal them in the end. Another embittered entrepreneur who has also since left the country in utter disappointment said, ‘The government’s thinking is underpinned by a “zero-sum-game”. They assume every profit, even a penny, a businessman [woman] makes is a net loss to the country and themselves.’26 He added, ‘You cannot manage a country’s economy with that kind of perverse mentality.’ These remarks represent the tip of the iceberg. The Eritrean government’s attitude towards the professionals and entrepreneurs deported from Ethiopia during and in the aftermath of the border war (May1998– June 2000) was equally unwelcoming if not hostile. At the time, there were many highly successful businessmen and women, as well as professionals, among the Ethiopians of Eritrean origin and Eritreans legally residing in Ethiopia. When the war broke out, many of them were illegally deported to Eritrea (see Kibreab 1999a; Klein 1998; Legesse 1999). Some of the professionals and entrepreneurs deported from Ethiopia were the backbone of the Ethiopian economy before their expulsion. Their arrival would have constituted an enormous resource had the Eritrean government welcomed them and allowed them to re-establish themselves using their business acumen, experience, professional skills and international connections. Had the government facilitated the process of re-establishment of the expellees by extending loans and a listening ear, both the country and the people would have benefited from the outcome. Although most of them had lost their capital when they were arbitrarily expelled from Ethiopia without warning, some would have been able to re-establish themselves either by using their savings abroad or by resuscitating their previous international networks. However, instead of creating an enabling environment as promised to celebrate and seize the opportunity, the government erected every possible obstacle to throttle the initiatives of the deportees so as to indirectly force them to leave the country or live in abject poverty. The few who managed to set up petty business activities after overcoming the constraints were eventually forced to close down

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The Demise of the Private Sector because of arbitrary charges, heavy taxes or arbitrary withdrawal of their licences. As we shall see in Chapter 6, the licences of contractors, engineers and consultants were withdrawn by the government in April 2006. The government’s attitude towards the businessmen and women deported from Ethiopia was the same as it was towards those entrepreneurs and professionals who stayed in Eritrea during the war instead of joining the struggle. As we shall see later, in the president’s view, these people, like the expellees, were people who betrayed their country and accumulated wealth by collaborating with the enemy when the country was under occupation. He felt that their wealth was accumulated through stealing, corruption and without any concern for the suffering of the country and the Eritrean people (Afwerki 1996: 23). His attitude towards the Eritrean diaspora was not substantially different. The catchall phrase used by the PFDJ concerning diaspora Eritreans and the deportees who struggled to re-establish themselves ‘against all odds’ was ‘abey de’a neyrom adi kitneded?’ (where were they when the country was burning?) The president’s answer to this rhetorical question was that they were busy stealing, engaging in corruption and collaborating with Eritrea’s enemy. The corollary is that they did not deserve to be supported. The Eritrean government and the PFDJ must have feared that, if afforded the opportunity, the expellee and the returnee entrepreneurs given their experience, international connctions and professionalism, would threaten their monopolistic domination of the country’s economic, social and cultural life. Hence the PFDJ medium and long-term strategy of being the major (if not the sole) providers and controllers of the means of survival would be defeated. Given the current state of the economy, the strategy has been a total fiasco not only for the people but also for the government and the PFDJ. This is because, in the medium and long term, without a decently performing national economy, political stability is inconceivable. At present, most professionals and entrepreneurs, especially those who were in the construction industry, have left Eritrea in search of alternative livelihoods or live off their savings. Others have left the country to join their sons and daughters in Western Europe, North America and Australia while the more ambitious and younger ones have left for Uganda, Kenya, Angola and Southern Sudan. This has resulted in Eritrea loosing a rare opportunity and some of its most prized resources, including human capital, entrepreneurship and social capital in the form of dense international networks.

The private sector from illusory centre stage to stigmatisation As will become clear, since the second half of the 1990s, most of the government policies concerning the private sector have not been different from those the Maoist-oriented front adopted in its first congress in 1977. This is in spite of the liberal sloganeering that accompanied the second and third congresses of the present ruling party. The so-called centre stage position assigned to the private sector was never matched by government commitment.

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The Demise of the Private Sector From its inception, the EPLF exhibited a powerful proclivity for exercising hegemonic control over every aspect of social, economic, political and cultural life of the communities in the areas it controlled. The same is true of its successor, the PFDJ, and the government whose ideology failed to recognise the existence of an autonomous private space within which economic actors interacted independently of the state. One of the important instruments the ruling party employs to exercise unencumbered control is through direct control over economic resources. As Hilaire Belloc stated, ‘The control of the production of wealth is the control of human life itself.’27 F.A. Hayek also states, ‘To be controlled in our economic pursuits means to be always controlled …’ (Hayek : [1944] 2001: 94). As highlighted below, the PFDJ’s control of economic resources has stifled not only the development and consolidation of the private sector but also the growth of an autonomous middle class, civil society and political associations. The government perceives the middle class, autonomous civil society associations and political parties as representing a threat to their ambition of exercising hegemonic political control and to the ruling party’s business interests.28 Both the government and the ruling party also see the private sector as being the source of evil that allegedly blights the lives of the people. In a number of interviews, the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, and the minister of trade and industry, Giorgis Teklemichael, have incessantly accused the business community of greed, corruption, bribery, a dearth of moral norms and no sense of patriotism, as well as violation of tax and licensing laws.29 Less than 16 months after declaring the private sector as being the ‘engine’ of economic growth; indispensable for the realisation of national reconstruction and development objectives (see Macro Policy 1994), the president unleashed a hardline campaign against it. This intractable stance remained unchallenged due to the government-controlled media which militated against freedom of speech and the existence of autonomous associations. This resulted in a private sector devoid of voice and thereby powerless. In essence, whatever the head of state says is policy. This is why this study draws heavily on text analysis and data derived from interviews with the head of state and the minister of trade and industry. Whenever the Eritrean head of state needs to make a point, he calls for marathon interviews either in the Eritrean television, Dimtsi Hafash (radio station), the governmentowned newspaper – Hadas Eritra – or in one of the Front’s magazines. It is common knowledge throughout Eritrea that the questions he is asked are preselected by his press secretaries and others in his office, including himself.30 In June 1996 Hidri, one of the PFDJ’s magazines, interviewed the president. He was asked: ‘Our policy has given a big [an important] role to the private sector. However, as you stated in the Hawabim Conference, the private sector in our country has not even reached an infant stage. With few exceptions, the private sector is weak not only in terms of capacity but also in outlook. Taking our policy framework into account, what measures have been taken or are planned to be taken to transform the thinking and capacity of the private sector?’31 In response, he said: It is foolish (eshinet) to think that the domestic private sector would be able to play an important role in the country’s economy. There is a tiny section within the private sector that has been able to accumulate capital by investing its own resources, knowledge and efforts. The large majority of the private sector’s wealth was acquired when the

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The Demise of the Private Sector country was under foreign occupation through theft, corruption and other similar means without any concern with the country’s situation and its people’s plight.32

The interview was conducted in Tigrinya and the quotations and references are based on the author’s free translation of the selected texts. A head of state whose government is committed to the establishment of a private sector-led economy, on the one hand, and to the creation of an enabling environment for private initiative which was deliberately stifled by inimical policies and practices of the previous regimes, on the other hand, would not have expressed himself in such terms. This clearly indicates that the government’s commitment to the private sector was not genuine in the first place. His statement was an expression of a determination to revert to his old Maoist roots. It was the same private sector that the ruling party and the government had identified as constituting the centrepiece of the country’s development objectives and strategies 16 months earlier that the president stigmatised as being dominated by corrupt, thieving and embezzling people. The president did not present any evidence to substantiate any of his allegations. The absence of independent media and opposition ensured that such denigrating assertions went unchallenged. If there were any grounds for his allegations, the government and the ruling party would have known about this at the time they designated a central role to the private sector both in the National Charter and in the macro-economic policy, as well as in the national development objectives and strategies. The question that arises is whether the president subsequently changed his opinion about the private sector and consequently reverted to his old Maoist position. Or did new facts, unknown during the Front’s third congress, arise in June 1996? Had the latter been the case, the president would have revealed them. He does not say in the interview or elsewhere that his assault on the private sector was motivated by new revelations. To reinforce his claim that the capital in the private sector was acquired through illegitimate means, he pointed out that the section of the business community that would have been able to play an important role in the sector’s development was forced to abandon its wealth either due to principled commitment to the national cause or fear of repercussions during the war of independence. The small section of the sector that stayed behind was able to accumulate wealth simply by seizing the opportunities or by taking advantage of the vacuum created by the departure of the genuine and patriotic entrepreneurs.33 This may suggest that the president’s perception of the country’s entrepreneurs who chose to stay behind rather than joining the liberation war to fight was coloured by hate and vindictiveness. This will become increasingly clear as we proceed. In a continued series of accusations, the head of state noted that, because of the manner in which the private sector was created, it was extremely narrow-minded, suspicious, myopic (incapable of seeing beyond its nose in its investment decisions) and corrupt.34 This was allegedly reflected, inter alia, in its preference to work illegally by evading the laws of the country. He further pointed out that the private sector was so reckless that it did not care about the extent to which its transgressions resulted in the distortion of prices and in other consequences that could negatively affect the interests of the country. As we shall see later, both the president and his minister of trade and industry blame the skyrocketing inflation

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The Demise of the Private Sector and the economic crisis on the alleged recklessness and insatiable greed of the private sector. He further claimed that the private sector was gossip-ridden (gossips about the government) and was ready to take, on the one hand, bad or wrong positions (himak) at anytime and, on the other, to interact with foreign companies and investors in a manner that could damage the interests of the country.35 The private sector, he noted, was extremely reactionary (duhur) in terms of its genesis (ametsatseü), history and the way it operated (aserarehiü). The president’s assertion was based upon the belief that the private sector was the product of the corrupt system that preceded his government. He also pointed out that his claim ‘does not refer to the handful of hopeful elements’.36 In a series of fieldwork in Asmara, Keren and Tessenei in 1997, the author enquired from several key informants, including people from the private sector, consumers and government officials who the ‘hopeful elements’ were. All said that they were the president’s ‘clients and PFDJ business partners’. By 2002, the combined effects of the government’s misplaced macro-economic policy and the border war had led to hyperinflation. According to the World Bank, by the end of 2002 and early 2003, ‘Inflation shot up to 23.8 per cent, one of the highest levels in recent history.’37 Based on consumer price index data produced by the Eritrean National Statistics and Evaluation Office (NSEO), the IMF stated that inflation rose to 24 per cent in 2002 (IMF 2003: 5). The National Bank of Eritrea however estimated inflation at 34 per cent in the same period (quoted in ibid.). In this way, the true rate of inflation was grossly distorted. The high rate of inflation caused immense economic hardship and public resentment but, instead of rethinking its policy and coming to grips with the real issues, the government sought a convenient scapegoat in the private sector which was accused of being solely responsible for the misery that befell the country. This is reflected in the fierce attack unleashed by the head of state upon the country’s entrepreneurs in the government-controlled mass media. On 11 May 2002, in an interview with Hadas Eritra, the government-owned newspaper, the president was asked to comment on the measures the Cabinet had taken in addressing the economic crisis and the severe economic hardship that had hit the country. After pointing out that the ministry of trade and industry was undertaking a comprehensive study to identify the underlying causes of the high inflation rate in accordance with the mandate given by the Cabinet, he said that the economy in the country, in general and in the cities in particular, was ‘unnatural’38 because prices were changing not within weeks or days but within hours. The obvious ‘culprit’ in his view was the private sector that was allegedly making astronomical profits without contributing anything either to the treasury or to the country’s economy in terms of investment, employment creation, foreign exchange generation, and introduction of new technology, as well as payment of taxes. The studies conducted by the ministry of trade and industry were completed in August 2002 and the findings were presented to the Cabinet of ministers in the third week of that month. Until the completion of the study, neither the president nor the Cabinet had knowledge of the real causes of the high rate of inflation. If this were not the case, they would not have commissioned the ministry of trade and industry to undertake such a comprehensive study. When the president was interviewed in May 2002, as he put it himself, the

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The Demise of the Private Sector study conducted by the ministry of trade and Industry was in progress.39 The question that arises is: how did he know that the high rate of inflation was due to ‘the insatiable greed of traders’ rather than other structural and policy-related constraints? Why did he not wait for the results of a study that he and his ministers in the Cabinet commissioned? What was his purpose in pre-empting the findings of the study three months before its completion? This indicates that the president’s characterisation of the private sector as being the font of evil and the cause of the high rate of inflation and economic crisis was not evidence-based but was rather ideologically driven. If the former were the case, he would have waited for the evidence. In order to dramatise the extent of the alleged ‘greed and dishonesty’ of the business community, the president gave a graphic example of a hypothetical trader who makes 120 cents profit instead of 20 cents. In order to dramatise the story further, he asked a rhetorical question, ‘Does he pay tax on the profit of the 100 cents?’40 Since inflation had reached intolerable levels and the people, especially in the big cities were suffering immensely he noted that, ‘The government cannot continue to turn a blind eye, when the people are unreasonably exploited, when they are milked unfairly, when they are illegally taken advantage of by people in the private sector individually or collectively.’ He accused the private sector of taking advantage of the government’s and the people’s good intentions and naiveté and declared ‘Enough is enough.’ When a head of a state in a country where there are no institutional constraints and safeguards against abuse or arbitrary exercise of power targets an object in such menacing manner, the anticipated outcome is easily predictable.

Findings of the Ministry of Trade and Industry’s study It is important to look at the extent to which the findings of the study conducted by the ministry of trade and industry held the private sector responsible, as did the head of state, for the high rate of inflation and the economic crisis. On 18 and 19 August 2002, in an interview with Elias Mahmoud Harun of Eritrean Television, the minister of trade and industry gave a detailed account of the findings of the study, as well as of the policies adopted and decisions taken by the Cabinet. Excerpts from the interview were published in Hadas Eritra on 22 and 23 August 2002. The following data are derived from Hadas Eritra based on the author’s free translation of the Tigrinya text. When the minister was asked to explain, on the basis of the findings of the study, the cause of the high rate of inflation, he replied, ‘It is essentially a problem of supply… Production has not been increasing in all the sectors of the economy… The supply of the 84 essential goods and services identified in the study has either been stagnant or in decline. Wages have not been rising to match inflation. If wages had kept abreast with inflation, it would not have made much difference to those who depend on wages.’41 As will become clear later, the supply of essential consumer goods had been declining over time. We shall also see that, contrary to the minister’s claim that wages had been stagnant; there was evidence to suggest

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The Demise of the Private Sector that they had been rising considerably in the sectors for which data were available, manufacturing, for example. The reasons for this will be discussed later. The second cause of the high rate of inflation, the minister said, was the high defence expenditure resulting from the border war fought against Ethiopia between 1998 and 2000. ‘This undoubtedly has an impact on inflation. The productive labour force is withdrawn from agriculture, industry and other sectors to defend the country. Not only does this amount to loss of income but also the recruits have to be fed and clothed. All boils down to lack of supply.’42 This is consistent with the findings of the World Bank in which it was stated that when the border war broke out, economic activities and revenues from public enterprises shrank considerably (World Bank 2002: 7). Between 1998 and 2001 public expenditure averaged 90 per cent of GDP which meant that the state was the single most important actor in the economy (ibid.: 5). The budget deficit in 1998 was only 6 per cent of GDP but reached 48 percent in 2000 mainly because of military expenditures and humanitarian needs (ibid.). When asked to state the role firms in the private sector could play in countering the high rate of inflation, the minister of trade and industry divided the relevant firms into two categories, i.e. the firms that had an impact on inflation and those which did not. Of the 2,000 private firms in the country, he said that only 210–220 had had an impact on inflation. At the time of the interview (18 and 19 August 2002), between 170 and 180 of the relevant firms were covered by the study and detailed data were available on each of them. The survey found that the major constraints faced by the said firms were: (i) archaic machinery and equipment; (ii) obsolete products that no longer existed in the world market and for which there was no demand; (iii) lack of human capital either because they never had trained skilled production workers or they had lost these workers due to mobilisation into the army; and (iv) lack of foreign exchange to finance imports of capital goods, spare parts and raw materials.43 The minister said that, though the nature of the constraints could vary from one firm to another, ‘These constraints are generally faced by all firms in the country.’ From the minister’s comments, it is clear that the findings of the study did not lend support to the head of state’s unfounded allegations that the high rate of inflation was caused by the private sector’s greed, corruption and lack of respect for the country’s tax laws. Contrary to the president’s allegation, not only was the private sector vindicated from being responsible for the economic crisis in the country, but the findings clearly showed that it was crippled by the government’s adverse policies and other structural problems common to war-torn societies. In the following section, it is argued that one of the most important causes of the shortage of supply of goods and services was linked to the removal of the most productive members of the labour force in all sectors of the economy by the government. This was through the open-ended mobilisation of human resources in the guise of national service, as well as the forced labour performed under the socalled WYDC. This is discussed in what follows. NATIONAL SERVICE, SHORTAGE OF LABOUR SUPPLY AND RISING WAGES All Eritreans – women and men – between 18 and 40 are required to perform national service.44 Initially, there were nine categories of people that were exempted.45 Six

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The Demise of the Private Sector out of the nine exemptions stipulated in Articles 4–946 were, however, repealed by Proclamation 82/1995.47 After 1995, all Eritreans, except those who fought in the 30 years’ war of independence and the physically and mentally infirm were required to participate in the national service regardless of family responsibility or religious conviction.48 Even conscientious objectors, such as the Jehovah’s Witnesses, were forcibly recruited although it was against the canons of their faith (AI 2004a). Military training as part of the national service was introduced for the first time in July 1994. This consisted of six months military training at the Sawa Military Camp and 12 months in what was initially known as civic service. In the latter, recruits were required to participate in different areas of national reconstruction.49 After completion of their duty, the first three cohorts were demobilised between 1994 and May 1998.50 However, when the border war broke out in May 1998, they were remobilised and those who joined the national service since then have not been demobilised in spite of many half-hearted promises made by the government to the international donor community. In the immediate post-Algiers peace agreement (December 2000), the Eritrean government established a National Commission for the Demobilisation and Re-integration Programme (NCDRP) and a phased demobilisation programme of some 200,000 combatants was formulated. In the first phase, 70,000 combatants were supposed to be demobilised by the end of January 2003. They were going to be mostly older women, people with scarce skills, family needs and sicknesses. In the second phase, another 60,000 combatants were to be demobilised by the end of July 2003. Due to uncertainties concerning funding, the government did not specify the exact time that the remaining 70,000 combatants would be demobilised.51 However, instead of demobilising the 200,000 combatants as agreed with international donors, the government extended the obligation to perform national service under a new label known as Warsai-Yekaalo52 Development Campaign (WYDC) in May 2002. In addition to being enacted without an enabling law or warning the new law was contrary to the terms of the National Service Proclamation 82/1995 which limited the requirement of the service to 18 months.53 The WYDC compelled those who complete the 18 months to stay on indefinitely and to work for the state and the firms of the ruling party, PFDJ, without remuneration, save for the pittance of pocket money paid by the ministry of defence. Thus those who joined the service when they were 39 years old in 1994 are at the time of writing over 50 years old. The government has raised the age of conscription for men to 54 and for women to 47. 54 Thus, with the exception of the former combatants who are not required to participate in the national service and in the WYDC,55 all citizens between 18 and 50 years are unable to fend for themselves and their families, as well as to participate in the civil economy. The impact of this on the national economy and the livelihoods of families in a country where the average life expectancy is 56.9 years is considerable (World Bank 2002; IMF 2003). Thus, the findings of the study conducted by the ministry of trade and industry are consistent with any reasonable expectations. How could there be an adequate supply of goods and services, when the government’s national service and its concomitant, the WYDC, have deprived the economy of the essential factor of production – labour? In 2004, the government pretended to ‘demobilise’ some people with scarce skills and older women. However, they were required to retain indefinitely the

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The Demise of the Private Sector assignments they had prior to the issuance of ‘demobilisation’ identity cards. An exemption was given to the older women who wanted to leave the country. Some women seized the opportunity and left the country for fear that the government could change its policy at any time56 and has indeed done so. The women left the country for Kenya and Sudan where life, except for those who live on remittances from relatives in the OECD countries and the Gulf States, is unbearable. If these women return, they risk being forcibly re-enlisted. It is worth mentioning that the government not only reneged on its promise to demobilise the 200,000 combatants, but it has also been aggressively engaging in massive round-ups in search of new recruits and absconders. For example, by the end of February 2006, security forces encircled a secondary school in Keren and forcibly took all the students, including minors, to a training camp in Dankalia. The justification given by the government was the threat of another border war with Ethiopia whose government had refused to comply with the decision of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission (EEBC). While it is true that the state of nowar and no-peace was mainly due to Ethiopia’s obdurate refusal to accept the commission’s decision unconditionally (as the two governments agreed in Algiers), this does not justify continued mobilisation. The government’s open-ended national service and the WYDC, including its incessant interference in the private lives of citizens have: • corroded the long-standing traditional coping strategies of society based on the diversification of income sources; • displaced the most important factor of production in all sectors of the economy – namely, labour; and • undermined the livelihood systems and the development and consolidation of the private sector. Thus, national service and the WYDC have created a situation of severe labour scarcity in all sectors, including in the subsistence economy, which has been a major cause of shortage of supply of goods and services. This has resulted in hyper inflation. As seen earlier, according to the findings of the studies conducted by the ministry of trade and industry, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, one of the most important causes of decline or stagnation of production (and consequently hyper inflation) is shortage of labour. For example, the World Bank’s report observed that, ‘The mobilisation process has substantially reduced the number of available white-collar workers and thus deprived firms of a valuable asset at a difficult time’ (World Bank 2002: 20). This is not surprising in view of the fact that the large majority of the able-bodied members of the labour force in the country is mobilised and removed from family and private sector production. Thus, the shortage of supply of goods and services identified by the study of the ministry of trade and industry as being a major cause of inflation is consistent with any reasonable expectation. The other effect of labour scarcity on inflation is a rise in wages. A study conducted by a team of researchers from the World Bank concluded that labour shortage is a major obstacle to the expansion of Eritrea’s manufacturing sector (World Bank 2002). As a result, employment in manufacturing has been declining and wages have been rising sharply due to the impact of military mobilisation of the workforce. The survey described mobilisation of the workforce as having

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The Demise of the Private Sector ‘detrimental impact on manufacturing. The lack of demobilisation has deprived the private sector of a large segment of its skilled workforce and negatively affects the quality of overall management and performance’ (ibid.: 20–21). While, in theory, some firms could call back a few skilled workers from the military service, many employers in the private sector told the World Bank team that, in practice, this did not work. In the few cases where it was possible to recall such skilled workers, the private firms concerned paid their full salaries to the ministry of defence whereas the skilled workers concerned received 150 ERN (US$10). This is the normal allowance paid to participants in the national service and the WYDC. It was illegal to pay participants in the national service and the WYDC more than ERN 150 (US$10) per month.57 The World Bank’s report further pointed out that rising real wages was a major factor in the high cost of production and low competitiveness within Eritrean firms. Unless the consequence of this was offset by currency depreciation or higher labour productivity, the report stated, the external competitiveness of the firms was likely to be reduced (ibid.: 21). The World Bank’s survey also found that the wage rate in the overall sample rose by 17.16 per cent over a six month period (end of 2001 to May 2002) (ibid.: Fig. 2.10: 22). The corresponding figures for very small, small, medium and large industries were 20.83, 19.33, 19.73 and 11.38 per cent, respectively (ibid. Fig. 2.10: 22). Although large firms were less affected than the other firms, the overall result shows a considerable level of increase of wages. The data in Table 5.1 clearly show that the private sector was faced with severe shortage of labour due to the government’s mobilisation programme resulting in a considerable rise in wage rates. The impact of high wages upon inflation cannot be underestimated. This is because scarcity of labour drives up the cost of production and consequently commodity prices. The negative consequence of labour shortage is succinctly summarised by the World Bank as follows: The labour shortage affects firms’ ability to grow and become competitive, either in the regional or international marketplace. Due to the severe shortage of labour, firms are relatively less productive in Eritrea. The ratio of capital to labour is much higher than the optimal ratio, and wages have been rising. Unit labour costs, a rough indicator of competitiveness, show that Eritrean labour is expensive relative to labour in other parts of the world. When coupled with other constraints highlighted in the report, the labour shortage creates a severe drag on competitiveness in the private sector. (2002: 35)

The extent of the above-stated constraints, was so severe that the ministry of trade and industry’s survey found that the 70-80 most important factories that had a strong bearing on prices were operating at 37 percent of their full capacity.58 Furthermore, it was not just the industries that depended on imported raw materials that suffered from shortage. This is clear from the ministry’s findings in which the minister said, We have learned that many of the raw materials that can be produced domestically are also in short supply. For example, the meat, milk, flour, edible oil, tomatoes etc. factories were expected to process domestically produced raw materials and make them (the finished products) available in the market. However, these factories are equally faced with shortage of such raw materials.59

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The Demise of the Private Sector This is not surprising because, as we saw earlier, most of the productive labour force both in agriculture and industry was mobilised. Hence both sectors have been suffering from acute shortage of labour. The IMF Staff Report stated that the drought (2003) was unprecedented since independence, but it argued that its effects were ‘aggravated by the continued mobilisation of large numbers of farmers into the armed forces’ (IMF 2003: 6). Unless the shortage of labour and foreign-exchange problems were addressed (and these were inextricably linked to the issues of mobilisation and governance) not only was the private sector unlikely to play a positive role in the national economy but also the economic crisis in the country was likely to get much worse. The IMF staff report stated: The current tight labour shortages and foreign reserves constraints will continue for some time, mainly because of delays in the demobilisation of combatants and lack of adequate inflows of external assistance. The latter projection is based on the assumption that the political governance issues raised by donors regarding the formation of parties and free elections will take some time to be resolved in a satisfactory way and, as a result, donor financing will essentially remain limited to humanitarian assistance. (2003: 18) (emphasis added)

In spite of differences in emphasis, there is an astonishing similarity between the findings of the World Bank, IMF and the ministry of trade and industry’s teams. This is in spite of the fact that they were conducted at different periods and independently of each other. The IMF staff report further stated: In this situation, economic growth would be severely constrained because private sector activity would face binding labour and foreign exchange constraints. In addition, inflation will remain high because of (i) supply-side constraints; (ii) excess demand caused by strong money and credit growth to compensate for the lack of foreign financing; and (iii) a continued depreciation of the currency … shortage of foreign exchange will limit imports of intermediate and investment goods for private sector production. (2003: 18)

The extent of the institutional, policy and structural constraints facing the private sector were so severe that the World Bank’s survey on the changes in manufacturing employment between 1999 and 2001 shows a considerable level of shrinkage (Table 5.1). As the data in Table 5.1 show, between 1999 and 2001, the labour force in all sectors declined considerably. In 1999 an average 129.0 staff were employed by firms whilst the corresponding figure for 2001 was 106.9, representing 17.1 per cent decline. The average decline among all domestic firms between 1999 and 2001 was 18.1 per cent. The smallest firms seem to have suffered the most, i.e. with a decrease of 24.4 per cent on average. The World Bank’s study shows that textiles, leather and garments and food and beverages were the two most strongly affected sectors. They experienced a decline of 28.5 and 17.3 per cent, respectively (World Bank 2002: 56). This is because ‘these two sectors were among those that had the highest rates of white-collar mobilisation’ (ibid.). None of these data indicate that the private sector was either making ‘excessive profits’ or causing economic crisis and the high rate of inflation, as the head of state purported. What clearly emerges is that the private sector was operating in an environment characterised by severe macro-economic instability, economic policy uncertainty, lack of access to domestic credit at a reasonable cost, severe shortages

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The Demise of the Private Sector Table 5.1 Average number of workers per firm (permanent and temporary workers 1999–2001) 199l

2000

2001

Ownership

Local Std Foreign Std

139.49 (254.21) 41.63 (36.30)

123.17 (217.93) 39.00 (23.87)

114.21 (215.17) 42.25 (30.83)

Size Class

Very small Std Small Std Medium Std Large Std

11.25 (5.39) 30.49 (21.38) 84.67 (47.71) 375.30 (370.95)

8.75 (2.55) 27.92 (18.26) 79.77 (28.87) 344.45 (317.02

8.50 (2.20) 25.92 (8.89) 71.85 (13.39) 323.00 (324.63)

Sector

Chemical/Paints Std Construction materials Std Food & beverages Std Furniture Std Metal Std Paper/printing/publishing* Std Plastics Std Textiles, leather and garments Std

25.50 (22.13) 103.00 (114.94) 175.42 (204.14) 43.00 (31.49) 65.83 (45.82) 41.60 (40.96) 27.43 (11.90) 279.80 (447.39)

25.90 (23.20) 90.22 (92.40) 172.58 (204.96) 42.75 (27.21) 70.00 (46.30) 59.71 (75.27) 26.71 (11.56) 206.53 (362.55)

27.20 (4.11) 92.78 (85.22) 145.11 (173.40) 44.25 (31.28) 64.00 (35.67) 62.43 (81.29) 26.14 (12.23) 200.12 (379.41)

Sample Std deviation

129.05 (242.25)

114.65 (208.16)

106.92 (205.21)

Std = Standard deviation * This average sectoral increase is highly biased by one firm that doubled its employment between 1999 and 2001. The sector should be considered an outlier rather than representative of a sector wide improvement. Source: World Bank, (2002,: Table A.3.1).

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The Demise of the Private Sector of labour, and severe foreign-exchange constraints, poor infrastructure (e.g. unreliable power supply, underdeveloped telecommunications and transport systems, including high costs for sea and air transport), human capital (low level of education and skills of labour force) and land (World Bank 2002: 21–33; see also IMF 2003). The World Bank’s report observed that, ‘Above all, business people want a predictable environment, which means slow and predictable changes in exchange rates, interest rates, and rates of inflation’ (2002: 35). It is further observed that none of this was conceivable in the absence of macroeconomic stabilisation. ‘Until that is achieved, inflation rates will continue to be high (double digit) and variable. That in turn will play havoc with exchange rates and interest rates’ (ibid.). Hence these problems are at the heart of the country’s economic crisis rather than the alleged ‘avarice’ of the private sector as the head of state wrongly alleged. BAD GOVERNANCE AND SHORTAGE OF FOREIGN EXCHANGE As seen earlier, the president attributed the economic crisis that routinely afflicted newly independent countries to poor governance and warned that Eritrea would draw an important lesson and avoid repeating the same mistakes.60 Eritrea is governed (or misgoverned) by an autocratic regime where there is a serious dearth of freedom of association, expression, movement, free enterprise and human rights. Poor governance has substantially exacerbated the economic crisis in the country. The IMF, for example, notes that Eritrea has been facing serious macro-economic imbalances and prolonged suspension of budgetary and balance of payments assistance from donors, due to concerns about political governance (IMF 2003: 4). Donor concerns relate firstly to the imprisonment without trial of former highranking government and party officials, journalists (from September 2001) and thousands of other citizens, some of whom have been in incommunicado detention since 1994 (AI 2004b; US Department of State 2003, 2004; Human Rights Watch 2003, 2004). Donors are also concerned with delays in allowing the establishment of political parties and the indefinite postponement of the multiparty elections provided for in the 1997 Constitution (IMF 2003: 4). The IMF states that these ‘concerns remain unresolved and have so far prevented the full re-engagement of donors in the country, outside of humanitarian assistance and the financing of demobilisation’.61 Africa Confidential estimated that the total amount of aid forgone by Eritrea between September 2001 and June 2002 was about US$ 400 million (Africa Confidential 2002). Thus, the amount of aid forgone represented 62.1 per cent of the country’s annual GDP in less than one year since the size of the Eritrean national economy is very small with a GDP estimated at US$ 644 million (World Bank 2002)62 in 2002. ‘Development funding from Western donors and international non-governmental organisations has been suspended or cancelled. Most assistance reaching Eritrea today is for emergency relief or specific post-recovery programmes such as the demobilisation of combatants from the border war with Ethiopia’ (World Bank 2002).63 All of this suggests that, contrary to the warning of former EPLF’s secretarygeneral (now head of state and chairman of the ruling party, the PFDJ), he and his government have failed to draw lessons from history and are repeating the same mistakes that had devastated the economies of other countries that had fought wars

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The Demise of the Private Sector of national independence. As a result, the country and its citizens have been paying dearly as a result of the government’s violation of human rights and poor governance. Since the end of the bipolar division of the economic and political order of the world, the promotion of good governance has been one of the major goals of international development aid. Since the Eritrean government meets neither the demands of its citizens for democracy and human rights nor the political conditionalities attached to international development aid (see Chapters 3 and 5), the country has been forgoing hundreds of millions of dollars in budgetary and balance of payment support, as well as development aid. The impact of these losses on the development and consolidation of the private sector cannot be underestimated. LOSS OF ETHIOPIAN AND SUDANESE MARKETS The level of the economic crisis has been further exacerbated by the border war which has resulted in the loss of the Ethiopian market. The latter was an important source of raw materials and destination of finished products. Although the minister of trade and industry confirmed this, it is noteworthy that he complained about what he called ‘the failure of the firms to adapt to the changed situation’. Whether the private sector can be blamed for lack of flexibility cannot be, however, determined without first looking at how important the Ethiopian market was to the Eritrean economy before the border war. Prior to the introduction of the Eritrean national currency, the Nakfa, in 1997, exports to Ethiopia accounted for 63 per cent of total exports in goods in 1997 (World Bank 2002). After the Eritrean Nakfa replaced the Ethiopian Birr, the Ethiopian government reacted negatively leading to a reduction in trade between the two countries.64 Trading between the two countries, however, ceased completely when the border war broke out in May 1998 (ibid.: 4). The dependence of Eritrean exports on the Ethiopian market was very high and it was unreasonable for the minister of trade and industry to expect the private sector to adapt to the dramatically changed situation. To this must be added the loss of the Sudanese market after Eritrea severed diplomatic relations with Sudan in December 1994. The closure of the border between the two countries since then has been a major blow to the private sector and to the coping strategies of many Eritreans, especially the border communities. During the 30-years-war period, cross-border trade was the lifeline of Eritrea and its significance was not reduced by Eritrea’s independence. However, in the postindependence period, the hostile relations between the two governments and their interference in each other’s internal affairs have led to the weakening of crossborder trade. The private sector has suffered as a result. The border with Sudan was reopened in the second half of 2006. However, the rigorous control of cross-border trade on the Eritrean side and the prohibition of movement of goods within the country has limited the benefits to be had from the border re-opening. The Eritrean government has abolished trade within the country except for PFDJ firms. For example, traders are not allowed to purchase goods in one part of the country and sell them in other areas within the country. This also applies to goods purchased for one’s own consumption. The grain market in Asmara is closed down. It is possible to buy small amounts of pulses, but not grain in the open market. The government has closed down all grain stores throughout the country belonging to entrepreneurs.

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The Demise of the Private Sector

Correct diagnosis and wrong policy prescriptions In the preceding sections, we have seen that the major causes of inflation and the economic crisis included: (i) shortage of labour resulting from large-scale mobilisation of the labour force into the army; (ii) macroeconomic instability; (iii) acute shortage of foreign exchange resulting from loss of export earnings, poor competitiveness of Eritrean goods in the regional and international markets due to high cost of production and poor quality of products; (iv) suspension of development aid, budgetary and balance of payments assistance from donors due to bad governance and poor human rights performance; and (v) inter-state conflict which has resulted in the loss of the Ethiopian and Sudanese markets. The combined effects of these factors have plunged the country into deep economic crisis reflected, inter alia, in severe shortages of goods and services and rising inflation. Instead of dwelling on these real issues, the president has chosen to focus his attention on issues that are not only irrelevant but that are not supported by any of the findings of the empirical studies conducted by the minister of trade and industry, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (see IMF 2003; World Bank 2002).65 None of these studies found the private sector responsible for either the high rate of inflation or the economic crisis. In the three studies, the private sector was in fact identified as a victim of misplaced government policy and an unhealthy and inauspicious climate of operation. As seen earlier, the findings by the ministry of trade and industry were almost identical with those of the World Bank and the IMF. But the government, instead of facing up to the real challenges by developing policies that respond to existing constraints, dwelled on completely irrelevant issues. According to the minister of trade and industry, the Cabinet made two decisions to address the economic crisis. First, all firms were required to submit a detailed business plan to the ministry of trade and industry every year. In the Cabinet’s view, the private sector was ineffective because the businessmen in the country lacked business plans. It was hoped that the introduction of business plans would awaken the entrepreneurs from their sleep and stagnation.66 Second, the import of goods was to take place in a strictly controlled and regulated manner.67 The minister explained, ‘We have to use the cheapest means of importing the goods we need.’ He further added, ‘We need to organise carefully and fairly the import of goods. This was the decision of the Cabinet in today’s session.’ He blamed the 33 privatised industries for their failure to improve the techniques of production and consequently for their inability to overcome the supply-side constraints. Not only were most of the privatised firms allegedly said to be inefficient and consequently made no positive contribution, but also some of them had ceased production and instead made profits from proceeds derived from renting out of the premises and the land that belonged to the privatised firms, said the minister. He further pointed out that some of the privatised firms had either been sold or had ceased producing the goods for which they were originally licensed. In his view, this was illegal. It is not clear how the activities could be illegal unless the privatised firms were sold subject to such conditions, which apparently was not the case. Whether a

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The Demise of the Private Sector privatised firm remains in production or diversifies its productive activities or ceases its business activities is determined by market conditions. An industry that is forced to remain in production when market conditions are adverse is one of the characteristic features of a command rather than a market economy. If the management of the privatised firms are unable to take decisions in response to the changing market conditions, what is the point of privatising the firms in the first place? The only way to address the crisis in the minister of trade and industry’s view was to increase the supply of essential commodities partly by boosting domestic production and partly by strict regulation of imports. It is not exactly clear how domestic production could be boosted without overcoming the supply-side constraints that caused the shortage in the first place. As the studies by the ministry of trade and industry, the World Bank and the IMF showed, the major causes of the economic crisis and high rate of inflation were shortage of labour, foreign exchange, poor governance, macroeconomic instability, uncertainty and unpredictability, and so on. None of these problems could be overcome through business plans, price and import control, or other oppressive measures. The minister argued that the current system of importing goods into the country was inefficient and was therefore the major cause of inflation. This was because, he argued, imported goods were first, purchased through Franco valuta; second, they were procured from intermediary rather than from producer countries;69 third, they were imported in small rather than large quantities; and fourth, their transportation was disorganised and, as a result, the unit cost of transportation was prohibitively high. The consequence, he argued, was that by the time the goods reached the domestic market, their costs had soared dramatically and these were passed on to consumers. In his words, ‘Herein lie the root cause of the problem of inflation and consequently of the economic crisis. This is greatly exacerbated by lack of price control.’70 The minister of trade and industry described the main rationales underlying the new policies adopted by the Cabinet in August 2002 to overcome the alleged constraints as follows. First, if ‘we’ import the goods directly from the producer countries, there is a lot of savings to be had from this measure. Second, if ‘we’ buy in large quantities, prices will be cheaper and ‘we’ could save a lot as a result. Third, since transportation is a major cause of price increase, transporting all imported goods together would cut costs considerably and this would have a positive impact on prices.71 In order to overcome these constraints, the minister said that the port facilities would have to be improved. He also pointed out that the Cabinet had decided to, first, purchase one or two vessels with a capacity of 12 to 15 thousand tonnes; second, to procure the goods directly from producer countries; thirdly, to purchase the goods for imports in large quantities; and fourthly, to transport the goods by the country’s own vessels. These measures, the government hoped, would overcome the problem of inflation and consequently of the economic crisis.72 Under the new (2002) policy, the minister said, When the goods reach Eritrea, the prices will be known. We have no doubt that prices will be extremely low. Wagatat aziyu tihut kikewin iyu. Why? This is because we will have definite and factual knowledge about this. Now we need to move to action. The Ministry of Trade and Industry will produce an action plan in collaboration with the other ministries in one week or maximum of two weeks.73

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The Demise of the Private Sector In order to implement the Cabinet decisions, the government passed five proclamations and eight legal notices immediately. These included the Business Information Register Proclamation,74 the Unfair Trade Practices Proclamation,75 Proclamation to Provide for the Registration of Eritrean Working in Embassies and International Organisations in Eritrea,76 a Proclamation to Provide for the Registration of Foreigners who Reside, Work or Engage in Business in Eritrea,77 and a Proclamation to Amend the Business Licensing System Control and Business Licensing Office Establishment Proclamation.78 The single most important purpose of this plethora of legislations and regulations was not just to control the private sector but also to completely stifle its development by constricting the space within which it operated. The purpose of the Business Information Register Proclamation was to establish a database on business establishments and to review their performance annually.79 The main reason behind the firms’ requirement to present an annual ‘business plan’ was to enable the ministry of trade and industry to monitor and measure their performance against the goals set in the so-called ‘business plan’ submitted every year by all licencees. All firms, small, medium and large, that were engaged in trade, manufacturing, services, fisheries and commercial farms were covered by the said proclamation.80 Since all were required to renew their licences every year, the minister of trade and industry received detailed information on each firm81 covering activities undertaken between January 1 and December 31 of every year.82 The firms in the manufacturing sector were additionally required to fill in a separate form.83 After this proclamation was passed, all the 65,000 business establishments throughout the country were asked to reapply for new licences. An applicant was required to provide at least 107 pieces of information84 most of which had to be verified through documentary evidence. However, it transpired that the criterion employed by the government to distinguish between those ‘deserving’ of a licence and those who were not was worthy of closer examination. This is because the distinction was not made on the basis of the feasibility or legality of the business activities concerned as such but rather on unrelated subjective and political grounds. The application form demanded information that had nothing to do with the activities of a business firm. For example, question no. 9 on the application form related to ‘hagerawi halafnet’ (national responsibility).85 It is stated that every citizen who obtained a licence to participate in economic or social activities needed to realise that she/he had a responsibility to the nation. The form further stated that anyone who applied for a licence was to be aware that she/he was expected to make contributions to: national economic development, national reconstruction, creation of employment opportunities, improvement of productivity, enhancement of supply of goods, saving of foreign exchange, price stabilisation, preservation of national tradition and cultural heritage, as well as Eritrean national identity.86 An applicant was thus required to explain in three-quarters of a page how her/his future business establishment would contribute to the achievement of the goals.87 It was up to the minister of trade and industry to decide from the description and from the details in the application form whether granting a licence to a particular applicant would contribute to the above-stated goals. An applicant whose application was rejected on subjective grounds such as these could not seek redress. In a country where the large majority of the population is illiterate, how many

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The Demise of the Private Sector applicants would be able to meet these burdensome requirements without incurring considerable costs? When a person decides to establish a business, s/he is primarily driven by the need to earn an income or to make a profit legally rather than by patriotism or by a sense of national responsibility. In a situation characterised by a favourable policy environment, the private sector can function as an ‘engine of growth’. As implied in Adam Smith’s theory of the ‘invisible hand’, while pursuing their own interests, entrepreneurs promote the good of their community by generating employment opportunities, paying taxes and introducing new technologies to cut costs of production in order to improve the competitiveness of their products in regional and international markets and thus reduce prices. In addition, they save or generate foreign exchange through production for domestic consumption (import substitution) and for exports, respectively. All these benefit the country and its citizens directly and indirectly. However, these are means rather than ends to any business community and can only be achieved in a business-friendly free market environment characterised by macroeconomic stability and predictable government policy. None of these goals can be decreed into existence. They are the indirect results of thriving economic enterprise – private and public. The preservation of national traditions, cultures and national identities is not the direct responsibility of the private sector and making the achievement of these goals a requirement for granting a business licence can only garrotte the private sector. Set against the background of a rapidly globalising world, it could be argued that, as an indirect result of successful commercial enterprise, the private sector is likely to change and transform rather than preserve ‘national traditions, cultures and national identities’. To deny a licence to a citizen or any other investor because her/his business is unlikely to preserve national culture and identity cannot be in Eritrea’s national interest. The business licence application form also required an applicant to state whether s/he had performed national service. A person who had not ‘fulfilled his national duty’ could not be granted a business licence.88 Additionally, an applicant needed to state the number of family members who fought in the war of national independence and the border war,89 the number of family members taking part in the national service and the number of family members exempted on the grounds of health, age and other reasons.90 Though it is not clear the extent to which this information was relevant to the decision-making process within the ministry of trade and industry, data elicited from key informants (both within and outside the ministry) clearly indicate that the licensing system was used as an instrument to reward the families that participated in the war of independence and border wars and to punish those who took a less active role. In many interviews conducted with government officials between 1997 and 2002 in Asmara, Keren, Barentu and Tessenei, the author was repeatedly told that ‘the country belongs to those who fought and sacrificed for it’. Thus, there is no doubt that the families who had lost members or made greater contributions to the war of independence and the border war were more favourably treated in the distribution of licences provided they ‘toed the line’. All these data are irrelevant to any business establishment unless it is the government’s intention to use this design as an instrument of rewarding those whom the government considers patriotic and of punishing those who are less

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The Demise of the Private Sector ‘patriotic’; or penalising those who preferred to make money instead of sacrificing their lives and possessions for their country. This is clearly indicated by the minister of trade and industry’s claims in an interview with Eritrean Television. He is reported to have said, The people have fought to bring about an independent Eritrean state. Even now the people have sacrificed to protect the country against foreign invasion. However, the section91 that is taking advantage of the country’s resources is one that has not perhaps been an integral part of the people in terms of its attitude and action.’92

This is a very serious allegation and it may indirectly confirm the opinion shared by people in the private sector and outside it who allege that the government’s policy towards the private sector was driven by ‘jealousy and sheer vindictiveness rather than by any common sense or economic rationale’.93 There is also evidence to show that the government aimed to use the business licensing system not only as an instrument of social control and punishment but also as a means of resource redistribution. In explaining the rationale underlying the policies adopted and the decisions taken by the Cabinet, the minister of trade and industry said: There has to be social justice in the country. The country belongs to those who fought for it. Its wealth has to be shared equitably. The few should not be allowed to reap the benefits. The question is not that the national pie is too small. The issue is how it is shared. If a pie (kitcha), regardless of its size is shared fairly, everyone can be satisfied.94 As long as the pie is shared equitably, people will not say their share is too small. However, if there is unfair distribution of wealth and resources and if differences in standards of living exist, people will complain inevitably. This is because the people have fought and paid dearly for the country’s independence. It is legitimate on their part to say ‘the country and its resources belong to us’.

The corollary is that, firstly, the ‘wealth’ in the private sector needed to be shared equitably whether or not one contributed to its creation and, secondly, those who did not fight for the country’s independence had no right to enjoy the resources of the country. In view of the fact that the government and the ruling party forcibly extracted large amounts of unpaid labour power from the participants in the national service and the WYDC, it was wrong for the government to assume such a high moral ground and talk about equitable distribution of resources that belonged to citizens who eked out a living within the private sector. How could a government that engaged in forced labour extraction call upon the private sector to share its possessions equitably with all citizens? As we saw earlier, the removal of the labour force from agriculture, industry and the service sector has been one of the important causes of the high rate of inflation and the economic crisis. If the government was seriously concerned with addressing the economic crisis, it should have responded to the findings of its own study which clearly showed that one of the key factors causing scarcity of goods and services, high rates of inflation and wages was shortage of labour due to mobilisation into the national service and the WYDC. In cities, life became unbearable not only because of scarcity of commodities and consequently skyrocketing prices, but also due to exorbitant amounts of rents. This was a direct consequence of the government’s clampdown on the private sector which had a direct impact on the supply of housing. However, instead of

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The Demise of the Private Sector addressing the real cause of the housing shortage, the government, in their attempt to curb the rising cost of living, blamed landlords for allegedly charging exorbitant rents. To counter this, the government established and fixed the amount of rent paid by tenants to landlords.95 However, the reason rents rose had little to do with landlords’ greed but, rather, with the mismatch between demand and supply. The housing shortage was a result of the combined effects of: (i) the government’s misplaced land policy; (ii) the government’s hostility to the private sector; (iii) institutional insecurity; (iv) uncertain policies made ‘on the hoof’; (v) macroeconomic instability; (vi) lack of affordable credit due to the fact that the government and the Front enjoy undisputed monopoly of the financial market; (vii) acute shortage of labour due to the government’s open-ended national service and the WYDC which have starved the private sector of skilled and unskilled labourers; (viii) acute shortage of construction materials largely caused by the exclusion of the private sector (in favour of PFDJ firms) from importing necessary goods and services; and (ix) banning of the private sector from construction. The aim of the policies adopted and the decisions taken by the cabinet ministers reflected, inter alia, in the plethora of proclamations and legal notices, according to the minister of trade and industry, was to stop the high inflation rate by stabilising prices, to improve the people’s living standards and to advance the economy.96 It is therefore important to consider briefly the extent to which the new policies, decisions and measures brought about macroeconomic stability, predictability, lower inflation, and a better standard of living, as well as higher economic growth.

Inflation soars, the crisis deepens and the assault on the private sector intensifies As will be demonstrated, the government’s new policies, proclamations and the plethora of laws and regulations, which amounted to a declaration of war on the private sector, failed to curb the deepening economic crisis and inflation. When the president realised that the new policies and decisions had only worsened the situation, he unleashed once again his fury against the private sector in an interview with the country’s only radio station, Dimtsi Hafash, on 23 April 2003. The interviewer asked him to comment on the fact that, ‘Up to now, it has been only the government and the Front that have been contributing to national reconstruction and development in terms of creating the necessary infrastructure and increased production.’97 In response, the president said: We need to have a broad understanding of the private sector. To me every citizen who ekes out a living by: cultivating the land, operating a small shop and everyone who makes his own ends meet by relying on his own efforts is part of the private sector. … If by private sector one means the activities of those who obtain licence to engage in manufacturing and commercial activities, with due respect, I say, in this country, they are a handful. In fact in the latter sense, it is impossible to say that there is a private sector in Eritrea. There is none.’98

This, he said, was in spite of the government’s favourable policy towards the private sector.

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The Demise of the Private Sector In his opinion, it was not possible to call those who engaged in trade as being part of the private sector. The question, however, is that if the farmer who makes ends meet by working a plot of land is regarded by the president as being part of the private sector, it is not clear why a licensed trader would not qualify to be part of it. In fact, contrary to the president’s assertion, subsistence farming, and subsistence pastoral or fishing activities are exempted from acquiring business licence and therefore cannot be regarded as part of the private sector by the government’s own legislation.99 He further stated that in the immediate post-independence period, the government adopted policies that encouraged competition. The intention was to promote consumers’ and the country’s interests, he said. However, with the benefit of hindsight, ‘what we did then was laughable,’ he said. What was ‘laughable’ in his view was the government’s expectation that the private sector could play a constructive role in the reconstruction of the country’s economy. What he did not mention was the hostile nature of the policy environment within which members of the business community were asked to re-apply for the licences that had been withdrawn by the government. Many licensees found the new requirements onerous and hostile to the business climate. As a result, a large majority did not re-apply. This may have been partly due to lack of means to meet the burdensome requirements and partly an expression of resistance against the government’s inimical policy towards the private sector. The paper work, which all firms, including petty traders, were required to undertake every year in a country where the large majority of adults are illiterate, was considered too onerous. This was exacerbated by the new requirement of a business plan which the government intended to use as a benchmark to evaluate the performance of each licensee at the beginning of every year. If a licensee’s performance failed to match the goals set in the business plan, the minister of trade and industry could refuse to renew the licence.100 Worse still, performance was not measured only in economic terms but also, as we have seen, in terms of patriotism, contribution to national reconstruction and the preservation of the country’s culture, tradition and national identity The decision by many former licensees not to re-apply for new licences because the business climate had changed dramatically to the detriment of the private sector and the national economy was misconstrued by the president. He said that when the government demanded that all licence holders re-apply by meeting the new requirements. ‘not even one-fourth came forward’. He concluded from this, ‘Nearly three-fourth of the previous licensees were bogus. These are people who just decided to obtain licences either because they saw others doing so or to run away from work or the national service or for other disingenuous reasons.’101 However, the reasons few people re-applied for business licences should not have been surprising. This is because: (i) a large number of the former licensees were discouraged by the new harsh requirements imposed by the Cabinet and by the plethora of proclamations and regulations that were enacted to enforce the new policy; (ii) others were enlisted in the national service and in the so-called WYDC (some of them for over ten years); (iii) many of the former licensees may have been injured or killed in the border war; and (iv) many could have fled the country to Sudan and other neighbouring countries to escape persecution, economic hardship and forced labour extracted under the national service programme and the WYDC.

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The Demise of the Private Sector The conditions imposed by the Business Information Register Proclamation 124/2002 and by the Unfair Trade Practices Proclamation 125/2002 were so onerous that many traders who made ends meet by importing commodities on order from the Gulf States found it impossible to remain in business. Let us look at one example. If the minister of trade and industry became convinced that specific goods were in short supply or were made subject to unfair trading, he could reclassify such goods, classes of goods or services as ‘declared articles to be subject to price control.’102 However, although the proclamation gave the appearance that its aim was to protect consumers against unfair trade practices, in reality, the minister’s power to classify any goods or services as ‘declared articles’ even when there was no evidence to suggest that the shortage was due to ‘unfair trade practices’ was illogical. Once goods or classes of goods or services were classified as ‘declared articles’, the minister fixed the maximum prices at which such articles were sold by ‘manufacturers, importers, wholesalers, or retailers’.103 The minister or a person authorised by him could order the holders of the stock of ‘declared articles’ to ‘render to him [the minister] a full return of all such stocks and may prescribe appropriate measures pending receipt of such return and the manner of disposing of such stocks after the receipt of such returns.’104 There was no limit as to the measures the minister could take. The minister could fix the prices of the declared articles upon the advice of a special committee whose members were appointed by the ministers of trade and industry and finance. Those affected by such actions – namely traders, manufacturers, wholesalers and retailers – were not represented in such a committee although the measures taken for non-compliance were extremely harsh.105 The practice of ‘price control’ in a country where there were parallel foreign exchange markets did not make any sense. In fact, this was the single most important factor that led to the high rate of attrition of applicants for business licences after the introduction of the new policies and laws in August 2002. The official exchange rate of the Eritrean Nakfa (ERN) in August 2002 was 14 ERN to the dollar. The corresponding figure in the black market was 24 ERN. Consequently, when the minister of trade and industry fixed the prices of the ‘declared articles’ and these included the large majority of the ‘essential’ commodities in the market, he based his calculations on the official exchange rate while he and the government knew that the importers had paid at least 24 ERN to the dollar. Worse still, the proclamation was applied retroactively. For example, the military commander of Southern Red Sea (Dankalia) arbitrarily confiscated 120,000 quintals of cement belonging to a trading family known as Enda Anseba in 2002 although the consignment had been ordered long before the promulgation of the proclamation. My informant was not aware of any compensation being paid to the family. In any case, whenever the government compensated a private firm for confiscation of imported goods, this was invariably calculated at the official exchange rate which was 70 per cent lower than the black market from where the goods were purchased. The traders (Enda Anseba) have now left the country in search of opportunities in countries where the rule of law operates. My key informant said they moved to Angola. The government also confiscated 100,000 quintals of sugar imported by a merchant known by nickname ‘Latsi’ during the same year.106 These examples represent tips of the iceberg. In spite of the draconian measures introduced by the government to stifle the

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The Demise of the Private Sector development of the private sector and ‘to stabilise prices,’ the latter continued to skyrocket. In order to ‘ease’ public resentment, the minister of trade and industry, gave an interview to Eritrean Television on 17 and 18 August 2004 (exactly two years after his marathon interview with the same). In the interview he said, ‘The major cause of the current high rate of inflation is due to lack of proper control over the activities of traders.’107 This was despite the fact that between August 2002 and August 2004, neither his ministry nor any other government department undertook a study that contradicted the findings of the study by the ministry of trade and industry discussed earlier. Thus, the minister’s attribution of the high rate of inflation to lack of control over ‘traders’ activities’ was groundless. Several key informants suggested that after the president had blamed the private sector, the minister of trade and industry was faced with fait accompli and therefore had no other choice but to amplify the president’s unfounded assertions even though it was contrary to the findings of a study undertaken by his own ministry. My informants said that any government official who dared to contradict the head of state invariably ended up either in the ‘freezer’108 or in the prison. Since none of these was an attractive option to Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, the minister of trade and industry, he had to trade off the truth in favour of maintaining his ‘power’. At the interview, he argued that the government’s expectation that competition among traders in the free market would stabilise prices had been proved wrong. He alleged that traders, instead of competing with each other had been entering into agreements by building cartels to fix prices. This had resulted in the failure of the free market model and in order to remedy the situation, a new law had to be enacted and actions were underway to implement a new policy. He further pointed out that the shops that were opened to serve the people were hurting the people and the government had therefore decided to introduce price control on imported goods. He urged the government and the people to undertake this responsibility with utmost seriousness and vigilance.109 This was in spite of the fact that none of the studies carried out by the ministry of trade and industry, the World Bank and the IMF had identified lack of competition as one of the causes of inflation and the prevailing crisis. These measures were introduced in August 2002, that is, two years earlier, and have been implemented rigorously since then without making any difference on inflation. The minister further said that the huge gap between the costs incurred by the producer, supplier, wholesaler, and retailer and the prices paid by consumers was being pocketed as a profit.110 In order to underline the allegation that the private sector was ruthlessly exploiting consumers, he gave the example of wheat flour. Throughout the chain (that is from the time it leaves the country where it is produced until it reaches consumers inside the country and plus the profit accruing to a trader), the total cost of a quintal (100 kg) of flour, he said, was 680 ERN although it was going for 1440 ERN.111 The same was true of all other goods, he said. ‘Every year tens and hundreds of thousands of quintals of commodities are imported into the country and the traders are making immense amounts of profits’, he added.112 He further said that these vast profits (maeleya zeyebulu mekseb) end up in the pockets of merchants.113 ‘Had this been invested in productive activities, the whole country would have benefited immensely,’ he said. He accused the private sector, including the privatised firms, of importing luxury goods instead of making long-term investments.

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The Demise of the Private Sector Note needs to be taken, however, that the minister’s calculation of the price of a quintal of wheat flour was based on the official exchange rate. In any case, the only firms that got foreign exchange at the official exchange rate were those owned by the ruling party, the PFDJ. Nearly all businesses in the private sector purchased the foreign exchange needed to import commodities from the black market at 24 ERN to the dollar before its abolition. At this exchange rate, the exact price of a quintal of wheat flour was not 680 ERN as the minister wrongly claimed but rather 1,366 ERN. Thus, the minister’s allegation of exorbitant profits represented in the difference between the outlays the importer made on a quintal of wheat flour and the price they sold it at was groundless. If the importation of a quintal of wheat flour at the official exchange rate (US$ 1=14 ERN) was 680 ERN as the minister purported, the same quantity of flour purchased at the black market exchange rate (US$ 1=24 ERN) was 1,366 ERN. Thus, the ‘vast profit’ the minister alleged was not 720 ERN per quintal but rather 34 ERN (1,400 ERN-1,366 ERN), or US$ 1.6. The question that arises is: to what extent did the new policy discourage the majority of the traders engaged in imports of goods from reapplying for licences? When the minister fixed the prices of ‘declared articles’, he failed to take into account the fact that the importers had obtained the foreign exchange in the black market which was 71.42 per cent higher than the official exchange rate. No businessperson who spent 1,366 ERN to import a quintal of wheat flour could remain in business if s/he was forced to sell it at 680 ERN and lose 686 ERN per quintal. Not surprisingly, the large majority of the former licensees, especially those who previously made a living from importing goods from Dubai and Saudi Arabia, decided not to reapply for licences. Until the end of 2002, there were 64,430 licences. However, after the introduction of the new policies and laws which were intended to throttle the private sector, only 27,300 firms or individuals reapplied. Of the 64,430 licences, 20,000 were import licences and although only 4,300 reapplied, only 1,000 were able to meet the new onerous requirements.114 This clearly shows that the new policies, practices, laws and regulations introduced by the Eritrean government in August 2002 literally sounded the death knell of the private sector in the country. After the implementation of the new policy, the total number of firms was reduced by 58 per cent. The reduction among firms in the import business was more dramatic, as 95 per cent of the total licensees disappeared. The situation was further worsened by the fact that, after the introduction of the new policies, the government refused to grant business licenses without any valid explanation. This is confirmed by the findings of a study conducted by the World Bank in which it was stated: ‘Other assessments have pointed out that potential investors are still having business licence applications turned down for arbitrary reasons’ (World Bank 2002: vii). The only firms that remained in business after the introduction of the draconian policies were the ones that had access to foreign exchange at the official rate and all of them belonged to the ruling party, the PFDJ (see Table 6.1). One of the firms owned by the party, namely, Himbol Financial Services, was, for example, the only firm besides the party and government-owned banks that was and still is granted exclusive authority to deal in foreign exchange.115 The minister of trade and industry was echoing the concerns of the president, who had previously said,

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The Demise of the Private Sector The thinking of the private sector in the country is essentially myopic. Its aim is not to have a long-term perspective and to accumulate capital as a result of hard work, but rather to amass wealth in a short time through payment of bribes, cheating, infringement of the law, tax evasion, and illegal activities. The aim of the private sector is not to make a difference by engaging in economic activities that can have an impact (admaéti) but rather by selling imported goods and making of 200–300 percent of profits. The government’s free market policy has been contributing to this.116

The president had also said that the private sector was a major cause of foreign exchange depletion because it grabbed every dollar that entered the country through remittances and any other means from the black market and government banks. To him, the private sector perpetuated the black market for foreign exchange. At the heart of the government’s hostility to the private sector lay its desperation to siphon off every penny of foreign exchange that made its way into the country through remittances, United Nations’ grants and loans. Its destruction of the private sector had enabled the government to gain absolute control over the meagre foreign exchange in the country. The president also accused the private sector of taking advantage of the ‘government’s good intentions. It has been behaving as if there is no government or as if the government is dead.’117 He continued, ‘Not only has the private sector milked dry the people but it has also eaten their flesh and is almost gnawing their bones.’ He further pointed out, ‘In general, I don’t call this a private sector. There is no private sector in the country. It has not been possible to nurture it.’ The private sector, the president remarked, was expected to encourage foreign direct investment. However, it had done nothing to promote this goal, although the government had good intentions as reflected in its favourable economic policies. However, this was abused by the private sector. ‘Lekulu shey hudud’118 (Arabic – ‘there is a limit or a boundary to everything’). His message was: enough is enough. He warned that the government had woken up from its sleep and was taking the necessary long-term actions in the interest of the country and its people. The president did not seem to realise that it was the government’s hostility towards the business community reflected in its inimical measures that was forcing many businessmen to ‘vote with their feet’. His accusation that the business community was not promoting foreign direct investment was also unreasonable because this could not take place in a command economy where the private sector as a bastion of the market economy was attacked and stigmatised relentlessly. A market economy refers to ‘an economy based upon the free exchange of commodities under conditions of competition, together with the minimum institutional framework necessary to make exchange possible over time – in a predictable system of law guaranteeing property rights and the security of contract’ (Beetham 1999: 53). Not only was the Eritrean situation characterised by complete absence of the rule of law, but in spite of its initial pretence, the government regarded as anathema a market economy and consequently the private ownership of the means of production, including land (on the land question see British Military Administration 1944; Kibreab 1996a, 2009b; Mengisteab 1998; BMA 1944; Nadel 1946).119 There is ample evidence to show that the government equated profit with theft. The president, for example, said, ‘There are people who speak on behalf of the private sector and who even go to the extent of advocating for a free market.’120 However,

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The Demise of the Private Sector he continued, a ‘free market does not mean engaging in illegal activities, to steal, to evade taxes, to pay bribes and to cheat … The government is not stupid.’121 Both the president and his minister of trade and industry present not a shred of evidence to show that the actors in the private sector were engaging in theft, tax evasion, payment of bribery and cheating. The government, including the president, often boasted that Eritrea was free of corruption and rent-seeking, and if that were the case, who would the businessmen bribe? It therefore had to be that either the government was corrupt or the allegation against the private sector was false. Although the government blamed the private sector for being the source of all evil, including being the cause of inflation and economic crisis, in reality, at the heart of the problem lay undue state interference in the control and management of the country’s economy. The experiences of Latin America and other developing countries show that the abandonment of a heavy reliance on the state in favour of the market as changed fortunes dramatically. Moisés Naím states, Discovering the market and abandoning over reliance on the state has done wonders for Latin America. In the 1980s, average inflation for the region was more than 150 per cent per year; as recently as 1990, prices were rising by 1,200 per cent annually. By 1993, inflation had plummeted to 19 per cent, and economies that had shrunk every year for more than a decade had re-established patterns of growth … A region where, for years, any excess funds instantly became flight capital is now a powerful magnet for international investment. (Naim 1994: 32)

In spite of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Eritrea has been moving in the opposite direction and, as has already been demonstrated, the outcome has been disastrous. Moisés Naím adds that this impressive economic regional performance was to a large extent achieved ‘by shrinking the state and rejecting economic policies that depended on the discretionary decisions of poorly trained bureaucrats accountable only to the political bosses who controlled their badly paid (but highly profitable) jobs’ (ibid.: 33). The situation in Eritrea was exacerbated by: first, the president’s autocratic rule; secondly, lack of a civil service; and third, absence of bureaucracy. Consequently, all government officials were solely accountable to the president and their government positions were dependent on his personal favour and grace.

Calling for revenge? As seen throughout the chapter, the president and the minister of trade and industry had painted the private sector as being the Summum malum (font of all evil and misery). When the minister of trade and industry was asked by Eritrean Television in August 2004 about the role that the people could play in enforcing the government’s policy of price control, he said the people had an indispensable role to play in its enforcement. In the past, the government had expected that competition would determine prices and influence the types of goods imported into the country. It was assumed that traders would only import goods for which there was demand. However, this theory had failed in the case of Eritrea, he remarked. The market, instead of meeting the demands of the common people had been supplying commodities such as electronics, land cruisers, and furniture to the rich.

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The Demise of the Private Sector The minister further said, ‘It is the voice of the millionaires rather than the voice of the people that has been determining the types of goods imported. Unless we regulate what is imported, we will be unable to control the activities of importers.’122 He further pointed out that the market had also failed to stabilise prices because there was no competition. ‘There is only collusion between traders. It is because of this that we passed the laws. This was not implemented. We will implement the law now.’ The truth of the matter was, however, that this policy had been in place since August 2002 and although it was rigorously applied, it did not make any difference. In fact, the situation became much worse in 2004 than it was in 2002 and it only got worse in 2005. The situation has been deteriorating ever since. Without any forethought to the potential consequences of his statement, the Minister almost called upon the people to take the law into their own hands and deal with the ‘culprits’ when he said: The people should be vigilant and play their role. The people can close down or open the shops. And the government will cooperate with the people. The government can do nothing on its own. There are 30,700 shops in the Central Region of the country. The government cannot control every shop. This is a serious problem. The government is calling upon the people. The people should be able to take any initiative. There has to be a solution.123 (emphasis added)

It was irresponsible of the government to call upon its citizens to take action against legally trading citizens and risk plunging the country into chaos and disorder. In fact, the minister’s call for action was nothing short of persecution of the traders or incitement to violence. This is equally true of the president’s accusation that the private sector had ‘milked dry’ the Eritrean people and had ‘eaten their flesh and gnawed their bones’.124 However, since the people knew that the high rate of inflation and the misery affecting them had nothing to do with the private sector or the shop owners, the government’s call for vigilante action fell on deaf ears. During an earlier interview with the Eritrean Television, the minister had hinted that the government was considering establishing co-operatives and ‘people’s shops’ as a final blow to the private sector. In 2004, the government not only began to sell commodities, especially food items, to government employees through the respective ministries but since the beginning of 2005, it stopped issuing import permits to firms in the private sector. This policy measure was accompanied by a fierce campaign of vilification against the private sector in the government mass media and in the neighbourhood associations. Soon after, the government opened retail shops operated by the ruling party, the PFDJ in different parts of Asmara.125 These shops were reminiscent of the Derg’s so-called neighbourhood or people’s shops. In Asmara alone, the government opened 54 retail shops known as R’teawi duqanat operated by the PFDJ’s neighbourhood committees with the aim of killing the privately owned retail shops. Currently, only the ruling party is entitled to import goods and is therefore the sole supplier to the country’s retailers. The private sector is prohibited from importing goods using Franco Valuta facilities, and no foreign exchange is made available to the firms in the private sector by the country’s banks or by the government. Even the private firms that had foreign exchange accounts in the banks are denied access to them for importation or other purposes.126 The parallel currency market is now completely suppressed.

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The Demise of the Private Sector The government and the ruling party’s objective to destroy the private sector completely has succeeded. The PFDJ retail shops sell at reduced prices because firstly, the party obtains foreign exchange at the official rate; secondly, the goods are transported by government owned vessels; thirdly, they are exempt from customs duties; and fourthly, they incur no storage, transportation or labour costs. Additionally, all PFDJ businesses have free access to unpaid labour from the participants in the national service and WYDC.

The banning of the private sector in construction Between 2004 and 2005, the business community was brought to its knees due to the government’s hostile and systematic policies designed to eliminate autonomous groups in the country. The only area in which the private sector tried to compete with the PFDJ firms for contracts, building materials and indirectly for foreign exchange was in the construction industry. Given the fact that a few or no houses were built after the Derg’s ascendance to power in 1974, there was considerable demand for residential houses in the immediate post-independence period. This was fuelled by the dream of many Eritreans in the diaspora dream to own houses in their country of origin. House ownership in the capital or in the towns of one’s origin was and still is seen by most diaspora Eritreans as a symbol of status. Some deportees from Ethiopia were very successful contractors and consultants and a few seized the opportunities in spite of the obstacles they faced and set up successful businesses. Some Eritrean engineers and consultants also returned from the diaspora to take part in the reconstruction of the country. Although the government and the ruling party tried to stifle the efforts of contractors and consultants by denying them a supply of labour (as the work force was mobilised and working for the government and the firms of the ruling party without remuneration) and building materials (as the PFDJ’s Red Sea Trading Corporation was the sole importer and distributor of such goods) and unacceptable delays in granting planning permission, they carried on in spite of the difficulties. However, in April 2006, the government took a dramatic measure to kill the only remaining part of the private sector – the construction industry. After April 2006, the activities of private firms and individual entrepreneurs were banned in the construction industry. In a directive issued on 3 April 2006, the government ordered all ‘contractors, consultants, practicing professionals and studio operators’ to submit to the Technical Office of the Central Region their original licences, detailed accounts, addresses, types and sizes of their projects, owners’ names, estimated total costs, on the day after (4 April 2006) the directive was issued.127 On 7 April, 2006, the government also ordered all of them to cease their activities within ten days.128 The prohibition is still in force and it is likely to be for ever as long as the PFDJ is in power. The major beneficiaries of the ban on the private sector activities in the construction industry are the ruling party’s enterprises. Totalling more than forty enterprises, the party and its mass organisations’ dominate every aspect of the country’s economy.129 However, PFDJ firms have been almost paralysed by an acute shortage of foreign exchange and by the desertion of hundreds of engineers, consultants, draftsmen and other skilled and professionals conscripts.

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The Demise of the Private Sector The pretext the government used to destroy the private sector in the construction industry was the allegation that some consultants were engaging in corrupt practices in collusion with planning permission-issuing government and municipal personnel. Given the inefficient bureaucratic labyrinth in the process of granting planning permission and the low salaries of government employees, it is possible that the system might have been corruption-ridden. However, if there were cases of corruption, a sensible government authority would have investigated the allegation and brought to justice those who had broken the law. It is common knowledge that this was just a government pretext to kill the only remaining vibrant section of the private sector that competed with the PFDJ giants, such as Segen and Gedem, for contracts, building materials and indirectly for foreign exchange. Again most of the contractors, consultants and practicing professionals have consequently left the country in search of alternative livelihoods. Some of them are benefiting countries, such as Angola, Uganda and Southern Sudan. It may also be only a question of time before Ethiopia also opens its doors partly to outdo the Eritrean government and partly to tap into such an invaluable resource. This is in spite of the fact that the Ethiopian government violated the fundamental human and property rights of a large number of Eritreans during and in the aftermath of the border war. In essence, the government’s and the PFDJ’s poor human rights performance and their hostility towards the private sector and the nascent middle class are depleting the country’s human resources, putting at risk the very survival of the country and its citizens. The question that arises is: why would a country whose economy has been devastated by thirty years of war and in which nearly 66 per cent of its citizens live below the poverty line move in the opposite direction, rather than embrace the dominant liberal policy agenda underpinned by a strong belief that a private sector-led market economy, good governance, civil society and democracy are essential preconditions for development? In the following concluding remarks, a brief attempt is made to explain the main reasons why the Eritrean government loathes the private sector and consequently the market economy and the middle class.

Democratic transition stifled through suppression of free enterprise Although the EPLF since its inception exhibited strong corporatist and hegemonic proclivities and never hesitated to resort to arbitrary measures to silence the voice that espoused pluralism and democracy, there were internal forces, albeit feeble ones, that tried to countervail the anti-democratic and anti-market inclination of the EPLF/PFDJ’s chairman, Isaias Afwerki and his cronies. The counteracting internal force was gradually weakened from the mid-1990s onwards and finally defeated in September 2001 when the change-seeking movement known as G15 and their supporters were incarcerated. The government loathes the business community and the free market because of their potential democratising and pluralising effect. The government fears that

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The Demise of the Private Sector the market and the private sector might defeat its ambition of exercising unencumbered political control. There is an established corpus of knowledge that views the market as being the single most important factor that underpins democratic political institutions. David Beetham, for example, argues The conventional wisdom in Anglo-American political science, it would be said straight away, is that a market economy is a precondition for democratic political institutions, and that therefore economic liberalisation and political democratisation as processes go hand in hand. (Beetham 1999: 510)

Thus, by blocking the development of a market economy, the Eritrean government and the ruling party hope to prevent the emergence and consolidation of conditions that are necessary for democracy, such as social forces that are autonomous of the state – namely, the middle class. This is because, although a market economy does not necessarily require democracy for sustenance, democratic institutions are inconceivable without a market economy (Bhagwati 1992: 40). C.E. Lindholm’s study on the relationship between political and economic systems ‘found many examples of “market-oriented authoritarianism” whereas the category of non-market democracies was an “empty box”’ (Lindholm quoted in Beetham 1999: 51). In summary, some of the means by which the ruling party and the government try to realise their goal of exercising uncontested hegemonic political control include: • • • •

• • • • •

non-recognition of the sanctity of the rule of law and human rights; stifling of the private sector; prohibition of political parties; political system based on the policy ‘winner takes all’. This excludes all political and civil society associations, including national and international NGOs and faith-based organisations (Chapter 3); domination of the country’s economy by the ruling party’s business interests (see Chapter 6) ; state ownership of the single most important source of livelihood – land; strict regulation of the labour market; extraction of forced labour under the guise of the national service and the WYDC; and monopoly of the financial market.

All the measures the government and the ruling party have been taking since the country’s independence indicate that their ultimate aim is to become the sole providers of livelihood. The present reality in Eritrea is almost identical to Leon Trotsky’s description of the Soviet Union’s reality in the 1930s when Stalin’s iron grip was at its zenith. He said, ‘In a country where the sole employer is the State, opposition means death by slow starvation. The old principle: who does not work shall not eat, has been replaced by a new one: who does not obey shall not eat’ (Trotsky quoted in Hayek [1944] 2001: 123). Trotsky was referring specifically to the economically disastrous situation of the Soviet Union after the mid-1920s and 1930s, when it was necessary to build up the private sector to meet basic needs and develop the productive forces as the sine qua

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The Demise of the Private Sector non for the consolidation and sustainability of the fledgling workers’ state. Trotsky was not a defender of the free market economy and therefore he did not perceive its growth as an end but rather as a means to an end. It is also important to guard against Hayek’s over-enthusiasm with neo-liberal economic policy. The free market should also be viewed with some degree of caution. This is because nowhere does the unconstrained free market economy operate in the manner he suggests it does. The doctrine of liberalisation of economic activity – trade and investment – as promoted in neo-liberal economic policy, has often resulted in immense inequalities. However, at the present historical juncture, the private sector is indispensable in the Eritrean situation. This is because no other actors can do the job of capital accumulation, job creation and revenue generation effectively in the circumstances. It is equally important to state that the critique of the centralised bureaucratic state is not automatically an argument for the free market as the guarantor of democracy. The question of whether or not other models of democratic governance are possible is not dealt with here. Notwithstanding the government’s clampdown on the private sector and the extraordinary measures it put in place ostensibly to fight inflation, a study by the FAO/WFP shows that the rate of inflation has reached unprecedented levels. Drawing on the Asmara CPI, the FAO/WFP report states that overall inflation reached 29 per cent during the 12-month period up to September 2004. The increase was to a large extent driven by food products in which prices for food during the same 12-month period were up 37, for cereals 58 per cent and for pulses 83 per cent.130 The increase in food prices between March and September 2004 was ‘proceeding at an annualised rate of 78 per cent for all foods, 112 per cent for cereals and 178 per cent for pulses.131 Inflation rates during the second half of 2004 were also very high, for example 77 per cent for meat and 61 per cent for fish.132

Notes 1

2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

11

S. Jenyns, A Free Inquiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil (1757) Letter 5. Obtained from The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, Revised edition, A. Partington (ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press. In February 1994, the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) held its third congress and changed its name to the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ). 2 A (1 and 2) and B (1) National Democratic Programme of the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front, 31 January 1977. Ibid. B (4). Ibid. D (4). See 1 A (1) and 1 B (1 and 2), National Democratic Programme of the EPLF, March 1987. Ibid. 1 B (5). Ibid. 1 B (2). Ibid. 1 D (4). Melstat Wana Tsehafi Nhitotat Hisbin Tegadeltin (The Secretary-General’s Answers to Questions put forward by Civilians and Combatants). Sagem, No 2, 10 October 1990, pp. 23–7. Ibid.

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The Demise of the Private Sector 12 13 14 15

16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41

Ibid. p. 28. Ibid. Ibid., p. 30. See L. Cotton, T. Haile, J. M. Marchat, P. Miovic, J. Paton, V. Ramachandran, and M. K. Shah, Obstacles to the Expansion of Eritrea’s Manufacturing Sector, Pilot Investment Climate Assessment. World Bank (2002: 2). This is based on my own personal observation and experience. When I was a senior law school student in Addis Ababa, I worked in the ministry of finance in Asmara. Because many factories and trading houses were either closing down or relocating their activities and business interests to Ethiopia, the Bejrond (head of the branch of the ministry of finance in Asmara) asked me to undertake a small study to find out why so many firms were relocating to Ethiopia. I interviewed directors of a number of firms, most of them owned by Italians, and nearly all of them said that the taxation system in Eritrea was extremely unfavourable notwithstanding the fact that Eritrea was part of Ethiopia. Many of the business leaders also said that different incentives were given to those who wanted to move to Ethiopia. Others said direct and indirect pressures were brought to bear to force them relocate to Ethiopia. The Government of the State of Eritrea, Macro-Economic Policy, November 1994, p. 5. Ibid. Ibid. The Government of the State of Eritrea, Macro-Economic Policy,(November 1994, p. 10. Ibid. Ibid., p. 12. Ibid., p. 13. Ibid., p. 14. Ibid. Ibid. H. Belloc quoted in F.A. Hayek, The Road to Serfdom (London and New York: Routledge, 2003), p. 91. On the business interests of the ruling party see preceding chapter. See Isaias Afwerki, Head of State, interview in Hadas Eritra, 11 May 2002; Isaias Afwerki, Head of State, interview in Dimtsi Hafash Eritra, 23 April 2003; Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, Minister of Trade and Industry, Interview in Eritrean Television, August 18 and 19, Eritrean Television, excerpts published in Hadas Eritra, 21 and 22 August 2002. See also his interview in Eritrean Television, 18 and 19 August 2004. Excerpts published in Hadas Eritra, 21 and 24 August 2004. I have come across key informants who argue that most of the questions are preselected by himself. Zete mis President Isaias (Dialogue with President Isaias), Hidri, June 1996a, p. 23. Ibid. (emphasis added). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid.: 23–4. Ibid. The author asked some people in the private sector who the hopeful elements were. Everyone I talked to said that these were either the front men of the PFDJ businesses or the spies. World Bank, Country Brief. http://web.worldbank.org/WEBSITE/EXTERNAL/ COUNTRIES/AFR…:351386,00.htm (accessed 13 December 2004) Isaias Afwerki, Hadas Eritra, 11 May 2002. Ibid. Ibid. Excerpts from Dr Giorgis Teklemichael’s interview with Eritrean Television published

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The Demise of the Private Sector 42 43 44 45

46 47 48

49 50 51 52

53

54 55 56 57

58 59 60 61 62

63

64 65

in Hadas Eritra no. 254, 22 August 2002. Ibid. (emphasis added). Ibid. See Article 2 of the National Service Proclamation 11/1991. These were people who were engaged in industrial, agricultural and pastoral production (see Article 4 of the National Service Proclamation 11/1991), licensed selfemployed traders (Article 5 in Ibid.), except those who work in liquor houses (bet meste), bars, hotels and nightclubs; women who are in gainful employment, self-employment or who make a living by employing others are exempt from the obligation (Article 6 in Ibid.), married women and single mothers (Article 7 in Ibid.); sole breadwinners in families (Article 8 in Ibid.), and couples in honeymoon, i.e. until the honeymoon ends (Article 9 in Ibid.). See Article 2, Proclamation 71/1995. See Proclamation 71/1995 enacted to amend the National Service Proclamation 11/1991. Though Proclamation 11/1991 unequivocally states that the national service falls under the auspices of the ministry of defence, de facto, it is taken over by the Presidency. See Article 7 of National Service Proclamation 11/1991 See Article 3 Proclamation 71/1995 enacted to amend the National Service Proclamation 11/1991. On re-integration of demobilised combatants see Legal Notice 27/1996. IMF Country Report No. 03/1965, June 2003, p. 12. By the end of 2002, 5,000 combatants were demobilised as part of a pilot project. Warsai refers to the post-war young recruits. The term literally means bearer of the legacy. Yekaalo refers to the old freedom fighters. Yekaalo in Tigrinya means someone who is able to do anything, including the impossible (omnipotent). According to Proclamation 82/1995, the minister (secretary at the time) of defence was given the discretion to determine the duration of the obligation of individual or groups of draftees within the range of 12 to 18 months. See US Department of State 2009. See Article 5 (1) of the National Service Proclamation 11/1991. Personal communication with female ex-participants in the national service and the Warsai-Yekaalo Development Campaign, Nairobi, 19 February 2005. Most employers paid additional pocket money secretly in order to help them to survive. However, the additional payment reduced the competitiveness of the private firms. The appalling conditions under which the skilled workers were required to survive also reduced their productivity. Minister of trade and industry, Hadas Eritra, 22 August 2002. Ibid. See Melstat Wana Tsehafi N’hizbin Tegadeltin, 1990. For example, the European Union withdrew its balance of payments support to the government following a serious diplomatic dispute over political governance issues. According to Eritrean government sources the country’s total GDP in current prices in 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006 and 2007 was US $585, 636, 961, 1,160 and 1,425 respectively. Available in http://www.dfat.gov.au.geo/fs/erit.pdf (accessed 21 Feb. 08). Given the high rate of inflation in the country, the annual change is most probably due to inflation rather than to growth in economic activity. If the GDP were measured in constant prices, the change would have been either negative or miniscule. The extent of the institutional, policy and structural constraints facing the private sector are so severe that the World Bank’s survey of the changes in manufacturing employment between 1999 and 2001 shows a considerable level of shrinkage (Table 5.1). Ibid. See the minister of trade and industry’s interview with Eritrean Television on 18 and

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The Demise of the Private Sector 66 67 68 69

70 71

72 73 74 75 76 77 78

79 80 81

82

19 August 2002 as summarised in Hadas Eritra, 22 and 23 August 2002. Afwerki, I. (2002) Kale Meteyile (interview with the president), Hadas Eritrea, 11 May. Ibid. Minister of Trade and industry, interview with Eritrean Television, 22 and 23 August 2002. Ibid. He said that about 30 per cent of all goods imported into the country came from Dubai. None of these is produced in Dubai. For example, most of the construction materials Eritrea imports from Dubai are produced in Russia and Ukraine. They are imported into Dubai and Saudi Arabia from the producer countries. Instead of directly buying these goods from the source countries – namely, Russia and Ukraine – Eritrean traders buy them from Dubai and Saudi Arabia. All the costs incurred by the importers in Dubai and Saudi Arabia are met by the Eritrean traders. This has considerable effect on imported goods. Consumer goods such as flour, vegetables and even milk are imported into the country from Dubai. None of these goods is produced in that country. The Eritrean traders pass onto consumers all the costs and that is why prices have been rising dramatically, he said. Afwerki, I. (2003) Kale Meteyik ms President Isaias Afwerki (Interview with President Isaias Afwerki) by Elias Amare and Mike Seyoum, Barentu, 23 January. He gives an example of a container. ‘The cost of transporting a container by sea from northern Europe to Jeddah is US$ 850, to Eden or Djibouti between $ 1200 and $ 1300. If the same container comes to Eritrea, it costs $ 2400. We are paying $ 1300 more. Why? We don’t have docking facilities for large vessels. The quantities we import are limited and therefore the big vessels do not come to deliver small amount of goods. Thus, the goods destined for Eritrea are offloaded in Jeddah and are transferred to small ships or vessels. Because we don’t use our own means of transport, the boat owners consider our region as war affected and they charge us for additional insurance costs. We are disadvantaged in terms of transportation of goods.’ Afwerki, I. (2003) Kale Meteyik ms President Isaias Afwerki (Interview with President Isaias Afwerki) by Elias Amare and Mike Seyoum, Barentu, 23 January. Minister of trade and industry, Hadas Eritra, 23 August 2002. Proclamation no. 124/2002. Proclamation no. 125/2002. Proclamation no. 126/2002. Proclamation no. 127/2002. Proclamation no. 128/2002. The legal notices include Customs Clearing and Forwarding Agents Regulations, Legal Notice no. 53/2002; Reporting of Imported Goods Regulations, Legal Notice no. 54/2002; Accounting for Imported Goods and Payment of Duties and Taxes Regulations, Legal Notice 55/2002; Customs Mail Regulations, Legal Notice no. 56/2002; Exported Goods Regulations, Legal Notice 57/2002; Importer’s Records Regulations, Legal Notice, 58/2002; Transportation of Goods Regulations, Legal Notice no. 59/2002; and In-Transit Shipments Regulations, Legal Notice no. 60/2002. Article 2 (a & b) of Proc. 124/2002 Ibid., Article 3. Including (1) the name of the enterprise, (2) the name of the owner/owners, (3) the legal form of organisation of the enterprise, (4) parent company affiliation, if any; (5) the address of the enterprise; (6) the tax identification number of the enterprise; (7) the commercial activity of the enterprise; (8) the commodities it trades in; (9) the volume of annual transaction by sectors of activity in Nakfa (import, export, wholesale, retail, services); (10) the origin of imports; (11) the destination of exports; (12) the cost and freight (C&F) value and volume of imports; (13) FOB (Freight on Board) value and volum of exports; (14) the total capital in Nakfa; (15) the number of employees; (16) inventories; and (17) warehouse space in square metres. See Article 4 (1) [A]. Ibid., Article 3.

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The Demise of the Private Sector 83 Ibid., Article 4 (1) [B]. 84 See Bmeseret Awaj qutsri 124/2002 N’nay Wotsae Nigdi Fikad Nimrkab Zitleb Hebereta (Information required to Obtain Import-Export Trade Licence in accordance with Proclamation 124/2002). 85 Ibid. 86 Ibid. 87 Ibid. 88 See Article 9 (5) Proclamation 128/2002 A Proclamation to Amend the Business Licensing System Control and the Business Licensing Office Establishment, Proclamation No. 72/1995. 89 The number of family members who died or got injured both in the war of independence and in the national service [border war]. 90 Question no. 12 of the application form. It further asks the applicant to state if any member of her/his family died or sustained injury in the independence and border wars. 91 If one interprets the term ‘section’ benevolently, the minister is probably referring to the business community in general. However, a malevolent interpretation of the term may imply that he is referring to a particular group within the business community. However, since he does not name the ‘section’, it is safer to interpret it broadly as referring to the business community in general. 92 Minister of Trade and Industry, Hadas Eritra, 23 August 2002 (emphasis added). The minister said this in connection to those who received their nationalised houses back and allegedly exploit the tenants. The government’s attitude towards the whole private sector is the same. 93 This view was repeatedly reported to me in a series of fieldwork over a period of ten years in Eritrea. 94 When Hadas Eritra published excerpts from the minister’s interview with Eritrean Television, it was titled: ‘Kitcha teibe teneas fithawi aqerarisa inte de’a tegeirula seb yeagbela iyu’ (A pie whether it is big or small can satisfy people if it is shared fairly). Though fair distribution of a country’s national wealth is critical, if the national pie is too small in relation to the number of those who share it, its distribution no matter how equitable may mean nothing more than shared hunger. 95 It was pointed out to the minister that house rent is one of the factors that makes life unbearable in the urban areas. He blamed the problem on lack of control of rent increases. He said landlords had been abusing their tenants by threatening to throw them out if they did not increase the rents or if they did not pay one year or six months advance rents. There is need to regulate and to make rents fair. ‘When the government decided to return the previously nationalised homes, it was not meant that the landlords would exploit the tenants. They have received their property and they should use their right legally. The government has decided to set a limit to the greed of some landlords.’ he said. 96 Kale Meteyik with Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, Minister of Trade and Industry, Hadas Eritra, 23 August 2003. 97 Interview with the president, Dimtsi Hafas. Transcribed in Tigrinya. Shaebia and ERENA News (accessed 28 April 2003). 98 Ibid. 99 See Article 7 (1) [a] of Proclamation 128/2002. 100 All licensees are required to submit a report to the ministry of trade and industry on 15 January of every year covering activities undertaken between 1 January and 31 December of every year. Whenever it deems fit, the Ministry can also request for any information at any time during the calendar year (See Article 3, Proclamation 124/2002 The Business Information Register Proclamation. 101 Interview with the president, Dimtsi Hafas. Transcribed in Tigrinya. Shaebia and ERENA News.

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The Demise of the Private Sector 102 103 104 105 106 107 108

109 110 111 112 113

114 115 116 117 118 119

120 121 122 123 124 125

126

Article 4 (a) [i] The Unfair Trade Practices Proclamation 125/2002. Ibid., Article 4 (a) [ii). Ibid., Article 4 (a). Ibid., see Article 4 (d & e). The name of the informant is withheld. Minister of trade and industry Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, Hadas Eritra, 21 August 2004. The government officials who are removed from their positions without an explanation are referred to as being ‘frozen’. The Tigrinya term used to describe this is ‘mdskal ’. The president uses this liberally to humiliate and discipline his officials who fail to adhere to the ‘party line’ either intentionally or inadvertently. Since independence, there have been many individuals with highly scarce skills and professions such as pharmacists, medical doctors, lawyers, etc. who have been ‘frozen’ for many years. Minister of trade and industry Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, Hadas Eritra, 21 August 2004. Ibid. In spite of the high rate of inflation in the country, it is interesting to see that he quotes the same figure for 2002 and 2004. Minister of trade and industry Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, Hadas Eritra, 21 August 2004. The minister said, when there is inflation, the rich gets richer and the rest of society becomes a victim. Currently, the gap between the outlays a producer or a trader makes on particular commodities and the prices consumers pay is getting bigger and bigger. To dramatise further he said that total of 800,000 quintals of wheat flour is imported into the country per annum. The merchants are pocketing 80 million ERN per annum only from wheat flour, he said. The traders are making 110 per cent profit, he said. Lentils are currently sold at 50 per cent profit, edible oil at 50 per cent, coffee 350 per cent (recently), milk 200 per cent, pasta 50 per cent. The total consumption of wheat flour, lentils, edible oil, coffee, pasta and milk per annum is 800,000, 160,000, 160,000, 57,600, 15,000, and 25,000 quintals, respectively. The total profit merchants make from these commodities at the profit rate mentioned earlier is immense, he said. As we saw earlier, in view of the fact that all these imports are financed with foreign exchange purchased in the black market, none of these facts is true. It is intended to vilify and demonise the private sector. Kale Meteyik with Dr Giorgi Teklemichael, minister of trade and industry, Hadas Eritra, 24 August 2004. See Legal Notice 79/2003. President Isaias Afwerki, Interview in Dimtsi Hafas. Transcribed in Tigrinya. Shaebia and ERENA News, 23 April 2003 (accessed 28 April 2003d). Ibid. Ibid. That is why it vested the ownership of all land in the state by defying the longstanding, culturally-embedded and socially-sanctioned traditional land tenure systems and by repealing the different customary laws that regulated access to and use of land (see the Land Proclamation 54/1994). Interview with the president, Dimtsi Hafas. Transcribed in Tigrinya. Shaebia and ERENA News, 23 April 2003a. Ibid. Minister of trade and industry, Hadas Eritra, 24 August 2004. Ibid. Interview with the president, Dimtsi Hafas. Transcribed in Tigrinya. Shaebia and ERENA News, 23 April 2003a. On the government’s decision to suspend all private sector import-export licences and on the new distribution centres see Gedab News, Government suspends all private import-export licenses. http://awate.com/arman/publish/printer_3992.shtml (accessed 3 March 2005). The most probable reason according to my source is that the government had used the

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The Demise of the Private Sector money for its own ends. 127 See the circular of the Administration of Maakel (Central) Region, No. [4 Tigrinya letters]/1/1108/06 Asmara, 3 April 2006. The circular warned that the government will take legal measures against those who fail to comply with the contents of the circular. 128 Ibid. 129 The National Union of Eritrean Youth and Students (NUEYS) owns eight firms in which the large majority of the workers are unpaid conscripts. The National Union of Eritrean Women (NUEW) also owns one firm which uses unpaid recruits. 130 FAO/WFP Crop and Food Supply Assessment Mission to Eritrea, 18 January 2005, p. 4. 131 Ibid. 132 Ibid.

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Six PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences

The sovereignty of the totalitarian general will, if it is to be made real, can allow of no competition or even flight to alternative activities. (Crick 2000: 49)

This chapter argues that the ultimate goal of the Eritrean government and the PFDJ is to exercise unfettered control over the country by becoming the major, if not the only, employers and owners of the sources of livelihood, such as commodities, land and other renewable resources throughout the country. The dominance of the economy by the public sector and by the enterprises of the ruling party, the stifling of the free market, and consequently of the private sector and the embryonic middle class, are strategies the government and the PFDJ have adopted to achieve their goal. These measures are not seen as an end but rather as a means of averting the ‘dangers’ of democratic change and freedom, whose emergence and consolidation are inextricably linked to a liberal market economy. The chapter also examines in detail the manner in which the ruling party deploys the political power of the state to kill the private sector.

PFDJ Office of Economic Affairs The Office of Economic Affairs holds and manages the totality of the share-capital investment, including the movable and immovable assets held by PFDJ. Hagos Gebrehiwet, one of the closest allies of the party’s chairman and head of state (Isaias Afwerki) heads it. As the data in Tables 6.1 and 6.2 show, PFDJ plays a dominant role in the national economy through ownership of a large number of firms engaged in nearly every important aspect of economic activity. In order to gain some insights regarding the management of PFDJ business interests and the extent to which the ruling party dominates the economy of the country, it is necessary to examine the data in Tables 6.1 and 6.2. The dominance of the party’s business activities must be seen in the context of the small size of the Eritrean national economy. In 2002, Eritrea’s economy measured in total GDP was estimated at US$ 644 million (World Bank 2002: v). The corresponding figure for 2004 was US$ 687 million (World Bank, African Development Indicators referred to in Fessehatzion 2005).

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Table 6.1 PFDJ business firms Company name

Business activities

1. Red Sea Trading Corporation

Import and export, retail, distribution and sole procurer to all government ministries, commissions, regional governments, departments, in short to all government organisations. Since 2002, it has been the only firm licensed to import commodities such as flour, cement, edible oil, sugar and tyres for the whole country. Since 2004, it has been the sole importer of goods to the country. No private firm is allowed to import goods. 2. Segen Construction Housing development, brick production, furniture production, road construction using heavy-duty machinery equipment, tile production. Major government contractor. After the banning of the private construction industry, Segen and its sister firms are the only ones allowed to build houses and infrastructures in the country. 3. Ghedem Construction Road construction – Keren – Tessenei tarmac road construction, Massawa-Assab road, Massawa Airport, etc. 4. Housing and Commerce Major mortgage lender, major developers–Sembel Bank housing,1 Massawa housing, Mendefera and Keren housing complexes, and operates as commercial bank, inter alia serving all PFDJ businesses. 5. Eriequip (joint venture with Exclusive dealers in heavy machinery – caterpillars, a private investor––pro-PFDJ earth–moving machines, excavators, tractors, repair and Eritrean living in the US) maintenance of the same. The PFDJ is now the sole owner. 6. Ewan Technology (joint IT services, networking construction, exclusive Compaq venture with a private dealers. Suppliers of computers and electronic equipment investor–returnee from to all ministries, regional government offices, the US) departments, university, etc. 7. Asbeco (90% of shares) Asphalt and bitumen work – quarry production, asphalting. e.g. contracted to repair and resurface all the roads in Asmara. 8. Fenkel garages in Asmara, Garage – repair and maintenance of government and Massawa, Keren, Tessenei PFDJ vehicles and Dekemhare 9. Royal Garage Sole Opel dealers 10. Amberbeb Exclusive agents of Toyota, Komatsu, heavy duty machinery – excavators and earth-moving machinery 11. Himbol Financial Services Nearly sole dealer in foreign currency throughout the country. It has branches in most cities in the world where there are Eritreans and is the major channel of remittances. 12, Gedecc Engineering consulting services 13. Transhorn Owns all trucks and low bed trailers that previously belonged to ERA during the war of independence. ERA had over 400 trucks during the war. Transhorn was one of the major sub-contractors of relief agencies in the transportation of food aid. Transhorn also manages all trucks owned by individual Eritreans against payment of

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences

14. Intercontinental Hotel 15. Scrap metal 16. Margran 17. Ela Bered Agro–industry 18. ABIE

19. Eritrean Shipping Lines

20. Orota I 21. Alpha Travel

22. Hanger Construction 23. Debaãt Construction

24. Sabur Printing Press 25. Auget 26. Sawa Afhimbol 27. Ericommerce (London)

28. Adobha 29. ERISOC 30 NUOVA SASBERE 31. Eritrean Tour Services (ETS)

32. Eritrean Core Well Drilling Co. 33. Sembel 34. ROAD ABB (Road and Bridge) 35. Orota II

commission for allocation of work and supply of spare parts. Transhorn monopolises the whole business of trucking and has over 1,000 trucks under its management Joint venture and is the only five-star hotel in the country Deals with the huge amount of scrap metal produced during the war of independence Quarrying, processing and sale of marble and granite Horticulture, dairy, food processing Irrigated commercial crop production – banana farm in Mogoraib (Barka) and horticultural production in Halhale. ABIE’s projects have collapsed and the firm now only exists in name Ferrying of goods – transports most imported and exported goods, particularly PFDJ’s Red Sea Corporation’s Metal work Car rentals, mainly 4-wheel-drive Land Cruisers. Alpha Travel was run under the guise of a private firm headed by under-cover security agent. Construction of hangers for government and ministry of defence Construction of military barracks – Sawa and other military bases. The ownership of this company is unclear. Recently, the author was told the firm belongs to the ministry of defence Printing press – supplies books, exercise books and other teaching materials to all schools throughout the country Media – video, audio, posters, books, etc. Commercial agricultural production2 London-based travel agents and trading company. Most of its activities except transfer of remittances are now phased out Machine shop Stove, oven and cylinder production Disco Freno, produces discs for brakes. Owned a fleet of 4-wheel-drive vehicles rented out to tourists. When the border war broke out, all the vehicles were distributed to individual high-ranking army officers by the personal order of the Head of State. The company now exists only in name. Mining, borehole drilling, core drilling, well drilling, and soil drilling for testing.3 Metal and woodwork shop – produces furniture – main supplier for Sawa Construction – roads and bridges (Serejaka–Gahtelai Northern Red Sea Highway) Lathe machines

Sources: field notes, 1996-2007

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Over the last twelve years, the author has attempted to collect reliable data from diverse sources concerning the number, scope of activities, capital, assets, size of labour force, management structures, loss and profitability, of the firms owned by PFDJ. In Eritrea, asking questions about PFDJ business interests is considered ‘too intrusive’ and potentially dangerous. As a result, whenever the author asked wellconnected friends within government and the ruling party for information, the common response was, ‘you have to handle this with utmost care and you need to be careful and know whom you talk to. Izi yehitit iyu’ (This is a serious matter. You can get in trouble for this). The data in Table 6.1 are thus pieced together from various oral sources whilst those in Tables 6.2 and 6.3 are based on written primary sources. Both the oral and the documentary sources have been carefully counterchecked and refined through data elicited from interviews with different individuals who worked at the PFDJ’s office of economic affairs, in the Inland Revenue and in other areas close to PFDJ.4 Most of the interviewees had access to the relevant documents. However, there are some fundamental flaws in the available data. If we compare the net worth of some of the firms in Table 6.2 with the amount of tax the firms paid, it is clear that the documentation on the net worth or capital base of the firms is either fundamentally flawed or sham. For example, the net worth of one of PFDJ’s biggest firms – the Housing and Commerce Bank – was 1,896,914 ERN in 2002 (Table 6.2). For the same year, the firm paid a total tax (income, sales and service taxes) of 1,057,151.32 ERN (Table 6.3). This represented 56 per cent of the firm’s net worth. Unless the bank made enormous profits in that particular year, this does not make sense. The same is true of many of the firms that paid tax in 2002. The data on the amount of taxes paid are reliable because they are derived from the Inland Revenue records. In view of documentation problems, the figures on the firms’ net worth seem to be determined arbitrarily by the PFDJ’s office of economic affairs. This is expected in view of the fact that most PFDJ business activities are disorganised and haphazardly conducted and therefore not amenable to accurate documentation.5 PFDJ business interests are complex and are not therefore available to outside scrutiny. In fact, the party’s businesses are more numerous than the data in Tables 6.1 and 6.2 indicate. At the time of data collection, some of the party’s businesses were owned directly, some indirectly through secret shares and others were operated through front-men using PFDJ capital. The situation has since changed dramatically because the private sector has been completely stifled and the PFDJ no longer sees the need to run some of its firms through front men. As the data in the tables show, the party is involved in diverse economic activities, including agriculture, trade, manufacturing, construction, finance, land and maritime transportation, hotels and tourism, printing, retail, body maintenance and repair, water supply and the like.

The Hidri Trust Fund In accordance with a decision by the EPLF’s third congress, the Central Council held a meeting on 14 March 1995 and adopted a resolution to establish for and on behalf of PFDJ a trust fund6 whose ‘founder’ was to be the chairman of the PFDJ,

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Isaias Afwerki.7 In July 1996, the trust fund was constituted and its objectives, management structures and modalities of operations were spelled out in detail.8 Some of the objectives were listed as, first, to acquire, invest in whatever moveable and/or immovable assets and properties so as to generate income and revenues for and in the realisation and carrying out the trust fund’s objectives.9 Second, to invest in industrial, agricultural, mining and marine resources as well as in commercial activities of all sorts and varieties whether domestic or internationaltrade-oriented. Third, to initiate appropriate steps and modalities so as to raise funds, contributions, assistance or donations of all kinds and origin. Fourth, to accept any gift or bequest, the use of which is destined to meet the objectives herein, and fifth, to generate and consolidate all and whatever income and revenues from the above expected sources of income, and to apply and utilise the same for the sublime national objectives and commitments.10 It was also decided to transfer to the Trust Fund the ownership of all interests of PFDJ – ‘the totality of the share-capital investment, including the assets, movable and immovable properties hitherto held and owned by the PFDJ in various enterprises.’11 The Trust Fund was also authorised to manage the resources in pursuit of the national objectives as defined by PFDJ.12 In response to the wishes of PFDJ’s central council and consistent with the objectives of the Trust Fund, the ‘founder’ was authorised to transfer and integrate into the Trust Fund’s responsibilities other additional or outstanding assets and properties of PFDJ.13 It is also stated that ‘the sole beneficiary of the trust fund under all circumstances and without any exception is PFDJ.’14 The management of the trust fund was entrusted to a Trust Committee (TC) and a chief executive officer (CEO).15 Since the sole beneficiary of the Trust Fund was PFDJ, it is not clear why it was created in the first place. It is important to state that the establishment of the Trust Fund in July 1996 coincided with the seemingly ‘ideological U-turn’ concerning the private sector. As seen earlier, it was in June 1996 that the chairman of the party and the head of state condemned the private sector as being the refuge for thieves, tax evaders and embezzlers. Some people the author interviewed among the diaspora claim that the ideological u-turn occurred after the change-seeking forces spearheaded by the G1516 were crushed in mid-2001. However, this is not true. The hard core of the party spearheaded by the chairman, Isaias Afwerki, and his two publicists and ideologues of the party, Yemane Gebreab and Zemhret Yohannes, have never been committed to liberal democracy and the private sector. Therefore in reality, there was no ideological U-turn despite the EPLF/PFDJ’s rhetoric. According to the statutes, the founder of the Hidri Trust Fund (HTF) was to appoint four members of the Trust Committee (TC) and from its members a chairman and a CEO.17 Consequently, four members of the central council were appointed to the trust committee – namely, Mahmoud Ahmed Sherifo, chairman; Hagos Gebrehiwet, the head of PFDJ’s office of economic affairs, CEO; Petros Solomon and Fawzia Hashim.18 The TC was mandated to supervise and control management activities and to see to it that the firms under the trust fund strove to realise their objectives. The TC was accountable to the ‘founder’ and had the responsibility of approving annual budgets, preparing annual reports, including consolidated balance sheets and profit and loss accounts and to present the same to its founder. The TC was required to hold regular meetings every three months.19

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Table 6.2 Hidri Trust Fund companies’ capital and retained earnings accounts (in Nakfa) Serial Firm’s name

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Capital Registered Per balance 2002 Sheet 2002

Amberbeb Toyota 5,000,000 Garage Asbeco 61,300,000 Elabered 30,000,000 Eritrean Well Drilling 40,000,000 EriEquip 2,880,000 Eritrean Shipping Lines 51,350,000 ERISOC 25,600,000 Ghedem Construction 75,000,000 Hangar 20,000,000 Himbol Financial 12,000,000 Services Housing & Commerce 15,000,000 Bank Margran 36,231,000 Sabur Printing Services 7,700,000 Segen Construction 175,800,000 Transhorn 10,000,000 ABIE 26,000,000 Intercontinental Hotel 9,720,000 Bitubulk 1,440,000 Sege-raga 10,000,000 Red Sea Trading 150,000,000 Corporation Red Sea Transit 500,000 Services Ewan Technology 600,000 Adobha Metal Workshop Unknown Eritrean Duty Free Unknown Centre Eritrean Tour Service Unknown Fenkel Garage Asmara Unknown Fenkel Garage Massawa Unknown GEDEC Unknown Nuova Sasbere Unknown Orota Unknown Royal Garage Unknown Ghinda Woodworks Unknown Ghinda Brick Factory Unknown Eritrean Marine Unknown Products Awget Book Shop Unknown Eritrean Audio Visual Unknown New Community Shops Unknown

Retained earnings balance

Legal reserve

Net worth 2002

32,535,531

1,035,698

38,571,229

61,300,000 34,780,966 Unknown Unknown 40,000,000 5,384,421 1,681,000 15,014,614 14,633,798 131,988,599 29,826,702 1,717,196 75,000,000 93,242,203 10,721,544 32,782,314 12,000,000 4,176,906

Unknown Unknown 1,001,850 288,000 Unknown Unknown 4,841,904 Unknown 1,200,000

96,080,966 Unknown 46,386,271 16,983,614 146,622,397 31,543,898 173,084,107 43,503,858 18,152,067

15,000,000

14,603,086

1,500,000

1,896,914

63,042,127 Unknown 79,386,591 78,525,079 10,261,000 972,000 Unknown Unknown Unknown

32,862,062 14,068,794 91,529,435 32,893,240 5,242,892 44,767,110 Unknown Unknown Unknown

Unknown Unknown 4,951,403 1,728,833 Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown

30,180,065 14,068,794 175,867,429 113,147,152 5,018,108 Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown

500,000

7,466,943

50,000

8,016,943

600,000 1,761,871 2,031,720

2,740,741 1,596,569 2,921,184

78,695 Unknown Unknown

4,269,436 3,358,440 4,966,505

3,700,000 9,551,611 7,617,983 1,000,000 29,317,533 8,451,021 1,870,558 Unknown Unknown Unknown

1,485,713 3,451,192 1,686,628 15,564,309 2,636,292 998,409 306,484 Unknown Unknown Unknown

170,063 Unknown Unknown 100,000 Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown Unknown

5,355,776 6,100,419 5,931,355 16,664,309 33,988,583 9,449,428 2,177,042

Unknown Unknown Unknown

Unknown Unknown Unknown

Unknown Unknown Unknown

5,000,000

Total

1,051,385,105

Source: Computer printout, Asmara, August 2003.

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences The CEO’s responsibilities were also clearly stated. Among other things, the CEO was required to submit consolidated annual reports, inventories and valuations of assets and liabilities, balance sheets, and profit and loss accounts to the TC, along with the external auditors’ report. The CEO was also required to present annual budgets of the trust fund for the consideration and approval of the TC.20 The net balance of the income accrues in favour of the beneficiary of the trust fund – namely, the PFDJ.21 The constitution of the TF further stated, ‘The Trust Committee shall, accordingly, hand over and deliver the said net income to the Founder (incumbent head of state and PFDJ chairman), it being understood and reconfirmed that the income shall be utilised exclusively for and in pursuance and realisation of the objectives set forth in Article IV.’22 It is worth noting that no remedy was provided in case the ‘founder’ utilised the incomes of the trust fund for other ends than those stated in the trust fund objectives. As the data in Table 6.2 show, in 2002, there were 37 firms registered under the Hidri Trust Fund. All the firms in Table 6.2 except the new ‘PFDJ retail shops’ were registered under the trust fund. Although the decision to establish a trust fund was taken by the Central Council in March 1995 and the trust fund was constituted in July 1996, most of the firms were already in existence. As the data in Table 6.2 show, some firms had no accounts even by 2002. Hence their capital, assets, liabilities, profits and losses could not be determined. Even the records for the firms that had accounts in 2002 were incomplete and in most cases unreliable.23 The net worth of the firms that had accounts in 2002 can only be indicative rather than conclusive. For instance, an attempt made by PFDJ’s central office to establish the total cost of establishing the Ghinda Brick Factory, the largest in the country, was unsuccessful for lack of documentation. The author was told that this was typical of many other PFDJ firms.24 Because the administration and operations of PFDJ firms were neither open nor transparent, it is not possible to evaluate the extent to which they promote the goals they were allegedly created for. It is also not possible to assess their performance or to determine the extent to which the firms are operating at a loss or profit. More importantly, no one except the ‘founder’ and the CEO knows where the revenues generated by the firms end up. When asked to comment on this sensitive issue, even those who shared everything they knew about the firms with the author shrugged their shoulders saying, ‘Don’t ask me. Ask Hagos, [the CEO], or Isaias, [the “founder” and head of state].’25 Because the focus of the chapter is to assess the negative impact of PFDJ business interests on the private sector and consequently on the country’s future, the extent to which the former are mismanaged and/or their assets abused is beyond the scope of this work. One of the main questions arising from this examination is why the ruling party has become economically dominant, contrary to the promises made during and after the war of independence. The analyses in the preceding chapters indicate that the PFDJ aspires to dominate the economic life of Eritrean society so as to control the people’s means of survival. In a country where the large majority of the people live dangerously close to the subsistence margin (see Chapter 4), whoever controls the means of survival can shrink the autonomous social and economic space. It is important to understand that the Hidri Trust Fund exists in name alone. The Trust Committee (TC), which was supposed to be responsible for: supervision

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences and control of the management activities and the realisation of the objectives of the Trust Fund, as well as the approval of annual budgets and preparing annual reports, including the consolidated balance sheet, profit and loss account and funds flow statement has never met since its appointment by the ‘founder,’ in mid-1996. It was supposed to meet every three months. Two of the four Trust Committee members, namely, Mahmoud Ahmed Sherifo, the Trust Fund’s chairman and the country’s former vice-president and Petros Solomon, the country’s former minister of foreign affairs and later fisheries have been held in incommunicado detention since September 2001 without charges. Their seats in the Trust Committee have not been refilled. Note, however, that, even before they were detained, (i.e. between July 1996 and September 2001), they never met in their capacity as members of the Trust Committee. Consequently, PFDJ firms and their resources are fully controlled by the party’s chairman, Isaias Afwerki, and the chief executive officer, Hagos Gebrehiwet. They have never reported to PFDJ’s central council or the Trust Committee.

Economic domination as a means of ideological indoctrination The aim of the Eritrean government and the PFDJ is to elevate themselves to the status of sole employers, thereby ensuring the support of the people whose alternative would be hunger and in the worst-case scenario, death. The idea is to make the whole country politically food-dependent. As the data in Tables 6.1 and 6.2 show, PFDJ plays a dominant role in the most critical economic activities of the country, including trade, construction, finance, services, transportation, hotels and tourism, agriculture, media and printing, water supply, etc. Its domination of the economy is not seen as an end, but rather as a means of controlling and indoctrinating those who depend on the public sector and PFDJ businesses for their livelihood. By becoming the major employment providers, suppliers of goods and services, lawmakers and enforcers, the government and PFDJ hope to secure hegemonic control of Eritrean society. The fact that the government and the ruling party use their control of the economy and citizens’ livelihoods as an instrument of control and domination is reflected, among other things, in that all government and PFDJ employees are regimented into different units known as gujletat. Every gujle (unit) has a leadership comprising a chairperson, a secretary and a treasurer. Nominally, the members of each gujle are elected, but in most cases, they are pre-selected on the basis of their loyalty to the leadership and their apparent ‘commitment’ to the party line. Members of the gujletat are required to contribute three Eritrean Nakfa (ERN) every month as membership fees. Membership of the gujletat is compulsory. Every gujle meets weekly or sometimes fortnightly during office hours to receive, in PFDJ parlance, ‘political education’. The aim, however, is to indoctrinate government and PFDJ employees with the ruling party’s ethos and ideology. To this must be added the systematic indoctrination and socialisation of the hundreds of thousands of conscripts in national service and its concomitant, WYDC into PFDJ ideology.26 The same is true of PFDJ members within and outside the country. The gujletat are centralised by the Political Office of the PFDJ. The organisational structure is replicated throughout the country from the capital, Asmara, to

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences the lowest level – the Baito in the villages. All the gujletat and members of the PFDJ throughout the country and abroad read the same literature produced by the PFDJ’s ideologue and head of the political office, Yemane Gebreab and sometimes by Zemhret Yohannes, the head of research and documentation, in their meetings. The material taught to national service conscripts is either the same or similar in content and is produced by the same office. In every meeting, the chair keeps a register and whoever cannot attend a meeting is required either to seek permission or to give ‘acceptable’ explanations. Routinely, after reading the material provided, the chair opens the floor for discussion. The author was told that most participants are usually reluctant to participate in the discussions, but since silence would often be construed as a form of resistance, participants are pressured to express delight and indebtedness. Those who are reluctant to express satisfaction or enthusiasm are subjected to both tacit and explicit harassment and intimidation. Given the dearth of the rule of law in the country and the fact that the ruling party and the government are the major employers, the trepidation of being labelled ‘hangad’ (uncooperative or saboteur) and the need to remain in employment can compromise the integrity of most employees. The meetings take place during office hours and they last about 90 minutes on average. All government and PFDJ offices are at a standstill during that time every week or fortnight. Since both the government and the PFDJ see the indoctrination of all Eritreans, especially the youth, as critical to ‘Eritrea’s future’, they view the PFDJ’s economic domination as constituting an indispensable instrument of mobilising the whole workforce through participation in the gujletat.27

PFDJ dominance of the national economy Immediately after the country’s de facto independence in May 1991, the provisional government explained the heavy-handed involvement of the EPLFowned Red Sea Trading Corporation in the import, export, distribution and retail of commodities as a temporary measure to ‘stabilise prices’ by overcoming the apparent mismatch between supply and demand.28 It was argued that such a measure was necessary in the immediate post-conflict period because the private sector was literally destroyed under the Derg’s ‘socialist’ regime. In the immediate aftermath of the devastating war, many government officials interviewed by the author argued that, at the initial stage, the involvement of the Front in the economy was indispensable. This was because, in their view, the private sector was too weak to stand on its own feet without the support provided by the Front’s enterprises, such as the Red Sea Trading Corporation. Soon after independence, it became clear that the major aim of the Red Sea Trading Corporation and other PFDJ businesses was to stifle the development and consolidation of the private sector rather than enhance it (see Chapter 5). Notwithstanding the fact that the government’s major policy document stated that the ‘public sector’ would only be involved in areas in which there was lack of private sector interest, the data in Tables 6.1 and 6.2 show that all the economic activities in which the PFDJ firms were involved were actually the lifeline of the private sector. As a result, the private sector was fully stifled. According to the change-seeking group, the G15, the PFDJ’s businesses:

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences lack transparency, and accountability … follow [no] legal procedures; are neither guided by clear policy nor are managed professionally; they mix front and government businesses; they have become vengeful enemies of and negative examples for private businesses instead of encouraging them through fair competition and partnership; they are not run by a trust contrary to the decision of the Central Council; and they never present reports of their accounts to the Central Council as they should. (G15 2001) (emphasis added)

As has already been made clear, the Trust Fund was supposedly established in July 1996 and the G15’s ‘Open Letter’ was circulated in May 2001. One of the signatories of the G15’s ‘Open Letter,’ Mahmoud Sherifo, was the chairman of the Trust Committee and another, Petros Solomon, was a member of the Trust Committee. However, the PFDJ firms failed to kick-start the economy by injecting capital and other forms of support into the private sector, and instead targeted the commercial sector for attack. In particular, the firms that were active in areas where PFDJ businesses saw opportunities for expansion and lucrative returns, e.g. imports of goods and construction, were subjected to punitive interventions. This was why traders in the import business were targeted before contractors. As highlighted, the raison d’étre of the government and EPLF/PFDJ was, on the one hand, to create a political organisation that was so economically powerful that other organisations would be unable to compete against it, and, on the other, to facilitate PFDJ’s hegemonic control of Eritrean society by stifling the development of the private sector and consequently the middle class. The government has at its disposal diverse instruments with which it ensures its dominance of the economy and society. These are briefly discussed in the following pages. FUSION OF EXECUTIVE, LEGISLATIVE AND JUDICIARY POWERS PFDJ exercises unfettered economic, legislative, executive and judiciary powers. For example, the head of the executive – the head of state – is the chairman of PFDJ and the founder of the Hidri Trust Fund. In addition, he is the chairman of the rubberstamping legislature and half of the members of the legislative body are members of the party’s central council. Further, a considerable number of the members of the legislature are either in detention, exile or ‘frozen’. The remaining half is elected from the PFDJ mass organisations. Although the judiciary is said to be independent, this is only in name because in reality, it is not (see AI 2002b). The courts do not have an independent budget and are financially and logistically dependent on the ministry of justice, which is part of the executive. Not only do the judges in the high and supreme courts lack tenure, but the government also routinely hires, fires or demotes them at will. As seen before, the arbitrary dismissal of the former chief justice is a case in point. Thus, the PFDJ’s power to: change, suspend, modify, amend, rescind, or ignore any law, regulation, policy, practice, including the civil courts’ decisions, as well as to ignore contracts in order to promote and protect its business interests, is unlimited. It also uses the power of the state either to take over its partners’ interests or to withdraw licences from firms that compete with its business interests. The case of the private contractors and consultants in the private construction industry and

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences in the import-export trade are typical cases in point. The PFDJ’s dual role enables it to violate the informal and formal rules of the market by granting monopoly status to its own firms. Most PFDJ firms operate on the basis of the cost plus profit rule. This represents a flagrant assault on the market and the private sector. In the rapidly globalising world economy in which firms are exposed to fierce competition and profitability is a function of efficient resource allocation, the ‘cost plus profit’ formula is only possible in a country where political and economic powers are fused. This is a typical feature of a command economy which the present head of state condemned as a recipe for failure (see Chapter 5). The vague standard of cost plus profit, besides being an inefficient method of resource allocation, is subject to abuse because both costs and profits are not only set arbitrarily but also unilaterally by the managers of particular PFDJ firms. This formula of operation is to be found nowhere else in the world except probably in North Korea. This is one of the many negative consequences of concentration of political power in the hands of a political organisation that has business interests. This is exacerbated by the fact that there is an absolute dearth of freedom of speech and press. After the government’s clampdown on private newspapers, the large majority of the journalists who worked for such papers are in incommunicado detention and the remainder have left the country to seek asylum elsewhere (AI 2002a). It is this duality that makes the PFDJ unique and a threat to the private sector and to the country’s long-term interests. It is a business firm of an unusual kind, and a political organisation inseparably fused with the state. POLITICAL CONNECTIONS AND CORRUPT PRACTICES Another means by which PFDJ dominates the economy and society is through political connections that encourage sleaze and nepotism. In a country where there is a dearth of the rule of law and human rights, patronage is indispensable not only for access to licences, input and output markets, foreign exchange and contracts; but also for protection against cancellation of licences, non-performance of contracts, extortion, arbitrary imposition of charges as well as detentions. After the government’s clampdown on the private sector and the foreign exchange black market, nearly all businessmen and women in the private sector were reduced to abject poverty except for a few who operated under the patronage of high-ranking and corrupt army officers loyal to the head of state.29 In the immediate postindependence period, the Eritrean government was said to be less corrupt by subSaharan African standards. However, this reputation did not last long. As the following example demonstrates, not only is post-independence Eritrea replete with corruption and nepotism, but the highest ranking army officers are also involved in complex networks of organised crime in pursuit of economic interest, thereby abusing the powers vested in them by the president. The involvement of high-ranking members of the police and the army in organised crime is inextricably linked with the government’s inimical policy on the private sector. This is because the government’s clampdown on the private sector was counteracted by a policy that encouraged the army to engage in incomegenerating activities. Although many field officers were already selling alcohol and other commodities to the agelglot (draftees) in their respective platoons and divisions to enrich themselves, high-ranking members of the armed forces intensified their

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences involvement in economic activities, especially in trade, agriculture and construction using the unremunerated labour of the agelglot and government vehicles, fuel and spare parts.30 The president sees the enrichment of the high-ranking members of the armed forces as an indispensable instrument of maintaining his power. A study conducted by the World Bank, for example, states that, while corruption, crime, theft and disorder are uncommon in Eritrea: The difficulty in assessing the presence of corruption lies in the fact that more complete definition of corruption includes more than simply the payment of bribes. Preferential treatment given through discretionary power in the awarding of contracts or allocation of land or foreign exchange is also considered corruption and can have quite distortionary effects on the growth of the private sector. There are hearsay, but frequently heard, complaints that party-owned firms, being closely linked to the government, have occasionally used their ‘pull’ to get things done. (2002: 31) (emphasis added)

The same complaints were repeatedly reported to the author by most members of the business community from different parts of Eritrea interviewed between 1995 and 2002. Although corruption by individual government officials in terms of collection of bribes was not as widespread as in the rest of Africa until 2002, there is not only need to re-examine the extent to which the so-called absence of bribes is a myth or a reality, but in the last few years, the situation has changed so much that most government, police, court and municipal services are provided in return for bribes. The alternative is to wait ‘for ever’, as one informant who moved to the UK recently put it. Over the last few years, things have been changing rapidly, but for the worse. There are many reasons for this, including economic decline, mobilisation of most able-bodied men and women into the armed forces and the WYDC, and the high rate of inflation in the context of stagnant salaries in the public sector. This is greatly exacerbated by the fact that the president has given the high-ranking members of the armed forces ‘carte blanche’ which enables them to do whatever they deem fit without being accountable to anyone. In an attempt to counter the erosion of his power-base, the president, without considering the long-term detrimental consequences for the overall security, unity and stability of the country, reorganised the already contentious six regions31 and reduced them to four military command operation zones. These four command operations are headed by four loyal major generals who report directly to the president thereby overriding the powers and authority of the provincial governors. The heads of the four command operations are Major Generals Teklay Habteselasse, Samuel (China) Kifle, Gerezgiher (Wuchu) Andemariam and Filipos Woldehans. The generals are given open-ended powers over the political, social and economic affairs of their respective command operation zones as long as they remain subservient to the president. The commanders and their minions run their own detention centres where they are said to subject arbitrarily detained people to inhuman treatment. For example, according to awate.com’s events monitor in Asmara, the colonels and generals in the Central Region: have their own jails – full[y equipped] with underground chambers and shipping containers – all over … [the region]. [None of these exists] in any official records but from where harrowing stories abound. The known [jails] so far are the ones in

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Mai Temenai, Bet Gergish, Track B, Mai Serwa, Adi Abeto and Qohawta. This is additional to Karcelli, Sembel, Tseseserat and Shadishai Medeber.32

It is further stated that the then commander of the Central Region, Major General Gerezgiher’s (Wuchu) clique, such as Wodi Kitcha (nickname), have amassed so much unrestrained power that they could ‘on whim, overturn court rulings, distribute public buildings, cancel licences and contracts and jail whoever [they] wish jailed’.33 This is equally true in the other military command operation zones.34 Soon after the establishment of the four military command operation zones, the generals demanded that they should be responsible for their own procurements rather than relying on the ruling party’s firm – the Red Sea Trading Corporation. Until then, the Red Sea Trading Corporation was responsible for the procurements of all ministries and regions, including the army, the air force and the navy. They argued that goods supplied to the armed forces through the Red Sea Trading Corporation could not be kept secret because the company was staffed by civilians. Although there was ample evidence to show that corruption was often linked to procurement of goods and services, the president gave in to their demands because he saw some personal benefits in maintaining his powerbase. Once the four military command operations were vested with the powers to procure their own goods and services and to engage in income-generating activities using the unremunerated forcibly extracted labour power of the draftees in the national service and the WYDC, the doors for nepotism, misappropriation of private property and corruption were opened wide. Because, as we saw in Chapter 5, the private sector was completely prohibited from importing goods and services, there were many former merchants with wide networks and rich experiences who were unemployed. Because the commanders and their subordinates lacked the necessary knowledge, experience and networks for importing goods from overseas, each commander recruited individuals from the private sector who had been reduced to poverty due to unfavourable government policy in spite of their knowledge, experience and connections with overseas suppliers. Each of the commanders of the four operation zones recruited those they could trust and use as protégés and front men to consolidate their fiefdoms and to enrich themselves through bribes, commissions, trade and income-generating activities.35 One of the many lucrative income-generating activities the different command operations engage in is construction of residential homes and public projects, such as schools, roads, bridges, clinics, using the unremunerated labour of draftees. These are facilitated by the fact that the private sector is banned from the construction industry as well as by state ownership of all land. This enables the generals to grab agricultural and residential lands without constraints. The more the heads of the four military command operations and the people around them wielded power and amassed wealth, the fiercer the competition became among themselves and their cronies, especially in the bidding processes. Lieut. Kidane, an ex-EPLF combatant, identifies two blocs in the fierce turf-warlike conflict. In the first group are Major General Gerezgiher (Wuchu), Brigadier General Abraham (Afan) Samson, ‘the civil general’,36 Zeregaber Gebrehiwet, former importer and wholesaler of construction materials, and other ununiformed and plainclothes policemen.37 According to Lieutenant Kidane, the second group

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences is led by Major General Filopos Woldehans and is backed by national security.38 A respondent interviewed by the author also suggested that Major General Teklay Habteselasse and his cronies belong to the second clique. The fierce competitions and conflicts between the two groups became increasingly ferocious and ultimately degenerated into physical violence as manifested in the attempt on Colonel Semeon Gebredingil’s life. The attempt on the head of internal security and number two in the whole national security apparatus took place in October 2007. The background to this bizarre incident is not well documented because of the absence of freedom of speech and expression in the country. What follows is therefore pieced together from different electronic sources and personal interviews with individuals who watched the scenarios as they unfolded from close proximity. Although the information was counterchecked to minimise the risk of inaccuracy, it is possible that some of the data presented here could turn out to be inaccurate in the future. However, the main thrust of the account is most probably reliable because the data gathered from different sources, including from personal interviews are consistent with each other. The attempt on Colonel Semeon Gebredingil’s life was preceded by a number of incidents that triggered chain reactions on the part of the two blocs that for all practical purposes operated as fiefdoms. Some time in September 2007, a certain Tesfalem, a close relative of Brigadier General Abraham (Afan) of the first bloc, was detained by Major General Filipos Woldehans’ clique which allegedly included Major General Teklay Habteselasse. According to Lieut. Kidane, Tesfalem was a petty trader and undercover police informer who instigated the detention of innocent citizens only to have them released in return for kickback payments.39 When Tesfalem was imprisoned, the people who had been detained because of him were immediately released by Major General Filopos’ bloc. In a tit-for-tat reaction, the other bloc – namely, that of Major General Gerezgiher (Wuchu) and Brigadier General Abraham (Afan) – retaliated by detaining Fikre, whose financial assets in spite of his young age (36 years) were said to be worth 300 million ERN.40 Fikre was allegedly closely associated with Major General Filipos and Major General Teklay Habteselasse and therefore operated under their patronage. Because all Eritreans – women and men – between the ages of 18 and 40 are drafted into national service and after 18 months into the WYDC, Fikre was supposed to be serving in the army or on another assignment within the framework of the national service or the WYDC. However, given the high level of nepotism and corruption in the army, he had been allowed to carry on with ‘his business activities’ as this was necessary for the enrichment of his patrons in the second bloc. He was, however, formally a member of the national service. After the government’s clampdown on the private sector and on the foreign currency black market, only a very few businessmen such as Fikre, Samson ‘the civil general’ and Zeregaber who had strong connections with the two factions of the generals and foreign suppliers found a lucrative niche by becoming business associates of the generals or middlemen of foreign businesses in the Gulf States and the Far East. According to one interviewee, in the summer of 2007, a substantial bid was won by Fikre and the generals supporting him. This was said to have infuriated Samson and Zeregaber and the patrons in the first bloc (including Major General Gerezgiher (Wuchu) and Brigadier General Abraham (Afan)). In response, Fikre was detained without any explanation. Soon after, the second bloc

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences released Fikre without the knowledge of and consultation with the first bloc that had detained him earlier. The latter re-arrested him in defiance of the second bloc. On 3 October 2007, Fikre was found dead in his cell.41 His parents’ plea for an autopsy and enquiry into his death was ignored by the government. Their plea for their son’s remains also fell on deaf ears. Instead, Fikre was buried in the martyrs’ cemetery as a member of the national service or the WYDC on 5 October 2007.42 There are different theories on Fikre’s death. Some of the people the author talked to claim that he was tortured to death by those who detained him – Major General Gerezgiher’s clique – in an attempt to extract incriminating evidence against the bloc led by Major General Filipos. Others blame his death on the latter group because of fear that he might confess under torture and give incriminating evidence against them. However, Lieutenant Kidane states, ‘Fikre was killed because the first group (Wuchu’s) knew well that if he remained alive, their secrets would be disclosed. So he was killed by poisoning.’43 This may suggest that – although he was under the patronage of the second group, he might have had incriminating evidence against Brigadier General Abraham’s (Afan) and Wuchu’s group. According to awate.com, seven colonels are said to have fled the country in connection with Fikre’s death.44 This may suggest the presence of a network of organised crime behind the whole saga. The government was shaken to its foundations not by the sophisticated network of crime and corruption involving the most trusted allies of the president, but because this was played out in public. The government, therefore, embarked on intense damage control activities. The head of state appointed the two most senior members of the intelligence services, namely, the head of national security (internal and external), General Abraha Kassa, and the head of internal security, Colonel Semeon Gebredingil, to investigate the criminal network that was behind the death of the young businessman. However, as soon as they began the investigation, an attempt was made on Colonel Semeon’s life. This must have been intended not just to impede the investigation but also to deter others who might undertake the same task in the future. Colonel Semeon was seriously wounded and those who shot at him, including Samson, ‘the civil general’, escaped and hid in a monastery in the Southern Region. When their hiding place was discovered, Samson and his accomplices were caught in a fierce shooting. The ‘civil general’, Samson, was wounded and captured. It is not known whether he is alive or he was killed after he was captured or he died from the wounds he suffered in the shooting. Colonel Solomon and other middle-rank officers, including Major General Gerezgiher’s (Wuchu) driver, are in prison in connection with the attempt on Colonel Simeon’s life. The other suspect, Zeregaber, was not detained but all his business activities have since closed down. The investigation is currently headed by two major generals, namely, Teklay Habteselasse and Filipos Woldehans, who are said to have been parties to the scandal, although the result seems to have favoured them in the sense that Major General Gerezgiher’s clique is in total disarray. However, because of close association with the head of state, Wuchu is still in his position heading the military command operation in Gash Barka. As this case demonstrates, in present-day Eritrea, no private sector business activity can take place without the patronage of high-ranking military officers or

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences their cronies. Although this specific example does not show how PFDJ leaders use their political connections to promote their business activities and to stifle their competitors’ businesses, the approach of the generals and their friends in the PFDJ central office is not substantially different. The government’s and the PFDJ’s intention of killing the private sector was initiated as early as 1996. By the time the draconian laws, regulations and policies were put in place in 2002, the business community was already substantially weakened and in disarray. The factors that gradually but surely paralysed and over time wiped out the business community in the country are discussed in the following part of the chapter.

Unfair competition Before the private sector collapsed after 2002, an important means by which PFDJ firms dominated the economy was supplanting the market institution. One of the reasons the government and the ruling party superseded the market was to avoid competition or to benefit the ruling party’s firms through unfair competition. In the following section, an attempt will be made to identify the different forms of unfair competition which the government and PFDJ used to stifle the development of the private sector, the middle class and the market. PFDJ firms benefited from unfair competition in the following areas: (i) start-up capital; (ii) loans; (iii) public work contracts; (iv) supply of imported consumer goods; (v) foreign exchange; (vi ) labour supply; (vii) land; (viii) taxation; and (ix) licensing. Each of these is discussed briefly in the following. START-UP CAPITAL Some of the present PFDJ businesses were established during the war of independence through contributions made by members of the Eritrean transnational communities and international non-governmental organisations.45 Other firms that are now owned by PFDJ previously belonged to the public and the voluntary sectors (see Table 6.3). Some of the firms taken over from the public sector include the former Elabered Share Co., Eritrean Duty Free Centre, Eritrean Tour Service, Royal Garage and Sabur Printing Services. The Eritrean Core Well-drilling previously belonged to the voluntary sector (see Table 6.3, p. 290). The party did not pay any compensation to the state or the voluntary sector. This suggests that unlike firms in the private sector, the PFDJ did not have to pay the necessary startup capital for many of the firms it currently owns. Before its collapse, the private sector borrowed start-up capital either from banks at high interest rates or informal credit sources in which interest was often usurious. This put PFDJ firms in an advantageous position.46 The party also routinely used resources belonging to the public sector without having to pay for them (see G15 2001). UNEQUAL ACCESS TO CREDIT Analysis of data elicited from managers of small enterprises and self-employed individuals in Asmara, Keren and Tessenei between 1995 and 2002 shows that entrepreneurs in the private sector in comparison to PFDJ firms not only paid exorbitant interest rates but were also faced with severe shortages of credit. Most

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences of the interviewees identified lack of credit as one of the major constraints they faced. PFDJ firms did not face such problems because the government and the ruling party dominated and still dominate the financial market through direct ownership and monopoly of all decision-making positions. Of the three banks in the country, two are state-owned and the third belongs to PFDJ. The government has frustrated every attempt made by foreign investors and Eritreans to enter the financial market. A proposal to establish a private bank by a group of Eritreans living within and outside the country was, for example, turned down at the last minute without an explanation, after receiving initial encouragement.47 Eritrea is the only country in the whole region where there are no privately owned banks and financial services. It is important to contextualise the constraints that faced the private sector in terms of access to credit. The PFDJ and the government attributed the high rate of inflation and the economic crisis facing the country to the private sector’s ‘greed, corruption and tax evasion’.48 According to the head of state and the minister of trade and industry, the private sector’s appetite for profit was insatiable.49 Because the private sector was publicly blamed for the deplorable state of the economy and the people’s misery, none of the bank managers who are PFDJ appointees or cadres dared to lend money to the sector. Although statistics on loan allocations were hard to come by, bank employees interviewed by the author said that the lion’s share of all loans went to PFDJ businesses. This was in addition to the loans they already received from the PFDJ-owned Housing and Commerce Bank. Generally, banks are not supposed to lend more than 20 per cent of its net worth to a single company because this is considered too risky. Instead they try to minimise the preponderance of bad debts by spreading risk. None of the Eritrean commercial banks that lend money to PFDJ firms applies this cardinal rule. This is because a bank manager who intends to remain in employment and out of prison dares not ask the net worth or capital base of PFDJ businesses.50 The few exceptions that gained access to bank loans in the private sector were individuals who received favours from the head of state. It was not uncommon in the past for the head of state to order bank managers to issue large amounts of loans, sometimes far exceeding their net worth, to individuals. These orders were invariably communicated orally through one of the president’s ‘boys’. Although such orders clearly violated banking regulations, which required any loan in excess of one million ERN to be approved by the concerned bank’s board of directors, the bank managers did not dare to question the legality of the presidential order. More often than not, the loans were granted even though the creditors concerned possessed no collateral to guarantee the loan against default. Most of those who benefited from such corrupt practices were either PFDJ firms or the head of state’s cronies. For example, the president ordered the Housing and Commerce Bank to lend US$ 2.2 million to an Eritrean merchant based in the Gulf States to import sugar. He was very close to the president and the EPLF during the war of independence. Since the amount exceeded by far the total capital assets of the bank, the management of the bank was caught in a dilemma. In view of the high risk involved, the bank was advised not to extend the loan. However, in spite of the high risks, the board of directors, who were and still are dependent on the president’s favours for their economic survival and physical safety, superseded the technical advice and approved the loan.51

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences The transaction was questionable because, first, most of the cash belonged to savers, not to the Bank. The net worth of the Bank in 2002 was only about US$ 135,000 (Table 6.2) and if anything were to go wrong, the savers could lose their savings. Second, the commodity (sugar) was going to be purchased from a small mobile merchant ship, and therefore there was no guarantee that the sugar would be fit for human consumption. Third, because the sugar was going to be smuggled to Sudan, anything could go wrong in between. Additionally, transactions conducted in the black market are paid in cash and, in the worst-case scenario, the cash could be forged.52 AWARDS OF PUBLIC WORKS CONTRACTS With the exception of a few public works contracts awarded to Chinese multinational corporations, nearly all public works contracts are awarded to PFDJ businesses automatically, without being opened for bidding. This was the same even before the demise of the private sector (see Chapter 5). The official explanation for this was that the private sector was weak and the magnitude of the task, for example, in large-scale housing, schools, hospitals, water supply, government offices and road construction projects, was beyond their reach. When the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, was asked in the government-owned newspaper, Hadas Eritra: ‘Some domestic merchants claim that the PFDJ businesses’ domination is an obstacle to investment and does not encourage the development and consolidation of the free market. To what extent is this true?’53, he answered, ‘The EPLF businesses are not involved in small retail trade. They are not engaging in small kiosks or shops operation or street vending. Some of them such as Segen, Gedem and Red Sea are huge. Although the people are not adequately informed about their positive roles, they are doing a wonderful job. The construction company, Gedem, is building the road between Massawa and Assab.’54 He further pointed out that the 300 people working for the company get no special privileges. The conditions under which they work and live are unenviable.55 The individuals who manage these companies derive no benefits. He also pointed out that the government owes Gedem 300 million ERN. ‘It is not doing the job for free.’56 This was intended to convey the message that PFDJ firms are doing the Eritrean people and the government a favour, rather than the other way around. He also said that Segen was building roads to serve all Eritreans. In his view, PFDJ companies such as Gedem and Segen are so big that there are no domestic companies in the private sector that could compete with them. He wondered, ‘Were there any companies which could build roads better than Segen and Gedem?’57 He dismissed the private sector’s complaint as being groundless, because, in his view, there were no private domestic companies that could compete with the PFDJ firms in terms of capital, machinery, labour, etc. What the president did not say was that the reasons the private firms were weak was because the government suppressed their growth deliberately. The PFDJ’s firms grew at the expense of private firms in the country. He also noted that the profits of the PFDJ companies do not end up in private pockets. The problem, however, was that there was no evidence to suggest that their profits did not end up in private pockets. The same is equally true at present. What he failed to consider was the fact that if the private sector did not get a breathing space to grow and prosper, how could it ever be able to overcome its weaknesses and

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences compete against PFDJ firms? If the government and the ruling party did not breach the promise they made both in the Macro Policy document (1994) and in the National Charter (1994) in terms of creating a supportive environment, the private sector would not have been in the state it was in prior to its demise. The president added: If the aim of those who complain about the PFDJ businesses is to discredit them in order to grab their projects, we are intelligent enough to understand their sinister motives. There are no Eritreans who cannot understand this. The discontent against the PFDJ businesses is baseless. It is possible to forgive those who complain due to naiveté and lack of knowledge. However, if there are people who knowingly present the PFDJ companies as an obstacle to investment, there is no Kemis Osman [scapegoat] in this country.58

Until 2002, all government projects were formally subject to tender and although there were major obstacles that made it impossible for the private sector to compete on an equal footing with PFDJ companies and the companies owned by their protégés, the private sector could, in theory, bid for contracts. However, since 2002, a new practice was introduced in which all government-funded projects are no longer subject to tender. They go straight to PFDJ businesses. The only government projects that are subject to formal tender are the ones funded by multilateral agencies and only because donors insist upon this. Although the government and the ruling party were unable to prevent the private sector from bidding, they could easily ensure that they lost because PFDJ members in the different ministries and departments invariably set the terms and opened the tenders. In fact, owing to the burdensome structural and policy constraints under which the private sector operated, there were no firms in this sector that could match the might of the politically cushioned PFDJ firms. After 2002, the private sector was effectively blocked out from this lucrative market. This was after the licences of the majority of private firms were withdrawn and, more importantly, they lacked access to foreign currency. The foreign currency black market was completely eliminated after 2002. The government also prohibited the use of Franco valuta in the importation of goods. The supply of all goods was also monopolised by the ruling party’s firms, especially by the Red Sea Trading Corporation. Therefore, the few private sector firms that were able to survive temporarily had no means of bidding. The only exception in which a handful of private enterprises took part in bidding was in construction. This has, however, also come to an end. Since April 2006, no individuals or private firms in the construction industry can legally participate in any tender because, as seen before, the government has withdrawn the licences of all contractors, consultants, draftsmen and the like. PFDJ firms have therefore absolute monopoly in the construction industry as in trade and other business activities. MONOPOLY OVER SUPPLY OF IMPORTED CONSUMER GOODS Given the inauspicious policy environment in the country, the public sector has always been the biggest consumer of goods and services in the nascent national economy. Contracts for supplying such goods and services are invariably allocated

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences to PFDJ business firms without any competition from the private sector. Contrary to its promises, the government adopted a policy that is harmful to the private sector. This policy gave the Red Sea Trading Corporation a monopoly to be the sole supplier of goods and services to all ministries, regional governments, commissions, departments, etc. In 2002, it was given an absolute monopoly over the imports of flour, cement, edible oil, sugar, and tyres to the whole country. The private sector was prohibited from importing any of these commodities into the country. Although some of these restrictions were until 2005 indirect, the effect was the same. Since January 2005, all forms of imports by the private sector were completely prohibited and the whole country is now dependent on goods imported by PFDJ firms. The reason behind the severe shortages of essential goods and services in the country, such as fuel and wheat flour, is the fact that the government and the PFDJ have ‘bitten off more than they can chew’ by excluding the private sector from international trade and by prohibiting the use of Franco valuta in the financing of imports of goods and services. In a country where the single most important source of foreign exchange is remittances, where there are no exports that contribute to foreign exchange earnings, it does not make economic sense to ban the use of Franco valuta in the financing of imports. This should also be considered in the context of the country’s low foreign exchange reserves (Chapter 4). Unless the PFDJ had a vested interest in a given enterprise within the private sector, the latter’s chance of winning a contract to supply imported goods and services to the public sector was zero. The president’s claim that PFDJ firms did not participate in small and retail trade was inaccurate. Not only were EPLF/PFDJ firms involved in retail trade since the country’s independence, but they were also operating many shops that were identical with the Derg’s ye kebele suqoch (neighbourhood shops) throughout the country. This was intended to weaken the private sector under the pretext of ‘protecting the masses from the insatiable avarice of businessmen and women’. The ultimate aim of the PFDJ shops was to force the retail shop owners and wholesalers to close down. Before the PFDJ firms ran out of foreign exchange, this strategy was very successful. Because PFDJ firms were sole suppliers of imported commodities to the country, their shops used to be fully stocked whilst the shelves of the privately owned warehouses and shops were either empty or inadequately stocked. A number of traders interviewed by the author in 2005 reported that they were only selling their old stocks. Their business activities were expected to cease once they ran out of the stocks. In fact, there were many operators that had ceased their activities due to lack of supply. It was not only traders that were affected by this policy. Even manufacturers were equally affected. The findings of a report produced by the World Bank’s team of researchers on the private manufacturing sector, for example, show that shortage of raw materials was one of the major causes of lack of capacity utilisation (World Bank 2002: 16). However, these days, although prices are beyond the reach of most people in the country, the privately owned shops are filled with goods, but not food items, procured through the black market, whilst PFDJ wholesale stores and shops, including the Rit’awi duqanat (neighbourhood shops), are empty due to lack of foreign currency. If it were not for the cross-border black market trade, all shops would have most probably closed down by now because the Red Sea Trading

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Corporation has stopped supplying goods to private retailers and wholesalers. According to data gathered from recent arrivals in the United Kingdom, if it were not for the black market made possible through spiralling corruption in the army, the country would have run out of fuel and other strategic commodities by now. Before the collapse of the merchant class and withdrawal of the licences of contractors and consultants in the construction industry, there were a number of factors that provided PFDJ businesses, particularly in the dynamic sectors of trade, finance and construction with a direct and indirect power of monopoly. Because the Red Sea Corporation was and still is the sole importer of cement and other essential construction materials, it first supplied PFDJ construction firms whilst supplies to the private sector depended on the caprice of its managers and the government. The Red Sea Trading Corporation was free to decide whether or not to supply the private construction firms. In the Eritrean situation where the market was not only imperfect, but was also thwarted by deliberate government action, any enterprise that relied on PFDJ firms for supply of essential raw materials was doomed to collapse. No level playing field was possible in such a situation. This does not matter any more because the private sector is effectively paralysed and the construction industry is inaccessible to the private sector. Before the government decided to withdraw the licences of contractors and consultants in April 2006, PFDJ’s monopoly over the supply of imported consumer goods had a detrimental effect on private construction firms. Not only did such firms face shortages of essential construction materials such as cement, iron and steel, bricks, labour and other commodities, but also public knowledge concerning their dependence on PFDJ firms for the supply of such goods and to a large extent labour (conscripts) led to a dramatic decline of demand for their services. People whose homes were built by PFDJ firms complained about their (PFDJ firms’) ‘rip-off’ open-ended profit margins based on cost plus profit. When the author asked these people why they did not hire the services of private companies, they said ‘private firms have no access to construction materials and labourers and therefore, will never be able to do the work’. Most of the interviewees said, ‘Whether we like it or not, only PFDJ firms could do the job not because they were better, but simply because they were the ones that had the power and consequently the goods, including labour – conscripts.’ Thus even before the government withdrew their licences, the contractors and consultants in the construction industry were already substantially weakened. The withdrawal was therefore the final stroke in the protracted and systematic campaign designed to completely wipe out the private sector (see Chapter 5). UNEQUAL ACCESS TO FOREIGN EXCHANGE PFDJ firms had from the onset greater access to foreign exchange than the private sector. One of the Front’s firms, Himbol Financial Services, was the only firm besides the government and party-owned banks that had exclusive authority to handle foreign exchange.59 Himbol Financial Services was also the sole authorised conduit of foreign exchange to Eritrea from the cities of the world where there were concentrations of Eritrean transnational communities. A World Bank report, for example, states, …those firms with access to foreign currency at the official rate are in effect

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences subsidised. Those without access are forced, if they can afford it, to obtain foreign currency on the parallel market to make new capital investment or purchase raw materials, spare parts, and so on. At times even this black market currency is unavailable in sufficient quantities. (World Bank 2002: 6)

The parallel foreign currency market no longer exists in the country. In 2002, the official exchange rate was 14 ERN to the dollar. The corresponding figure in the black market was 24 ERN. As part of the clampdown on the private sector, the government introduced draconian measures to abolish the parallel currency market. As a result, the private sector was effectively starved of foreign exchange and this gave the PFDJ firms a monopolistic control over the country’s economy. Because of greater access to foreign exchange, not only were PFDJ firms able to import goods and services at a subsidised rate, including raw materials and machines that were inaccessible to the private sector, but they were also able to hire expatriate Eritrean professionals who were paid in foreign currency. Very often, however, these individuals were selected on the basis of their loyalty to the PFDJ leadership rather than on their professional qualifications. A World Bank research team, for example, found that one of the major constraints on capacity utilisation in privately owned manufacturing industries in 2002 was shortage of foreign exchange to purchase imports (World Bank 2002: 16). In 2005, the government denied private firms access to their own foreign exchange accounts. Consequently, they could not use their savings to import goods. This constituted another major assault on private property. No foreign exchange facilities were made available to them through the banks in the country. This gave PFDJ and the government unfettered leverage to control and gradually kill the private sector. None of these would have been possible without the fusion of the state and the party. LABOUR SUPPLY As we saw in the preceding and other chapters, all Eritreans aged between 18 and 50 years, with the exception of ex-combatants and the medically-certified disabled people are required to participate in national service. Although conscripts were initially required to participate in six months of military training at the Sawa Military Training Camp and 12 months in public work, after the 1998–2000 border war, national service became open-ended. Therefore, all citizens aged between 18 and 50 years are not free to sell their labour power and there is a reduced labour market in the country. As Karl Marx wrote: The immediate producer, the labourer, could only dispose of his own person after he had ceased to be attached to the soil and ceased to be the slave, serf, or bondman of another. To become a free seller of labour-power, who carries his commodity wherever he finds a market, he must further have escaped from the regime of the guilds, their rules for apprentices and journeymen, and the impediments of their labour regulations.60

In the present-day Eritrea, there is a new form of serfdom and bondage reflected in the fact that men and women have ceased being ‘free sellers of labour power’. Labour power is no longer a commodity. This is because there is neither labour market nor freedom of movement and residence. No Eritrean between 18 and 50 years can move between places without a pass (menkasakesi) issued by the army.

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences This does not affect PFDJ firms. They have free access to unpaid skilled, semiskilled and unskilled labour, thanks to national service and WYDC. In effect, the government’s and PFDJ businesses’ running and production costs are substantially subsidised. As a result, they could easily destroy their competitors in the private sector. For example, a World Bank study conducted in 2002 found unit labour cost ratios generally very high, with the exception of PFDJ-owned firms. The report stated, ‘… other sectors have ratios between 0.60 and 0.77 … whereas party-owned firms have a ratio of only 0.22 …’ (World Bank 2002: 15). Not only did businesses in the private sector meet all their production and running costs, but the government’s policy of national service and WYDC also dried up the supply of labour throughout the country. A private sector firm without a PFDJ stake or one that was not owned by one of its protégés could not tap into the labour pool provided by national service and WYDC. The private sector, including subsistence agriculture, was thus starved of labour supply.61 In a country where the average life expectancy at birth is 56.9 years,62 lack of labour was a major obstacle to the expansion and survival of the private sector. The World Bank report, for example, stated, ‘In the Eritrean case, the labour scarcity that is supposed to be prevalent on the African continent is compounded by the extremely high numbers of people who have been mobilised into the army relative to the size of the Eritrean population’ (ibid.). Most of the lost employees were likely to be in possession of the best quality of human capital acquired either through formal training or through learning by doing. The World Bank’s study referred to earlier, found that the average capacity utilisation in manufacturing in 2002 was only 53 per cent. A breakdown by ownership showed that capacity utilisation was lowest among private domestic and foreign-owned firms in comparison to government and PFDJ-owned firms (World Bank, RPED Eritrea referred in World Bank 2002: 16). One of the most critical obstacles to higher capacity utilisation was lack of skilled labour (ibid.). The fact that capacity utilisation was higher among government and PFDJowned manufacturing firms shows that they were not equally constrained by shortage of skilled labour. ‘A common complaint of firms was that many of their skilled employees had been enlisted in the army because of the war effort. The survey data we gathered confirm this complaint’ (ibid.: 17). In 2001, a year after the signing of the peace agreement between Eritrea and Ethiopia, 15 per cent of the available white-collar workers (professionals and managers) were on military duty (ibid.). The World Bank study on the effect of mobilisation on manufacturing showed a dramatic negative effect. The report stated, ‘In effect, it [mobilisation] deprives the sector of a large segment of its skilled labour and negatively affects the quality of overall management and performance’ (ibid.: 18). Data collected by the author in 1997, 1998, 2001 and 2002 also show the same results. It was not just the lack of labour supply that crippled the private sector. As the overwhelming majority of nationals aged between 18 and 50 were not earning, there was no effective demand for goods and services produced in the country. Thus, even if there was labour, there was no incentive for the private sector to invest in productive activities. The country was losing out not only from the stifling of the private sector, but also from forgone investment opportunities, foreign exchange earnings, training and revenues from taxes. As seen in the preceding chapter, studies conducted by the minister of trade

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences and industry at the behest of the cabinet ministers found that one of the major causes of the high rate of inflation and economic crisis in the country was shortage of labour due to large-scale mobilisation of the labour force into the army.63 Separate studies conducted independently of each other by the World Bank (2002: 2) and the IMF (2003) also came to the same conclusion. Before the government withdrew licences from contractors in the construction industry, national service and WYDC were already having a detrimental impact on the private construction industry. On the one hand, PFDJ firms were enjoying access to unlimited and unpaid labour supply while, on the other, acute shortage of architects, civil engineers, skilled, semi-skilled and unskilled construction workers in the private sector were killing many private construction firms and selfemployed builders. As noted earlier, public awareness concerning the problems facing private firms and self-employed builders also contributed to the decline of demand for their services. Consumers deserted the private contractors and selfemployed small builders because it was publicly known that they had no capacity to hire labourers to do the job. The government and PFDJ have, therefore, systematically destroyed their competitors in the only flourishing industry in the country – construction. As seen earlier, ironically PFDJ firms are now faced not only with severe shortage of foreign exchange but also by shortage of supply of engineers, architects and other professionals. Most of these were members of the national service and the WYDC. Many have left the country to avoid the modern slavery-like neverending forced labour. LAND SUPPLY All land, including that in cities and towns is owned by the state.64 Since independence, with the exception of a few property developers, property development was monopolised by PFDJ firms. This was facilitated mainly by the fact that all land is owned by the government and, therefore, PFDJ firms have had free and unlimited access. Most of the property developed by PFDJ firms is sold to members of the Eritrean transnational communities for foreign exchange. A survey conducted by the World Bank on manufacturing found that one of the problems faced by private manufacturers in the country was lack of access to land. The World Bank team reported that land shortage was common among private firms. The only exceptions were the 35 privatised firms that possessed enough land prior to their transfer to private ownership (World Bank 2002: 27). The report noted that, Many other firms had a much harder time getting access to land. On average, firms that were able to obtain land within the last five years had to wait 316 days and had to pay about 137,185 ERN for processing … some enterprise owners and managers were frustrated with the lack of information on how their applications for land allocation were processed. Those who had applied had no idea how long it would take, what stage they were currently in, or even what all of the stages were … the application process would seem opaque and carried out in a discretionary manner. (ibid.)

PFDJ firms did not have to put up with such obstacles and enormous costs. A manufacturer in the private sector also told the World Bank team that lack of

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences ‘access to land had prevented him from building additional space’ (ibid.: 12). PFDJ firms have benefited a lot from the government’s ownership of land. The government has been selling land to members of the Eritrean diaspora for foreign exchange. Because private contractors lack foreign exchange, licences for importexport, building materials and labour, they could not compete with PFDJ firms in building houses. PFDJ construction firms therefore invariably developed land sold by the government to members of the Eritrean transnational communities. Additionally, as seen earlier, the government, in April 2006, withdrew the licences of all private contractors, consultants, developers and civil engineers. This left the PFDJ firms with an uncontested monopoly of all property development throughout the country. However, as noted earlier, the ruling party’s firms are now said to be on the verge of collapse due to shortage of foreign exchange and managers, professionals and skilled labourers. TAXATION The other instrument used by PFDJ and the government to weaken and stifle the private sector was heavy taxation. More often than not, new states in war-torn societies tend to suffer from an inability to levy and collect taxes due to lack of manpower and administrative capacity. The Eritrean government was an exception. This is because it has, on the one hand, been able to levy and collect taxes effectively (not necessarily justly), but, on the other hand, its system of taxation is considered by many taxpayers as being extremely burdensome and its methods of collection heavy-handed.65 When the leaders of the EPLF assumed power in May 1991, the first thing they did was to go through Ethiopian tax records in Eritrea and force those who had defaulted when the country was under Ethiopian occupation to pay the unpaid taxes. The legality of the decision to levy taxes retroactively on those who defaulted when the Eritrean state did not exist was questionable. The decision bewildered most of the people the author spoke to during fieldwork in the immediate post-independence period. The respondents expected the newly created government to start from a clean slate, and be grateful to those who defaulted for not making indirect contributions to Ethiopia’s war efforts. A man who was asked to pay tax retroactively told the author: ‘This can’t be right. We defaulted partly because we had no means to pay during the war and partly to weaken our enemy. We knew every Birr we paid in tax would be used for the purchase of weapons and ammunition to kill Eritrean freedom fighters and the civilian population. What do we get for that? Of course, punishment.’66 Adam Smith, in the Wealth of Nations, observed that, ‘There is no art which one government sooner learns of another than that of draining money from the pockets of the people.’ The problem with the Eritrean government, however, did not arise just from the fact that it drained the pockets of overburdened entrepreneurs in the private sector, but it also did not equitably levy and collect taxes on the business interests of the ruling party – the PFDJ. PFDJ businesses were either exempted from payment of taxes based on audited accounts or were taxed leniently. For example, the two largest PFDJ companies – namely, the Red Sea Trading Corporation and Segen Construction – only began paying taxes on the basis of ‘audited’ accounts in 2002. Before then, they did not pay proper taxes. Since 2002, an ostensibly external auditor prepares the accounts of the party’s firms registered under the defunct Hidri Trust Fund (see Table 6.3).

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences However, there are a number of factors that limit the reliability of his report. First, he is a long-standing member of the PFDJ mass organisations and he and his family’s livelihood are dependent on the income derived from PFDJ firms. Secondly, because of lack of adequate demand for auditing services in the weakened or stymied private sector, the auditor is likely to compromise his professional integrity in order to keep his job. Thirdly, the government and PFDJ can revoke the licence of an auditor who dares to exercise autonomy contrary to the interests of the ruling party. In the Trust Fund’s constitution, not only is the ‘founder’ authorised to appoint auditors and to determine the terms and conditions of their services, but he can also at any time and for whatever reasons he considers appropriate, terminate the appointment of any of the said auditors.67 Data elicited from key informants show that ‘the auditor and his staff never dared to challenge the accounts in spite of their glaring incompleteness, inaccuracies and deficiencies.’68

Table 6.3 Taxation of PFDJ firms registered under the Hidri Trust Fund, 2002 Serial number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Firm’s name

Total tax paid 2002 ERN

69

ABIE Adobha Metal Worksho Anberbeb Share Co. Elaberet Estate70 Eritrean Core Well Drilling Eritrean Duty Free Centre71 Eritrean Tour Service72 Fenkel Garage Asmara73 Fenkel Garage Asmara Fenkel Garage Massawa Fenkel Garage Keren75 Fenkel Garage Dekemhare76 Fenkel Garage Tessenei77 Ghedem Construction78 Hangar Construction Co. Himbol Financial Services Housing and Commerce Bank Orota Metal Workshop Red Sea Trading Corporation Red Sea Transit Services79 Royal Garage80 Sabur Printing Service81 Segen Construction Transhorn

Total

103,966.28 1,425,670.36 29,547,114.08 269,380.97 10,330,132.71 4,710,634.28 2,316,861.63 634,733.88 –103,966.2874 189,144.90 n.a. n.a. n.a. 90,921,558.19 26,775,564.89 15,888,515.30 1,057,151.32 1,363,613.30 108,291,676.30 5,039,045.70 765,303.16 11,816,925.79 105,768,432.30 29,822,827.59 446,934,286.65

n. a.=not available Source: Inland Revenue, Asmara, 2003

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Although the data in Table 6.3 show that the majority of PFDJ firms have since 2002 begun paying taxes on allegedly externally audited accounts, neither the Inland Revenue nor the external auditor dared to challenge clearly noticeable irregularities.82 Of the 37 firms registered in the Hidri Trust Fund (Table 6.2, p. 270), only 23 paid tax to the Inland Revenue (Table 6.3).83 Some PFDJ firms did not have accounts and therefore paid no taxes on the basis of audited accounts. Most of them paid nominal tax and voluntarily set amounts and the employees of the Inland Revenue, who were invariably members of PFDJ and dependent on the whims and favour of PFDJ leaders for their survival, did not dare to challenge the injustice. The same is true at present. One of the former high-ranking officials in the Inland Revenue was sacked for asking the PFDJ Central Office either to pay taxes on the basis of audited accounts as required by the country’s laws, or to instruct his office in writing that PFDJ businesses were officially exempted from payment of taxes. He was considered disloyal for raising the hypersensitive issue and was sacked as a result.84 His successors do not dare to raise this issue for fear of losing their jobs or ending up in incommunicado detention. Opportunities for alternative employment outside the public sector are non-existent. It is not known the extent to which the incommunicado detention of the two former highest officials in the Inland Revenue – BrigadierGeneral Estifanos Seyoum85 and Alazar Mesfin – is connected to their objection to PFDJ firms’ informal privileged tax exemption. Several interviewees thought the two were languishing in detention because of their defiance of the PFDJ central office’s order. The issue of non-payment of taxes by PFDJ business interests was one of the many critical questions the G15 (Group 15) raised in their scathing criticism of the Eritrean head of state and the PFDJ central office. They stated that the party’s businesses have ‘never been audited, and thus have never paid taxes to the government on the basis of audited statements’. As a result, ‘they have lost credibility and goodwill among the people and the Front members’ (G15 2001). There could be no one with greater knowledge and insight than the authors of the ‘Open Letter’ regarding the businesses of the PFDJ and the methods of their operation. As seen earlier, one of the signatories of the ‘Open Letter’, Mahmoud Sherifo, was supposed to be the chairman of the Trust Committee and another, Petros Solomon, a member of the Trust Committee. It is difficult to understand the fact that most of the PFDJ firms did not pay proper taxes to the government in a country where private firms and self-employed nationals were overburdened by heavy taxes. Heavy taxation extends to every level of society. A returnee (former refugee) who made ends meet by collecting and selling firewood in the vicinity of Tessenei town told the author in November 1997 that the government taxed the people too heavily. It levied taxes arbitrarily on all forms of economic activities that generate any form of income no matter how minuscule, he said. ‘Soon’, the over-burdened taxpayer said, ‘they may levy taxes on our faeces’. This ‘taxing of faeces’ metaphor is indicative of the extent to which people detest paying heavy and unjust taxes levied by an unelected and unaccountable government. It is ironical that a government that heavily taxes the poor, leniently taxes or levies no taxes on the ruling party’s businesses that dominate the country’s economy. The burden of the government’s failed macro-economic policy is borne by those who eke out a living by engaging in petty trade and other menial activities in the informal sector.

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences DISCRIMINATORY LICENSING RULES The other means by which the Eritrean government and the ruling party stifled the private sector and ensured the dominance of PFDJ firms was through discriminatory licensing. The overwhelming majority of entrepreneurs in the private sector lost their licences for a variety of different reasons from mid-2002 onwards.86 As seen in Chapter 5, in August 2002, the PFDJ government declared open war on the private sector. This was reflected, inter alia, in the new policy that required all licence holders in the private sector to re-apply for licences regardless of how long they might have been in business. The new regulations did not apply to PFDJ businesses but applied to all others without exemption. Licences that had been renewed for two years just before the adoption of the new policies were equally affected. The new policy required the country’s nearly 65,000 licence holders to hand in their licences to the authorities within two weeks of the day the policy was announced. When the licences were handed in, the authorities stamped each to show that the licence was valid for only one month. The concerned licensee was thereafter required to fulfil the following obligations: first, all outstanding unpaid taxes – income taxes, land taxes, and council taxes – had to be paid. Second, licensees were required to declare their debts in order to determine the extent to which they were worthy of licence. Third, all this had to be completed within one month. Those who were unable to complete the process or to pay the outstanding taxes, lost their licences automatically. However, their liabilities did not come to an end with their insolvency; a fourth obligation demanded that all licensees produce clearance from all the relevant authorities. Presentation of receipts from the relevant ministries was not accepted as a substitute. The fact that the regulation stipulated that these time-consuming processes be completed within the specified one month put the licensees and the government departments concerned under unbearable strain. The government’s administrative capacity was weak and it was not clear how the government expected the process to be completed in time. One of the consequences of this unrealistic decision was that queues extending hundreds of metres built up in front of all the relevant government offices bringing the whole country to a grinding halt. During this process, people got worried by the lack of clarity over the government’s intentions, especially because a majority of people who fulfilled all the requirements were not reissued with licences. This created an atmosphere of suspicion, insecurity and anxiety. The overwhelming majority of import-export traders who completed all the requirements by paying what was due to the government and by supplying the necessary information were held in a state of limbo for a long time. The aim of the new policy, most people believed, was to further cripple the private sector, particularly business activities that competed with PFDJ firms. The onslaught was more severe on those individuals and firms that imported goods which the PFDJ firms intended to monopolise. This was consistent with the government’s policy authorising the Red Sea Trading Corporation to be the sole importer of goods and services for the whole country. The government’s official explanation was that the private sector was responsible for the high rate of inflation, economic crisis and poverty (see Chapter 5).87 Thus, weakening of the private sector, particularly in the areas where the government wanted the Red Sea

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences Trading Corporation to assume an unassailable and monopolistic position, was seen as one way of combating the cause of the economic crisis and tackling poverty. Many traders interviewed by the author saw this as a pretext for granting PFDJ businesses a monopoly status. Such views have been proved correct over time. In an attempt to understand the rationale underlying the government’s policy, the author interviewed different government officials in Asmara in August– September 2002. As seen in Chapter 5, at that time a vicious campaign against the private sector, spearheaded by the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, and the minister of trade and industry, Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, was ongoing. The data elicited from different interviewees (government officials) can be summarised as follows. First, the reason behind the high rate of inflation was the private sector’s insatiable greed which the government had a responsibility to curb. Second, most of the activities importers were involved in were said to have taken place without proper office facilities and therefore were not amenable to quality control or taxation, and did not allow recourse in case of consumer complaint. Third, most of the firms were allegedly staffed by unqualified personnel. It was further said that many of the firms or individuals who imported goods were financially unviable. In addition, they were said to lack proper storage facilities or warehouses. Finally, some of the licence holders were accused of renting out their licences to third parties. One government official said, ‘No responsible government could turn a blind eye to such a mess. It is high time that we sort this out once and for all.’ A number of issues arise in connection to these allegations. Not only did the allegations lack proof, but none of them justified the draconian measures the government took to deprive tens of thousands of households of their livelihoods. The cause of the high rate of inflation and the economic crisis had nothing to do with the so-called ‘greed’ of the private sector. This was confirmed by the findings of the minister of trade and industry, as well as by the World Bank’s and the IMF’s studies (Chapter 5).88 The allegations concerning the licensees’ lack of offices and their activities being unamenable to quality control and taxation, were untenable because the goods were invariably imported either through the airports or the seaports. If necessary, the authorities could subject the goods to quality control at the port of entry.89 Customs duties were also paid at the port of entry before the goods were sold to retailers or wholesalers. Transaction taxes were paid when the latter sold the goods to consumers. All the activities were licensed and the licences were issued to specific names and addresses. Thus, there was no way a licensee could avoid payment of income tax. This was especially because all licences were also subject to annual renewals and no licence could be renewed without clearance from the municipal authorities and the Inland Revenue. The question of staffing applied equally to PFDJ businesses. In most cases, the businesses were staffed by individuals who were appointed for their loyalty to the PFDJ leadership and the president rather than for their professionalism and business acumen. It was thus unclear why a self-employed importer/exporter needed more formal qualifications than those needed to enable him/her to undertake the business activities concerned. The government did not intend to protect any public interest by requiring self-employed petty traders to be professionals other than to create greater space for PFDJ businesses by driving the private sector out of the tiny space within which they eked out a meagre existence.

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences The question of financial viability was also irrelevant because private firms could not stay in business if they were not viable. Most of the small entrepreneurs’ start-up capital was raised from their personal or relatives’ savings and because creditors were not involved, no public interest was put at risk by importers’ lack of financial viability. It is not clear why the question of storage was relevant. Many of those who imported goods were self-employed petty traders who made ends meet by making a few trips to Dubai. More often than not, they imported goods on order and the quantities involved were insignificant. To require them to maintain warehouses amounted to an economic death sentence that probably was the main purpose of the new policy. With regard to renting out of licences, it was not clear what the government or the public lost by this. The fact that a market developed for licence rentals was an indication that the government’s policy was creating scarcity. The only way to combat this phenomenon, if there was any public interest in doing so, was to ease the rules concerning licence entitlement. If that happened, people would obtain their own licences rather than renting from others. In any case, renting of licences with or without premises is a common practice throughout the world, and it was not clear why the government was concerned with this unless its aim was to throw out of business many individuals who lacked other means of survival.

PFDJ economic dominance As seen earlier, PFDJ firms did not comply with the formal and informal rules of the market. For example, the level of their profitability or loss was not determined by their ability to allocate their resources efficiently (Chapter 5). Unlike their counterparts in the private sector, PFDJ firms were shielded from the uncertainties of free market competition. Any business organisation that operates within a shielded environment has no incentive to innovate and allocate resources efficiently in order to improve the quality of its products or to cut costs of production. The survival of any business firm that operates in an open and competitive market place is dependent on its ability to produce better quality goods and services at lower costs than its competitors. If it does not, it dies because consumers will desert its products. Not only did PFDJ firms not face such risks, they also operated in a de facto protected market. Since it was only PFDJ firms that were licensed to import goods into the country, they made sure that no goods that competed with their domestically produced commodities were imported into the country. The fact that PFDJ firms, the major actors in Eritrea’s national economy, operated on the basis of ‘cost plus profit’ standards detrimentally impacted on the country’s competitiveness both on a regional and international level. Additionally, all the PFDJ firms were managed by political appointees rather than by experienced professional managers recruited in an open labour market.90 Two long-term problems stem from this. First, the promotion or demotion of managers was not linked to the performance of the firms they managed, since whether they were promoted or demoted was a political decision. Thus, since there were no rewards or punishments attached to good or poor performance, there was no incentive on the part of managers to allocate resources efficiently. The second problem stemmed from the fact that most managers of PFDJ firms lacked the

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences experience, education, and business acumen to run the firms profitably.91 Additionally, the fact that all PFDJ firms operated on a ‘cost plus profit’ basis made it difficult to distinguish between the performances of different managers. Until 2002, most PFDJ firms were not audited either externally or regularly. This was contrary to the regulations of the Trust Fund that clearly stated that the ‘founder’ should appoint one or more independent external auditors and determine the terms and conditions of their services. The fact that they were not publicly audited enabled them to hide their losses and profits. Many PFDJ firms would not have survived if they operated in an open and competitive market. Notwithstanding the fact that the PFDJ’s Housing and Commerce Bank appeared to be the biggest in the country, when its accounts were properly audited for the first time in 2002, it was found that its net worth was as low as 1,896,914 ERN (US$ 135,493) (Table 6.3). In a country where there would have been freedom of the press, this would have been exposed and the bank would have probably collapsed unless rescued by the state. A key informant told the author that some of the PFDJ businesses were empty shells but since they did not operate according to the ‘rules of the market’, problems often remained hidden and allowed no rationalisation or restructuring. If these failures were taking place in the context of a policy environment that allowed the private sector to compete freely, failing PFDJ businesses would have been unable to survive. This would have spared the country’s scarce resources and allowed the private sector to thrive. However, the firms in the private sector could not take advantage of the situation, not only because they were systematically discouraged but also because PFDJ businesses had to survive even when they were unprofitable. If these misplaced policies and practices continue unabated, the country’s future looks bleak. Nowhere in the world has this kind of party-controlled economy prospered. It was most people’s expectation that Eritrea would, as a latecomer, emulate the best practices available. Instead the government and the party have adopted methods that were abandoned, even by the most intransigent political systems world-wide.

Is PFDJ’s economic dominance a threat to national security? Although PFDJ uses the power of the state to acquire unlimited privileges for its firms in terms of monopolistic market rights, concessional or interest-free loans from the state-owned commercial banks, unpaid forced labour, tax and customs duties exemptions or preferential considerations, access to state-owned premises, unlimited access to land for property and agricultural development and business licences, its businesses are not part of the public sector. The owner in any public sector is the state, and state ownership of means of production, including natural resources, is an old institution. In this case, we are talking about a political organisation that exercises unfettered political and economic power in a country where all forms of opposition are prohibited and power is concentrated in one man’s hand which he exercises without formal or informal constraints.

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences A national economy dominated by a partisan political organisation is not only bad for freedom and democracy, but it is also bad for the economy and security of the country. If the party’s monopoly over the economy continues unabated, it can hold the country and the people ransom indefinitely. This is because once the leaders of the ruling party become accustomed to certain privileges and benefits, they may be reluctant to relinquish them voluntarily. Change-seeking forces may then be left with no alternative but to dislodge them by force. This option is unacceptable for a country that suffered from thirty years’ violent war of liberation and two years’ bloody border war. Given the relative economic power of the ruling party, no other political organisation may be able to challenge it and win power peacefully through democratic elections. Consequently, political organisations that see no hope of winning power through the ballot box may seek to take over through the bullet. This may plunge the country into fratricidal civil war. It was not just greed that motivated PFDJ leaders to target the private sector for a kill. The political goal was equally, if not more, important than the economic.92 The political goal was to nip in the bud the weak and nascent middle class and to stifle its development so that it does not become strong enough to play a major role in the country’s economic and political life. PFDJ and the government fear that a thriving private sector could lead to the emergence and consolidation of an autonomous middle class and civil society with secure alternative sources of livelihood, independent of government control. A middle class endowed with pluralistic and democratic values and norms could challenge and threaten their ambition to exercise unfettered political, social and economic control. A government official told the author, ‘We did not fight for thirty years to empower the bourgeoisie or the middle class. We fought to empower the masses.’93 In his view, the disempowerment of the bourgeoisie and middle class is a sine qua non for the empowerment of the masses. If the private sector grows, PFDJ bosses think that the middle class might consolidate its grip on the economy and consequently become a power broker. Nothing could be more threatening to PFDJ’s monopoly of economic and political power than the development and consolidation of an autonomous middle class which could over time develop into a full-fledged bourgeoisie with a bourgeois culture, taste for politics, lifestyle and even ambition for power. Although the roles of the state and the bourgeoisie in industrialisation and development are a moot point in the relevant economic history literature (for an elaborate critical review of the literature see Rueschemeyer et al. 1992), there seems to be general agreement that the market and consequently the middle class and the bourgeoisie are the motive forces of democratic politics. PFDJ leaders are aware of this ‘danger’ and seem determined to leave no stone unturned to avert the perceived potential threat to their unfettered reign of tyranny. As Charles Lindholm states: ‘The association between liberal constitutional polyarchy and market is clearly no historical accident. Polyarchies were established to win and protect certain liberties: private property, free enterprise, free contract, and occupational choice’ (1977: 164). Since the Eritrean government and the ruling party are aware of the relationship between the market and democratic rights, their incessant interventions in the market are not an end in themselves but rather the means by which they suppress private property, free

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences enterprise and free contract, in the absence of which liberal democracy is inconceivable. Lindholm further states: In our time the connection between the market and the particular liberties prized in the liberal tradition is still intimate. If you and I as ordinary citizens are to be free to choose our own occupations, we need a labour market, rather than an authoritative system of conscription. If we are to be free to travel, and do not want to ask a government official’s permission, we must be able to buy tickets on the market. If we are to be free to read, we must be able to buy books. The liberal notion of freedom was freedom from government’s many interventions, and for that kind of freedom markets are indeed indispensable. (ibid.)

In post-independence Eritrea, there is no labour market because the private sector is dead, the large majority of the labour force, between 18 and 50 years, is mobilised, there is no freedom of movement and residence, there is no freedom of press and expression, there are no private newspapers and books that are critical of the government are banned. The level of control in the country is so suffocating that even the sale of mobile phone simcards is highly regulated and therefore they are not available in the free market. No one can have more than one simcard and one should produce evidence to show that s/he has fulfilled all the necessary national obligations, such as national service and WYDC. Those in active service are not entitled to have mobile phones although many try different methods to evade the restriction. Visiting members of the Eritrean diaspora cannot purchase simcards or diesel unless they produce evidence to show that they have paid the two per cent income tax all Eritreans in the diaspora are required to pay. They can also receive no government service without paying the two per cent income tax. The fusion of the state and party as well as the concentration of all political and economic power in a small group’s hands has prevented the development of a market economy and consequently has stifled the private sector, the middle class and the growth of democratic institutions and organisations. The negative consequences of all these are not only experienced by the private sector but also by the country and its people as a whole. There is no example in history in which a political party has ever been a carrier of industrial development.94 Instead of tackling poverty, the measures taken by the government against the private sector have undermined the livelihoods and survival strategies of hundreds of thousands of families that have been trying to take themselves out of the poverty trap by engaging in diverse innovative and risky economic activities. The government should instead have created an enabling environment so that people could realise their potential. The illiberal nature of the economic policy pursued by the government, the determination of PFDJ to dominate the economy and their incompetence have effectively strangled the private sector and the middle class, as well as the different livelihood systems of civil servants, workers, peasants, pastoralists and the self-employed. There is nothing more punitive to the private sector and to the country’s overall economy than a concentration of political and economic powers in a single organisation where no redress against excesses and caprices of leaders exist. The PFDJ, which exercises hegemonic control over political and economic power, is not subject to any control or system of accountability. This gives the party and its leaders unfettered leverage to sustain a clientele far beyond the institutions of

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences government. Control over the country’s resources enables the PFDJ and consequently the president not only to reward clients and to destroy competitors and opponents, but also to exercise unconstrained political control. The effects of this misplaced approach on governance, liberty, and the national economy have been calamitous. The country is in the vicious grip of a small clique’s tyranny whose control over the state and the party is unfettered. The national economy is on the verge of total collapse and the two-thirds of the population who were dependent on food aid for their survival before the government phased it out in mid-2005 are now without an alternative source of livelihood. Tens of thousands of able-bodied Eritreans, some of them with indispensable skills, knowledge and experience, are either ‘voting with their feet’ to become refugees95 or are perishing in the Sahara desert and Mediterranean sea96 en route to exile (for problems faced by refugees from post-independence Eritrea see Kibreab 2005c). There is a complete paucity of democratic rights manifested not only in lack of freedom of speech, expression, association and movement, but also in lack of freedom to sell one’s labour power or engage in income-generating activities of one’s own choice. The large majority of men and women between 18 and 50 are also either carrying weapons or working for the government and the businesses of the ruling party without remuneration. It was because of the government’s punitive policies and practices that entrepreneurs in the country were brought to their knees. It is not an exaggeration to say that Eritrea, in its brief period of existence as an independent state, has become a graveyard of failed private businesses. The bane of the private sector was a boon for PFDJ businesses, and this was the consequence of a carefully sought-out strategy intended to ensure the complete monopoly of the national economy by PFDJ and the destruction of the private sector and consequently the national economy. The government, by stifling the process of transition to a democratic future, by destroying the diverse livelihood systems, private enterprise and consequently the fledgling middle class, has undermined the foundation on which the country’s socio-economic structure rests. By doing so, not only has it caused irreparable damage to the country, but also to its own medium and longterm interests unless the ruling clique considers presiding over the death of an ailing economy as a worthwhile end in itself. To the Eritrean head of state and his party, the need to control and to eliminate any form of freedom of choice seems to override everything else. As Hayek perceptively wrote: Our freedom of choice in a competitive society rests on the fact that, if one person refuses to satisfy our wishes we can turn to another. But if we face a monopolist we are at his mercy. An authority directing the whole economic system would be the most powerful monopolist conceivable. While we need probably not be afraid that such an authority would exploit this power in the manner in which a private monopolist would do so, while its purpose would presumably not be the extortion of maximum financial gain, it would have complete power to decide what we are to be given and on what terms. It would not only decide what commodities and services were to be available, and in what quantities, it would be able to direct their distribution between districts and groups and could, if it wished, discriminate between persons to any degree it liked. (Hayek [1944] 2001: 96)

This is precisely what has been happening in post-independence Eritrea, especially after the government’s clampdown on the private sector and the change-seeking members within government, the ruling party, the army and their supporters.

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Notes 1

2 3

4

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18

19

Towards the end of the 1990s, some objections were raised by some technical advisors that property development was both incompatible with the Housing and Commercial Bank’s constitution and too risky for citizens’ savings to undertake. It was felt by the advisors that it was ethically wrong to be a savings bank and to engage in risky commercial activities such as property development, because this could lead to loss of savers’ savings or, if the latter became aware they could withdraw their savings, leading to the collapse of the bank concerned. Thus from mid-1999 formal ownership of the few remaining leased apartments developed by the bank were transferred to the ministry of finance. However, by then with the exception of a few flats, the rest were already sold to the public, the majority of whom were Eritreans living abroad. In spite of the decision to transfer a few of the remaining flats to the ministry of finance, the Housing and Commerce Bank is still engaged in property development using forced labour. I was told recently that this business activity has been handed over to the ministry of defence. The equipment owned by this company includes machines that belonged to EPLF during the war and machines confiscated from the Evangelical and Catholic churches subsequent to the government’s decision to prohibit religious organisations from engaging in relief and development activities in 1995. For example, the data in Tables 6.1 and 6.2 are quite similar notwithstanding the fact that they were derived from different sources at different times. When the author compiled the data in Table 6.1, not only did he have no access to the data in Table 6.2, but he was also not aware such data existed. This was because any data that have anything to do with the business interests of the ruling party are guarded with great secrecy. It was only because of my personal connections with a few old friends who held key positions in different places, that I was able to gain access to otherwise inaccessible materials, such as the data in Table 6.2 and 6.3. The two business activities in Table 6.2 that are not included in Table 6.1 are recently started. This point was made repeatedly by interviewees who worked for the party’s office of economic affairs. Preamble, Constitution of Hidri Trust Fund, July 1996. Article 1 (a), ibid. See Constitution of Hidri Trust Fund, July 1996. Articke IV (d), in ibid. See Articles IV (e-f) in ibid. Article V (a) in ibid. Article V (b) in ibid. Article V (c) in ibid. Article VI in ibid. Article VII (1) (1 & 2) in ibid. This refers to former government, party and military officials who criticised the president for ruling the country unconstitutionally and as a result were detained in September 2001. They have remained in incommunicado detention since then. The group is referred to as G15 but only 11 were detained. Three of the others were abroad when their colleagues were detained and another recanted. Article VII (b & c) in ibid. Addendum No 1, 18 July 1996, Asmara. Mahmoud Sherifo, Petros Solomon and Fawzia Hashim were then Minister of Regional Government and Vice-President and Ministers of Foreign Affairs and Justice, respectively. See Articles VII (a–f) and IX in ibid.

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27

28 29 30

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Articles IX (f-i) and Art. X in ibid. Article XII (2) in ibid. Article XII (2) in ibid. Personal communication, Asmara 1998, 2000; 2001 and 2002 and elsewhere 2003, 2004 and 2005. Ibid. Neither of the two was available to answer my questions. From 1994 onwards, every Eritrean (male and female) aged between 18 and 40 has been required to take part in national service, i.e. six months military training and twelve months participation in public work. However, since the border war broke out in May 1998, all those who were demobilised were recalled. Neither the latter nor those who joined the service since 1998 have been demobilised. In May 2002, the president introduced what he called Warsai-Yikaalo Development Campaign (WYDC) requiring all participants in national service to remain in arms and to work for the government and businesses of the ruling party without remuneration. When EPLF won the war, it was surprised by the young men and women’s lack of ‘political awareness’ in the urban areas. The Front called them a ‘lost generation’. The author was told by several government officials that one of the main aims of national service is to promote national unity and foster patriotic feelings among the youth. Personal interview of a government official, Asmara, January 1993. This view was repeatedly reported by businessmen and women interviewed by the author in Asmara, Keren and Tessenei in 1997, 1998, 2001 and 2002. In the course of researching this book, I personally witnessed conscripts in the national service and the WYDC working in construction sites and farms belonging to military officers and/or their relatives. I also witnessed recruits collecting, carrying and loading firewood and charcoal onto trucks for the benefit of army officers and/or their relatives. This is in spite of the fact that tree felling and charcoal production are prohibited by law. When our team travelled between Hagaz and Glass in Senhit (now Anseba), we saw a huge collection of firewood belonging to army officers. During the Italian colonial period, Eritrea was divided into eight provinces. As part of its grand social engineering, the post-independence government reduced the number of provinces to six without consultation with the Eritrean people. Many citizens are opposed to the reorganisation of the administrative regions. Events monitor, Asmara, 12 May 2004. Available at http://awate.com/portal/ content/ view/3112/14 (accessed 14 January 2008). Ibid. This was confirmed by former participants of the national service and the WYDC interviewed in London, Rome, Milan and Stockholm in 2005 and 2006. Events monitor, Asmara, 12 May 2004. Available at http://awate.com/portal/ content/view/3112/14 (accessed 14 January 2008). Although Samson was a contractor, because of dense network with the generals, he was referred to as ‘civil general’. Although he was a civilian, he was as powerful as a police or army general. Lieutenant Kidane, The attempt on Semeon’s life: PFDJ’s ‘Pandora’s Box.’ Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/view/4647/24 (accessed 14 January 2008). Ibid. Ibid. Colonel Semeon Gebredingil shot. Awate.com’s Gedab News, 15 October 2007. Available at http://www.com/portal/content/view/4642/3 (accessed 14 January 2008) Ibid. It is an utmost irony that an individual who was in the centre of organised crime and who was killed in a kind of turf war among drug barons is considered a martyr. Lieutenant Kidane, The attempt on Semeon’s life: PFDJ’s ‘Pandoras Box’. 27 October

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences 44 45

46

47 48

49

50 51

52 53 54 55

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57 58 59 60 61

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2007. Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/view/4647/24 (accessed 14 January 2008) Colonel Semeon shot. Awate.com’s Gedab News, 15 Oct. 2007. Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/view/4642/3 (accessed 14 January 2007) The ownership of the firms created during the war of independence is subject to controversy because nearly every Eritrean I spoke to strongly felt that they should belong to the state rather than to the party. This is because it was not only members of EPLF who made contributions during the war of independence. High interest rate payment was cited as a major constraint by all managers of small firms and self-employed individuals interviewed by the author in Asmara. Interviews were conducted in a series of fieldwork carried out between 1993 and 2002. Personal interview with a former banker who was one of the initiators of the scheme, Asmara, July 2001. See Zete mis President Isaias (Dialogue with President Isaias), Hidri, June 1996a. See also minister of trade and industry’s interview in Hadas Eritra, 21 and 22 August 2002. See also his interview on Eritrean Television, 18 and 19 August 2004. Excerpts published in Hadas Eritra, 21 and 24 August 2004. Isaias Afwerki, Hadas Eritra, 11 May 2002; Isaias Afwerki, Hadas Eritra, 22 August 2002; Kale Meteyik Mis Dr Giorgis Teklemichael (Interview with the Minister of Trade and Industry, Eritrean Television). Excerpts of the interview were published in Hadas Eritra, 22 and 23 August 2002. The material here is obtained from the latter. See also Hadas Eritra, 22 August 2002. Personal interview with employees of the Commercial Bank of Eritrea and the Housing and Commerce Bank, Asmara, 2001. This is expected because all members of the board were government and PFDJ employees. The members of the board were Hagos Gebrehiwet, CEO of PFDJ Department of Economic Affairs; Gebru Tesmariam, Deputy CEO, PFDJ Department of Economic Affairs; Saleh Meki, Minister of Health; Alem Tsehaie, Manager of Massawa Port Authority; Berhe Tesfamariam, (Be’al Mezi) Head of Water Supply in the Central Region; Negash Afwerki, Co-ordinator, PFDJ Department of Economic Affairs; and Gebriel Fassil, Director-General, Minister of Finance (later Ambassador to India). Had there been board members, for example, from the private sector, they would have probably questioned the legality of such transactions. I am indebted to a key informant for this information. ‘N’Eritrawi Tsega Maékel Zigebere Wofri Warsai-Yikaalo,’ Interview with President Isaias Afwerki, Hadas Eritra, 11 May 2002. Ibid. In fact, Gedem employs far more than 300 people. The latter are the paid excombatants. There are thousands of forced labourers who work for Gedem who the president does not mention. These are the participants in the open-ended national service and Warsai-Yikaalo Development Campaign who work for PFDJ firms without any payment. Ibid. The central thrust of his message was that the activities in which the private sector is involved, i.e. small retail trade, such as shops, kiosk operation and street vending are not affected by PFDJ business interests. That is the role he assigns to the private sector. Ibid. Ibid. See Legal Notice 79/2003. Karl Marx quoted in Lindblom 1977: 164. The only nationals between 18 and 50 years that are available for employment are former EPLF combatants, the overwhelming majority of whom are in public sector employment. UNDP, Human Development Reports 2007/2008, Eritrea: Human Development Index – going beyond income. Available at http://www.undp.org/countries/country_

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences 63 64 65

66 67 68 69 70

71

72

73

74 75 76 77 78

79 80

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fact_sheets/cty_fs_ERI.html (accessed 23 Feb. 2008). See Dr Giorgis Teklemichael’s interview on Eritrean Television, 18 and 19 August 2004. Excerpts published in Hadas Eritra, 21 and 24 August 2004. Awaj kutsri 58/1994 (Proclamation 58/1994). Personal interviews with tax payers conducted by the author in 1997, 1998, 2000, 2001 and 2002 in Asmara, Keren, Barentu, Tessenei, Ali Gidir, Goluj, Telata Asher, and Girmaika. Personal communication, Asmara, January 1992. See Constitution of Hidri Trust Fund, July 1996. Personal communication with a key informant, Asmara, July 2002. Bokrotzion Mesgena was initially a ‘joint owner’ without investing any capital but withdrew after a while. The firm is now fully owned by the ruling party. Belonged initially to an Italian entrepreneur. The farm was nationalised by the Derg and became a state farm. After independence, there were a number of private bidders to take over the estate and they presented extensive plans of investment that would modernise the farm and benefit the surrounding communities. The EPLF without presenting any business proposal took it over by abusing its political power. The farm is now in a dilapidated state worse than it was under the Derg. The factories that processed dairy and horticultural produce have become derelict. It would not have been in such a derelict state had it been given to private investors. The Red Sea Trading Corporation bought the firm from the Ministry of Tourism without any competition for a token sum of 2.4 million Ethiopian Birr in 1993. The amount paid by the ruling party’s firm was set arbitrarily. Previously belonged to a parastatal agency – the Ethiopian Tour Organisation. The EPLF took it over after independence without payment of compensation. The firm no longer exists. The fleet of four-wheel-drive land cruisers were freely distributed to senior army generals. Most of these vehicles are now used for shopping by the wives of the generals and are driven around by members of the agelglot (participants of national service or WYDC). During a series of fieldwork, two young draftees from our neighbourhood in Asmara were driving around wives, children and relatives of commanders of their units. The Fenkel garages were established in the field during the war of independence. After independence, they were equipped with modern machinery and operated in Asmara, Massawa, Keren, Dekemhare and Tessenei. The firm was refunded for alleged over-payment. Taken over by the Ministry of Defence during the border war Taken over by the Ministry of Defence during the border war. Taken over by the Ministry of Defence during the border war. Gedem Construction is equipped with large modern machinery purchased from an Italian firm which previously operated in Sudan. The government of Sudan would never have allowed the transfer of the machinery to Eritrea had it not been for Eritrean employees of the firm who skilfully managed the transaction without the awareness of the Sudanese authorities. Provides transiting services for the Red Sea Trading Corporation and other PDFJ firms. Previously owned by an Italian, nationalised by the Derg and taken over by the ruling party after Eritrea’s independence without payment of compensation to the Eritrean government. Previously state-owned (Adulis) and was taken over by the ruling party without any payment of compensation to the government. After independence, the plant was modernised. The owner of the Africa and Red Sea Printing Press in the US owned 10 per cent of the firm. Being one of the signatories of what is known as the Berlin Manifesto which was the first scathing criticism ever expressed by the Eritrean government’s long-standing supporters, he is unable to return to the country and it is not clear

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PFDJ’s Dominance of the Economy & the Consequences 82 83 84

85

86 87

88

89 90

91

92 93

94

95

whether the ruling party has confiscated his shares in retaliation. Personal communication from a key informant in the Inland Revenue, Asmara, August 2002. Name withheld. The amount paid by two of the 23 firms is unknown. After his repeated pleas were ignored, he told the CEO, Hagos Gebrehiwet, to take one of the following three decisions: (1) to pay taxes in accordance with the country’s laws; (2) to instruct him in writing that the laws of the country do not apply to them and therefore they are exempt from payment of taxes; or (3) sack him. Soon after, he was sacked. Estifanos Seyoum has been in incommunicado detention since September 2001. He is one of the G15. His friend and colleague, Alazar Mesfun, a graduate in economics and a veteran of the thirty years’ war, was detained sometime later and has been in incommunicado detention since then. For more details on this see Chapter 5. See Kale Meteyik mis Dr Giorgis (Interview with Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, minister of trade and industry), Hadas Eritra, 23 August 2003. See also interview with the president, Isaias Afwerki, Dimtsi Hafash. Transcribed in Tigrinya. Shaebia and ERENA News (accessed 28 April 2003). See interviews with the minister of trade and industry, Dr Giorgis Teklemichael, Hadas Eritra, 22 August and 23 August 2002; 21 August and 24 August 2003; World Bank 2002; IMF 2003. The so-called lack of recourse in case of consumers’ complaint is irrelevant because there is no such thing in the country. For example, not only do the managers of the two biggest PFDJ firms – Gedem and Segen – lack training in management, but their educational level is also very low. They have not even been to secondary school. Some managers of PFDJ firms are graduates but not in management science. Even though there were many highly qualified former professional ex-combatants, the data elicited from several interviewees who worked for the ruling party and the government demonstrate that nearly all the managers of PFDJ firms lack proper training in business management. This view was repeatedly pointed out by several government and party officials interviewed by the author at different times and places between 1996 and 2002. The interview was conducted in August 2002 in Asmara when the head of state and the minister of trade and industry were fiercely attacking the private sector for being the cause of the high rate of inflation, unemployment and economic crisis. See Isaias Afwerki, Hadas Eritra, 11 May 2002; Isaias Afwerki, Hadas Eritra, 22 August 2002; Kale Meteyik Mis Dr Giorgis Teklemichael (Interview with the minister of trade and industry, Eritrean Television). Excerpts of the interview were published in Hadas Eritra, 22 and 23 August 2002. The material here is obtained from the latter. See also Hadas Eritra, 22 August 2002. There are undoubtedly examples in which the state played a key role in industrial development, e.g. Cuba, the Soviet Union and the countries in Eastern Europe. The Eritrean case is unique because the national economy is dominated by the party and not by the state. As the president said, the firms of the party do not work for the government and the people for free. See Zete mis President Isaias (Dialogue with President Isaias), Hidri, June 1996. A 2005 report states, ‘Oppression by Afwerki has been very brutal, as evidenced by the number of refugees fleeing the country; about ten thousand Eritreans have sought asylum and live in camps in Ethiopia.’ www.dictatorofthemonth.com (accessed November 14, 2005). The border war that caused the death of ‘19,000 Eritrean soldiers and 123,000 Ethiopian soldiers’ (Ibid.) is not yet resolved. How bad must the situation be for over 10,000 Eritreans to flee to a country that is still threatening to fight another bloody war against their country?

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According to a German television channel, ARD, a vessel carrying 120 Eritreans en route to Italy from Libya capsized and all the passengers died. See Asfaha Tesfamichael, (Isaias Afwerki prepares for war and we gamble with our people’s misery) available at asmarino.com (20 October 2005) (accessed 14 November 2005).

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Seven Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions

We must welcome differences of opinion. They will always be there. One of the most effective weapons in dealing with different opinions is tolerance – the ability to take criticism and not personalise it, even if a prominent individual is specifically identified and becomes a target for criticism. Tolerance is one of the best ways to solve major national issues. (Nelson Mandela 2001 in Melber 2006) The track records of liberation movements are at times dubious and far from setting positive examples. Victims turned liberators often turned into perpetrators. Supported by international solidarity movements basing their actions upon moral and ethical imperatives, they were fighting against systems of institutionalised violation of basic human rights. At the same time they were not always sensitive to human rights issues and the cultivation of democratic virtues within their own ranks. The fact that they were fighting against unjust systems of oppression, rooted in the totalitarian colonial rule of a minority, did not protect them from falling prey to authoritarian patterns of rule and undemocratic (if not violent) practices, which were applied by themselves against dissenting forces. (Henning Melber 2003: 149)

The central aims of this chapter are, first, to raise some of the potential dangers the right of association may pose to a multi-ethnic and multi-confessional polity in which some of the exiled political organisations may, under the pretext of civil rights, abuse the right of association in pursuit of personal or particular interests to the detriment of the common good. Second, the chapter argues that because shared democratic values, tolerance, respect for the rights of the ‘other’, commitment to public causes, mutual trust and norms of cooperation are created and reproduced as a result of active participation in civil society associations, as well as networking across the social cleavages of ethnicity, religion, region, class, race, sex and ideology, the best weapon against the alleged potential dangers of freedom of association is a vibrant associational life. The aim of identity-based organisations is likely to be the advancement of the interests of particular constituencies. Sometimes this will be detrimental to the common interest of a country’s citizens. Is there a guarantee against the proliferation of such exclusionist political and civil society associations in the context of a

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions democratic political system that guarantees freedom of association and civic rights? After all, not only is Eritrea a multi-faith and multi-ethnic society, but it is also predominantly inhabited by very poor people who live close to the subsistence margin. Although the relationship between poverty and amenability to being manipulated by ethnic and religious entrepreneurs may not be a straightforward one, the existence of such a relationship, no matter how tenuous, cannot be denied, at least in theory. Alexis de Tocqueville, the most eminent theorist and advocate of civil and political society associations, was the first who saw the right of association as constituting the single most important pillar of democratic governance and economic growth (de Tocqueville 1969). Nonetheless, in spite of his strong passion for and fascination with America’s vibrant associational life, he saw political associations – which in his view are inextricably intertwined with civil society associations – as representing potential dangers to any regime, including a democratic one. He stated: One must understand that unlimited political freedom of association is of all forms of liberty the last which a people can sustain. If it does not topple them over into anarchy, it brings them continually to the brink thereof. For these reasons I certainly do not think that a nation is always in a position to allow its citizens an absolute right of political association, and I even doubt whether there has ever been at any time a nation in which it was wise not to put any limits to the freedom of association. (de Tocqueville 1969)

If this is true, can countries such as Eritrea afford to take the risk? As will be discussed in the following part of this chapter, there are a number of issues that arise in connection with de Tocqueville’s observation.

Freedom of association, the principle of civic duty and the rule of law In any democratic society, civic rights are exercised subject to the principle of duty. The ultimate duty of citizens is to the civic order. The civic order refers to: the community or communities of a determinate area ordered under a common rule as a polity, or a united body politic, whether that of a nation or a lesser entity such as that of a city; self-governing in whole (as in a nation) or in part (as in a city); and subject, above all, to the principle of duty (Selbourne 1994: 17). David Selbourne points out, ‘Such civic order, whether that of a nation or a city, is made up of an aggregate of citizens composed, within such determinate area, into an association which embraces and is superior to all other associations within its bounds, and in the form of the nation is sovereign, a sovereignty which resides in the entire citizen-body’ (ibid.) (emphasis added). Thus, the notion of ‘absolute freedom of association’ that de Tocqueville discusses does not exist in reality. The idea that ‘unlimited freedom of association’ could be exercised in a manner that could directly or indirectly weaken or contradict the interest of the civic order which is an embodiment of the sum-total of citizens’ interests and consequently is superior to all other forms of interests and associations is untenable. All these rights are limited by the principle of duty which is itself also not absolute (Selbourne 1994: 20). In a properly functioning civic order, no group or individual is free to do what he or she wants because they are

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions constrained from such licence by the principle of duty (ibid.). The conflicts and tensions that might arise between individual and collective rights in connection with the exercise of civic and other rights and the solutions to such situations are eloquently expressed by the esteemed Eritrean Catholic bishop Abba Zeccharias and his colleague, Fratello Luca Milesi. They said the following, in connection with the establishment of the Eritrean Provisional Government in 1991: Care for the human person and for his rights finds its natural and ideal context in care for the common good. These principles are not mutually exclusive since the common good ‘is the sum of those conditions of social life which allow social groups and their individual members relatively thorough and ready access to their own fulfilment’. The field of relationships between private and public interest can produce tension and conflict, which can, if pushed to the extreme, result in a sick and finally disintegrating society. The regulating principle of social life cannot therefore be exercised through fights between individuals, groups, or classes but through constant efforts at co-ordination and through social co-operation. This is the principle of solidarity. (Abba Zeccharias and Fratello Luca Milesi 1991: 33) (emphasis added)

Therefore, in any democracy, civic rights like any other civil, political, social, economic, cultural and human rights are exercised subject to the limitation of the principle of duty. But who sets the formal constraints and who defines what constitutes duty? The principle of duty is enforceable through the sanction of law and therefore it is in the interest of every citizen that the status of law as such be not compromised, whether by those who discredit or betray it ‘from within’, for example, lawmakers, judges, advocates, policemen, prison officers, and others, or by those who, for whatever motives, would have it discredited or overthrown. This is without prejudice to the right of the citizen in a democratic civic order to object openly to, and to seek to change, laws regarded by such citizen as objectionable (Selbourne 1994: 134). However, it is important to realise that the ‘principle of duty’ is premised on the critical assumption of democratic governance based not only on the principle of consent in which citizens have the right to vote into or out of office their rulers in periodic competitive, fair and open elections, but also in which the institutions of polyarchy, as spelled out by Robert Dahl, are in place (Dahl 1989: Table 15.1: 222). That is why the sovereignty of the civic order is said to reside ‘on the entire citizen-body’. In such a political system, not only do citizens have the right and the means to make, amend, repeal, and change the laws through their representatives that are elected periodically, but are also able to bring pressure to bear on government officials and legislators through their autonomous civil and political society associations. Since the members of the legislature are subject to electoral accountability, they are, at least in theory, presumed to promote and protect the interests of their constituencies. A democratic system of government has, therefore, inherent remedies against those members of the legislature that legislate against the interests of the citizens they represent or against members of the executive that act against the interests of the electorate. Both face the risk of losing their seat because citizens would not vote for them in the next round of elections. The members of the legislature may also be discouraged from passing laws that are against the interests of citizens because

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions they are likely to be equally affected by such laws as members of the citizenry are (Madison 2003a). For the Islamic fundamentalist member organisations of the EDA, God rather than the people is sovereign. God rather than the representatives of the people – parliament – is the legitimate legislator. For example, Abul Ala Mawdoodi, the founder of the Jamat-i-Islami in Pakistan, and considered one of the most influential Islamist scholars argues, ‘God is … the only legitimate authority and the only source of the law. He is the legislator’ (quoted in Meddeb, 2002: 104; see also Allen 2006; Haddad 1983; Jansen 1986; Juergensmeyer 2000; Martin 1987; Stern 2003). Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeni put it more succinctly: ‘Islam is politics or it is nothing’ (quoted in Lewis, 2003: 7). The representatives of the Eritrean Islamic Party for Justice and Development (Alkhalas) (EIPJD) were asked by the author in a public meeting held in London (April 2006), whether God or the people through parliament are the legitimate legislator. They said, ‘The ultimate legislator is God’ (Mustafa and Karrani 2006). The central question that arises is that, in the context of a political system that guarantees freedom of association, how does one make sure that the various political and civil associations do not turn into warring parties in pursuit of ends that may threaten democracy, liberty and the civic order itself? This danger may be inevitable in a political system that guarantees freedom of association in which some political parties and civil associations regard the people and their elected representatives as being sovereign and therefore having the power to make and unmake laws, whilst others regard such sovereignty as being haram (forbidden by God) because in their view, only God is sovereign and therefore He is the only lawmaker. What this means is that all laws passed by parliament have to be based on the Qur’an. This suggests that the limitations of civic duty on citizens’ freedom of association and other rights make sense only in the context of democracy, not fundamentalism or autocracy. The right of association, if exercised subject to the constraint of the principle of duty in which citizens’ rights counterbalance the latter as defined and sanctioned by a constitution enforced by a democratically elected government, may pose no danger to such a civic order provided the said associations recognise the supremacy of a secular and constitutional government. Civil and political society associations that operate under the realm of the country’s supreme law may therefore constitute no threat to a democratic regime,1 but may surely threaten the hegemonic control of political and economic power of despotic regimes. That is why tyrannical regimes such as the one in Eritrea loathe the whole notion of autonomous civil and political society associations and democracy. Although the above exposé may generally be true, it is still necessary to unpack the assumptions underpinning such assertions. The foregoing argument is underpinned by three important assumptions. First, multi-party democracy in which different political parties, espousing different visions, interests, ideologies, economic and social policies, compete periodically in open and fair elections. The legislature holds government officials accountable, the media rigorously scrutinise the actions of government officials, an independent judiciary ensures that the government acts according to the law, and civil society associations that intend to counteract the power of the state are themselves subordinate to the law of the country concerned. Not only are these necessary conditions against abuse of power and of citizens’ rights, but also make the institutions of government accountable and efficient.

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions The notion of freedom of association is underpinned by the assumption that civil and political society organisations exercise their civic rights in a manner that is responsible and that recognises the interests of others and subject to the common good. The final and equally important assumption is that the citizens concerned are endowed with civic virtues or civic consciousness. The implication of this is that such citizens will use freedom of association in pursuit of the common good rather than in pursuit of sectarian ethnic, religious, tribal or regional interests to the detriment of the good of the rest of the citizens. However, in the absence of safeguards, the risk of ethnic and religious entrepreneurs who may exploit the right of association in pursuit of self or particular group interest at the expense of the public good is high. The proliferation of Types B and C at the expense of Types A and D associations in the postindependence period is a case in point (see Table 2.4). The question of endowment of civic virtues is critical in this connection. This is because life in a society endowed with civic virtues or civic consciousness is marked by a high degree of participation in public affairs in which self-interest is pursued subject to public interest. In communities that are civically conscious, ‘Citizens do not and cannot ride for free, because they understand that their freedom is a consequence of their participation in the making and acting out of common decisions.’ (Barber quoted in Selbourne 1994: 134) The meaning of the term civic consciousness is similar to the meaning of civic virtue. According to David Selbourne, the term refers to the awareness and understanding of this ethic or civic bond on the part of individual members of the civic order, and in particular to the recognition by the citizen of his coresponsibility for the well-being of the civic order to which he belongs (ibid.: 17). Lack of civic virtue is exemplified in ‘amoral familialism’ reflected in the ethos that maximises the material, short-run advantage of the nuclear family’ and assumes that all others will do likewise (Banfield quoted in Putnam 1993: 88). A clan, tribe or ethnic group may replace the nuclear family in which the consequence is a society ridden with free riders or defectors who leave no stone unturned to maximise self or group interest at the expense of the common interest (on the theory underpinning these issues see Kibreab 2002b: chapters 7 and 8). Such communities are corruption-ridden and devoid of civic consciousness. The consequence of this is likely to be depletion of the common good to the detriment of society as a whole. Although there is no doubt that some of the principal arguments presented in the preceding sections have some degree of universal resonance or application, it is important to recognise that they are based on the particular experiences and history of mature democracies where the civic order is strongly embedded and where the individual citizen is, in theory, assumed to be aware not only of her rights but also of her civic duties. As Selbourne argues, with traits of citizens in late capitalism where individualism and, therefore, dutilessness may be widespread, a politics of rights reduced to politics of individual interest which is common in what he calls ‘corrupted liberal orders’ enables us to understand that ‘while duties without rights make men slaves, rights without duties make men strangers to one another’ (1994: 33). Civic duty is, inter alia, what produces bonding and bridging social capital that connects citizens within and across social, political, cultural and class cleavages. Without that bond, citizens feel no sense of duty to fellow citizens or probably to the civic order.

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What of the Eritrean opposition groups? If we assume hypothetically that the level of particularism that is currently on display amongst some of the transnational groups, including some of the political organisations in exile, is a reflection of the state of civicness existing in the country,2 there are a number of questions that need to be asked. For example, in a political system that guarantees unlimited freedom of association: first, what stops certain self-interested ethnic entrepreneurs and religious bigots from rallying members of their ethnic and religious communities in pursuit of group or personal gain to the detriment of the common good in the name of freedom of association? Second, in a situation where there are unlimited civic and political rights: what prevents the myriad of civil and political society associations that emerge seizing the opportunities of civic rights from degenerating into warring factions threatening the unity and political stability of the country? The other sides of the problem are: first, does the concern over the fact that some ethnic entrepreneurs and religious bigots might abuse the right of association justify encroachment on citizens’ civic rights, including the right of association? Second, does the fact that citizens are deprived of their civic rights and freedom of association mean that they will be less bigoted and more inclined to live in peace and harmony with their neighbours and compatriots? The negative consequences of the darker side of social capital are not only manifested in the actions and behaviour of the ruling party, the PFDJ, and the government. In the post-independence period, a myriad of small civil and political organisations based on exclusive identities of religion and ethnicity have been mushrooming in exile (see Tables 7.1–7.4, pp. 318–21). Whilst externally, some of these organisations are suspicious of ‘outsiders’ and are established to promote and protect particular interests by reinforcing exclusive identities, rather than by bridging ethnic, religious and regional divisions, internally their members are bound by strong ties of bonding social capital. As a result, they are exclusionist and inwardlooking. It is in this sense that, Beshir Ishaq, the secretary-general of the Eritrean Federal Democratic Movement (EFDM), underscored the potential dangers represented by some members of the opposition. When asked to express his personal impression on the future of the Eritrean opposition groups, he stated, I don’t like the militaristic, fragile, tactical, exclusionist and short-lived secretive coalitions that will fall apart and start fighting against each other at the gates of Asmara. I would have preferred open and transparent coalitions within the ENA based on strategic principles, for instance, what Eritrea we want to install and ‘how Eritrea should be ruled’ instead of what is emerging now that is built on ‘will rule Eritrea and what region or ethnic group would prevail over the others’. I am also worried about the negative role a gossip-catering agent has been playing around the ENA for the last fifteen or so months. (Ishaq 2004)

Although what the leader of the EFDM, Beshir, said in this interview was undoubtedly edifying, it is important to state that, at the time, his organisation was not part of the Eritrean National Alliance (ENA). Not only has he never expressed such worries and progressive views since his organisation joined the Eritrean

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions Democratic Alliance (EDA), but he has abandoned a critical stance. In a public meeting, the author heard him, inter alia, presenting views that may easily be regarded as sectarian and contradictory to these progressive and insightful comments cited above. In the said meeting, he expressed views that targeted a particular regional group within Eritrean society. The central plank of the EFDM’s programme is the balkanisation of Eritrean society and land along ethnic and religious lines. The EFDM’s website is littered with literature which presents the Tigrinya settlers in the Gash Setit as trespassers. The irony of the matter, however, is that the EFDM leader’s family are settlers from Halhal and most probably immigrated to Gash Setit much later than the pioneers from the highlands of the country. Nothing can be more stifling for a leader of a political organisation that aspires to provide an alternative to dictatorship than being stuck in the obsolete and irrelevant past. One of the divisive issues the leader of EFDM recurrently refers to is the counter-insurgency commando (commandis [sic]) forces recruited by Ethiopia from the ranks of the Christian Eritrean peasantry in the 1960s. Judging from his comments, he thinks that the Tigrinya-speaking Christians should feel guilty and apologise to the Muslims of the western lowlands of Eritrea for the violations committed by the commando forces in the 1960s who were in the service of the Ethiopian government just because the majority were Christian highlanders. Although Beshir’s family are Blin settlers from Senhit (Halhal) in the Gash Setit area, ironically it is the Christian highlanders whose settlement in the Gash Setit area goes back to 1912 that he sees as being trespassers and therefore the need for federalism or Mjimbo, to use a Kenyan terminology which has, as seen recently, become a cause of bloodshed.3 The principles on which Beshir Isaq’s organisation, the EFDM, is built, are identical with the principles of Mjimbo. One can only hope that Beshir and his comrades in the inward-looking organisation are able to draw critical lessons from the Kenyan tragedy and change their political programme into one which promotes unity, equality, cooperation and mutual respect among all Eritreans, regardless of their religion, region and ethnicity. The problems the country is facing currently require democratic, fresh, innovative and new solutions. Only political organisations that reject the politics of sectarianism, ethno-chauvinism, fundamentalism and that conceptualise the problems facing the country afresh are able to win the hearts and minds of those who are suffering injustice and unfreedom. The EFDM’s website – gabeel.com – is littered with postings that can very easily be construed as being bigoted, divisive and sectarian. In the presence of some of the sectarian organisations and in the absence of adequate safeguards, there is no guarantee that such organisations would not use the right of association to undermine the common good. That is why it is important to devise mechanisms and safeguards by which to minimise the negative manifestations of the darker side of bonding social capital that may take the form of sectarianism, fundamentalism, and ethnic exclusiveness. Social capital, which is the cause and effect of civic virtues, can be used for destructive and constructive purposes. It is because of this that it is necessary to distinguish between different forms of social capital. Robert Putnam, for example, states, ‘It is important to ask how the positive consequences of social capital – mutual support, co-operation, trust, institutional effectiveness – can be maximised and the negative manifestations – sectarianism, ethnocentrism, corruption – minimised’ (Putman 1995: 22). It is in

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions pursuit of this goal that analysts distinguish between bonding and bridging social capital (see Kibreab 2008a: Chapter 2). This should not be construed as implying that bonding social capital is always counter-productive, because there are times in which it can be used to help disadvantaged members of specific ethnic or religious groups to mobilise solidarity among people with a common territorial, ethnic or religious identity. However, when do externalities produced by bonding social capital cease to be positive and become a liability? Sometimes the line dividing the brighter and darker sides of social capital is thin. In order to demonstrate the double-edged nature of social organisations created on the basis of bonding social capital and whether such associations can ‘simultaneously bond along some social dimensions and bridge across others’ (ibid.), the multitudes of uqub organisations that have been spreading like wildfire in the post-independence period among the transnational Eritrean communities are briefly discussed below.

Uqub: freedom of association, bonding and bridging social capital Uqub associations are flourishing amongst Eritrean exile groups in Western Europe. Individuals who organise on the basis of paternal place of origin form many of these associations. In Eritrea uqub is an informal saving institution which is essentially a rotating credit association developed mainly in response to the underdeveloped nature of the formal credit market. Uqub fraternities in exile are not exactly rotating credit associations because the primary purpose of the associations is not fundraising. However, their members make regular contributions to a fund given monthly to each contributor in rotation. The author attended one uqub meeting in South London in which over twenty people aged about forty – men and women mostly families – met to socialise. Each person made two contributions – namely, £10 and £100, separately. The £10 is kept in a common fund for a ‘rainy day’ to support either less fortunate members of the community or to cover part of the costs of repatriation of corpses to Eritrea when a member or a member’s relative passes away in the UK. Those members unable to attend sent their contributions through neighbours. On that particular day, over £3,000 was collected and handed over to one of the families. The order of rotation is determined in the beginning by drawing a lottery. Once the list of rotation is established, it is followed strictly. However, two members can agree between themselves to swap places if they wish, but that has no impact on the sequence of the already drawn list. It is not only the cash that is rotated, but the venues for the meetings also take place in rotation. Every member, regardless of economic status, hosts the meeting when it is her/his turn. Membership comprises women and men, and even children are allowed to join their families in the monthly meetings. They are, however, excluded from the discussions and decisions of the groups. The host prepares food and drink in abundance. The rituals are occasions for discussions of issues of common interest, celebration and partying. The host meets all the costs for food and drinks. Since this takes place every month and members are often in

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions touch by different means in between the sessions, in the process, dense networks underpinned by bonding social capital are developed and reproduced between people who once originated from the same or neighbouring places of origin and their wives. The individuals may often not be related by blood, but their fathers or forefathers originated from the same village or neighbouring villages in a given district. In many of these associations, common origin on the paternal side is a requirement for membership. In Eritrea, uqub associations are often formed by people who live in the same or adjacent neighbourhoods in the cities, regardless of their social class and place of origin prior to their immigration to cities. Those associations are often multiregional, multi-ethnic and multi-confessional. Thus, in Eritrea uqub associations are vital instruments in bridging class, social, ethnic and religious cleavages. Ironically, this is not always the case in exile. For example, in London, members of a given uqub association travel long distances, once a month at the weekend, usually on a Sunday, to get together with people from their ancestral villages or districts. However, some flourishing uqub associations are created on the basis of neither preflight nor present neighbourhoods, as was customary in Eritrea. Another alternative would have been to form uqub associations on the basis of the neighbourhoods in the urban centres of Eritrea where these individuals lived prior to their displacement. If this were the case, there would have been uqub associations in the different London boroughs based on the neighbourhoods in Eritrea where the individuals were born and/or grew up. The reason why this would have been understandable is because these individuals share common histories and memories and the uqub associations would have been one way of cementing, preserving and celebrating these shared memories. The important question that arises is: what do these uqub associations established on the basis of origin of ancestral paternal homes, rather than on the basis of shared values, knowledge, experiences and memories, say about the state of social capital amongst the transnational Eritrean communities? Such associations based on local exclusive territorial or kinship identities would have been unthinkable during the war of independence, at which time associations based on spatial local identities, ethnicity and religion were seen as being divisive and counter-productive. However, things have changed in the post-independence period. Nevertheless, it is not clear whether these changes are reflections of erosion of the bridging social capital that interconnected people across local, regional, religious and ethnic boundaries or whether they are manifestations of increased confidence resulting from the absence of external threats. It is true that the war of independence had, through its positive effect on the production of bridging social capital, weakened previous social networks that were based on exclusive territorial, kinship or clan identities. It has not been possible to countercheck the information, but there are said to be over 80 Eritrean community associations in London. This figure does not include the hundreds of uqub associations in the city. Some of these are exclusionist ethnic associations that are not open to ‘other’ Eritreans. There are also a few associations based on common experience and common memory. For example, Eritreans who, prior to their arrival to the UK, lived in Kuwait, have created an exemplary multi-faith and multi-ethnic fraternal association. This progressive model is worth emulation. The question to ask is: first, what does the resurgence of associations in the

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions diaspora, based on exclusive local and kinship identities, say about the social changes effected by the revolution as well as partly about the state of social capital among the Eritrean diaspora? Does the mushrooming of such identity-based associations imply that citizens residing in Eritrea are likely to do the same if given a chance? There are no studies to show the impact of such local identity-based and exclusive associations on bridging social capital and hence national unity. It is tempting to condemn these associations as being parochial, sectarian and therefore divisive in the sense that they create internal bonds and loyalties by binding people together who have little or nothing in common except kinship, religion or a vaguely defined ancestral common place of origin. Notwithstanding the fact that these associations are based on exclusive kinship or territorial (local) identities, it is important to guard against reading too much into them. There would have been no cause for concern had the flourishing uqub associations been based on shared common interests, values, and childhood and adolescent experiences. The picture and the implication for social capital of such associations would, however, completely change if these associations mobilised individuals who do not share such backgrounds, experiences and memories on the grounds that their fathers or forefathers had once originated from the same place. This is by no means uncommon in the uqub associations that I have observed. A question was raised earlier concerning the effect of these uqub associations established on the basis of ancestral paternal homes, rather than on the basis of shared values, norms, knowledge, experience and memory, on the state of social capital amongst the Eritrean diasporic communities. A number of theoretical, methodological and practical issues arise in connection to this question. First, bonding social capital is not necessarily always divisive. Whether bonding social capital connects or divides communities along exclusive identities cannot always be determined a priori. This is an empirical question. It is possible for groups to bond along some social dimensions and bridge across others (Putnam 1995: 24). As long as the externalities created by bonding social capital do not prevent bridging social capital from connecting groups across social cleavages, bonding social capital may have some useful social effects. However, it can create distinctions between insiders and outsiders – Us and Them – and therefore it may reinforce rather than weaken social cleavages by bounding groups on the basis of exclusive identities. Therefore, before we can read much into the uqub and other associations based on exclusive markings, we need to learn more about their social effects. So far such knowledge has not been produced. In view of this, it is difficult to assess the extent to which uqub associations reflect a greater degree of civic consciousness or divisiveness. However, their social composition notwithstanding, under favourable circumstances, they can provide an opportunity for development and consolidation of social networks that cut across social divisions of ethnicity, religion and region. One of the potential positive social effects of some of these forms of association is that they are based on territorial identity and therefore to some extent encompass a diverse set of peoples belonging to different kinship groups, ethnicities, religions and classes. However, this does not suggest that other uqub associations are not exclusionist, based on homogenous ethnic and religious identities. Second, it is important to point out that there are some Eritreans who consider these associations parochial, based on bonding social capital that undermines

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions bridging social capital and rejects them as a result. The preliminary findings suggest that some individuals who were born or/and who grew up in cities, particularly Asmara, do not find these associations appealing. This is not only because their attachments to their paternal homes of origin are either weak or nonexistent, but also that they see the whole idea of joining an exclusionist association that does not pursue an open-door recruitment policy as being incompatible with their worldview and values. Owing to the underdeveloped nature of the infrastructure of the rural areas in Eritrea, it is not common for families living in cities to take their children to their villages of origin on a regular basis. In Eritrea, unlike in some African countries, it is uncommon for families to maintain two homes, one in a city and another in one’s village of origin. That may be one of the reasons Eritrean communities, especially those on the Plateau, are less ‘tribal’ than most other societies in the continent. One possible reason why many families do not maintain houses in their villages of origin is probably because their links with rural areas are not as powerful as they are in the rest of the continent, save the central highlands of Ethiopia. Thus, the second generation’s links with their ancestral homes in the rural areas is in most cases weak. Because of this, many of the second-generation urbanites are not attracted to the uqub associations based on ancestral paternal rural homelands. The most important question that arises in connection to the thriving of the uqub and other exclusive associations in exile is whether or not, in the context of unlimited freedom of association, associational life in Eritrea would follow the same path. In other words, in the context of democratic change accompanied by freedom of association, is it likely that people in Eritrea would form inward-looking associations that reinforce exclusive identities instead of forming crosscutting networks that are outward-looking encompassing people across diverse local, regional, ethnic, religious and class cleavages? If associational life follows the same path, as has been the case among some of the transnational Eritrean communities, bonding rather than bridging social capital may thrive. What consequences would the proliferation of multitudes of inward-looking exclusive associations, that foster and reinforce homogenous identities based on tribe, clan, village, district, region, ethnicity and religion, have on national Eritrean identity, unity and political stability? Is this likely to unleash the doomsday scenario the Eritrean head of state fears might unfold if his government loosens its tight grip in order to introduce multi-party democratic elections?4 If we assume for analytical purposes that associational pluralism in the context of unlimited civic rights is likely to follow the same path as in the diaspora and the opposition, is there any reason why Eritrean democrats should fight for changes that may detrimentally affect the bridging social capital that was developed and consolidated before and during the war of independence? Some may argue: ‘if the bridging social capital produced during the independence war is robust enough, it should be able to resist, withstand or cope with the onslaught that may be unleashed temporarily by the new associations that may emerge based on exclusive identities.’ Hence, they may opt for an open and liberal policy on civil and political society associations. Others may disagree noting, ‘it is better to build on the achievements of the past rather than to subject the existing stock of social capital to unnecessary pressures and risks.’ They may therefore opt for a restrictive option along the lines

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions of the Eritrean government. On the surface, this may appear to be no good for national integration, inter-group relations, economic growth, development and democracy. Nevertheless, although some analysts have pointed out the potential dangers of the exercise of freedom of association, they have failed to suggest what the solution to the dilemma is (Bayart 1986; Foley and Edwards 1996; Jua 2001; Olson 1982). The divisiveness of bonding social capital arises, as we saw earlier, from the danger of its tendency to create, on the one hand, strong in-group loyalty and, on the other, strong out-group antagonism (Fukuyama 2001; Gellner 1994; Putnam 1993, 2000). Therefore, in the context of freedom of association, the danger of degeneration of some of these political and civil associations into warring factions is likely. This is because, under the pretext of civic rights, self-interested parochial and exclusionist associations that are devoid of civic virtues may seize the opportunity in order to pursue self-interest or sectarian interests at the expense of the civic order. However, there are two necessary and critical conditions on which the principle of duty and freedom of association are premised. Both the principle of duty and the right of association presuppose that the state as an instrument of the civic order and the citizen as a member of that civic order fulfil certain civic obligations or responsibilities which are a sine qua non not only for the well-being of both, but also for the viability of the civic order itself. In the following a brief discussion is presented to show (1) the proliferation of a myriad of political organisations in exile, including religious extremist and ethnonationalist groups; (2) the extent to which the proliferation of the opposition groups in exile can be attributed to the post-independence government’s hostility to political and civil society associations and its exclusionist policy; and (3) the extent to which the political organisations in exile represent a viable alternative to dictatorship.

Questioning the opposition To what extent are some of those civil and political associations in the opposition that clamour for freedom, democracy, human rights, liberty, and pluralism imbued with attributes of civic virtues and democratic values? To what extent are they committed to the principles enshrined in the international and regional instruments of human rights, freedom of religion and association, liberty and respect for the rights of others, including their present enemies? If they lack these traits, their critics may point out that they are rivals or enemies of democratic and responsible civil and political society associations rather than being their agents. While there is no question about the legitimacy of their opposition to the dictatorship in Asmara, given a chance, there may be no cast-iron guarantee that the lofty ideals of justice, democracy, freedom, individual liberty, human rights, secularism, collective participation in decision-making and pluralism would be safe in their hands. If they were endowed with large hearts and minds, as well as imbued with democratic values and civic virtues, and consequently act as advocates of change, democracy, human rights, freedom, individual liberty and tolerance, their detractors may ask, why would they be in the state they are in? A democratic alliance that purports to represent a viable, democratic and credible alternative to what is already there, does not systematically encourage, embrace and make

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions concessions to extremist religious and ethno-centrist organisations which may potentially undermine democracy, freedom of religion and conscience, as well as the civic order. A democratic and credible alternative does not also break down under the pressure of alleged sectarianism that most Eritreans thought was relegated to the dustbin of history as reflected first in the break-up of the ELF-RC along what appeared to be religious and ethnic lines at the October 2002 congress of the Eritrean National Alliance (ENA) (on this see Ammar 2003a,b,c,d; Ahmad 2003a,b,c) and second in the split of the EDA into two blocks along what appears to be regional division. Although there is no reason to celebrate the extremist Islamic organisations, the ethno-nationalists and the federalists, none of what is said here suggests that such organisations should be denied the right to exist in the country provided they operate within the future legal framework. When the war of independence was brought to a successful end on 24 May 1991, every Eritrean hoped that day5 would usher in a new era of unity, mutual respect, democracy, peace, stability, prosperity and justice. It did not, and one of the consequences of the Eritrean government’s exclusionist policies has been that the political organisations that were part of the independence struggle have been outlawed and have remained in exile. This in combination with lack of freedom of association and other democratic rights has led to the proliferation of small political and civil associations in the diaspora, including in Sudan. Whilst the majority of these are secular and inclusive, some are ethno-centric or religiously exclusive and the potentially negative impact of these on social capital and national unity cannot be overlooked. This is especially true, given the fact that political organisations that aspire to capture state power, such as the Eritrean National Alliance (ENA) and later the EDA, have embraced sectarian organisations based on the mistaken idea: ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’. The central question this section addresses is whether the EDA can represent a viable and credible opposition to the PFDJ government, and the extent to which fear for these exile opposition groups may be one of the factors that have been shaping the Eritrean government’s excessive determination to maintain its firm dictatorial grip on things. It examines whether the EDA will be able to create a secular and democratic government removable from power through peaceful means (periodic multi-party elections) and subject to electoral accountability. In a multi-cultural and multi-faith society such as Eritrea, any organisation or alliance that uncritically embraces and makes concessions to extremist or sectarian groups is unlikely to create a viable, credible, democratic and successful opposition. The ENA’s and later the EDA’s decision to include such organisations and to make substantial concessions to them is likely to have some profoundly negative impacts not only on their credibility and viability but also on democracy and national unity. Whilst the emphasis here is on Islamic fundamentalism, most of what is said equally applies to the ethnic-based inward-looking organisations which are exclusionist and are likely to resort to violence to realise their ends. Historically, Eritrean communities were endowed with social capital, which was substantially augmented during the thirty years war when disparate ethnic and religious groups set aside their differences to unite against an external enemy (Kibreab 2000a; 2005a; 2008a). The Eritrean government’s exclusionist policies, however, have led to a proliferation of small political organisations and civil associations in exile, affiliated to or co-opted by the opposition groups (Table 7.1).

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions Table 7.1 Eritrean political organisations in exile, 2004 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

Eritrean Liberation Front-Central Command (ELF-CC) (led by Abdella Idris) Eritrean Liberation Front-National Congress (ENF-NC) (Ahmed Nasser, later Beyene Kidane) Eritrean Liberation Front-Revolutionary Council (ELF-RC) (Seyoum Ogbamichael, now Woldeyesus Ammar) Eritrean Islamic Salvation Movement (EISM) Eritrean People’s Congress (EPC) People’s Democratic Front for the Liberation of Eritrea (PDFLE) (Tewolde G. Selassie) Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front (ERDF) (Lul Gaim) Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front (ERDF) (Berhane YemaneHanjema) Democratic Movement for the Liberation of the Eritrean Kunama (DMLEK) (Kernolios Isman) Eritrean Democratic Opposition Movement (Gash/Setit) (EDOM) Eritrean National Democratic Front (ENDF) Eritrean Initiative Association (EIA) Eritrean Cooperative Party (ECP) (Hurui Tedla) Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) Eritrean Federal Democratic Movement (EFDM) (Beshir Ishaq) Eritrean Democratic Party (EDP) (Mesfun Hagos) Eritrean People’s Liberation Movement for Human Rights (EPLMHR) (inside Eritrea) People’s Democratic Front for Liberation of Eritrea (PDFLE) (Islamic extremist led by Sihel) Eritrean People’s Movement (EPM) (Adhanom Gebremariam, later split into two) Eritrean Social Democratic Party (ESDP) Eritrean Independent Democratic Movement (EIDM) Red Sea Afar Democratic Movement (RSAM) Islamic Movement (IM) United Front (UF) Committee for Eritrean Unity (CEU) Eritrean Democratic Congress (EDC) Eritrean Alliance Involvement Movement (EAIM) Popular Democratic Front for the Liberation of Eritrea (PDFLE)

Source: 1–22 Semret Awet, Hiberu Hizbina Ke’engel (Unite to Alleviate the Plight of Our People) Parts I, II and III (n.d., Typescript). Available in http://www.deqebat.com/pdf8/Hiberu_Hkingel_123.pdf (accessed 6 December 2006). 23–28 Gedab News, 26 August 2004. The remainder are available at http//:www.awate.com/arman/publish/printer_3579.shtml (accessed 26 August 2004)

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions This proliferation reflects an erosion of social trust, as otherwise they would have joined existing national political organisations rather than creating faith- and ethnic-based new ones. Communities endowed with social capital are committed to the civic order and it is possible to hypothesise that commitment to a common civic order engenders convergence and is therefore inversely related to the proliferation of political organisations (Kibreab 2008a). The multiplication of small interest-based organisations is to some extent a manifestation of weak commitment to the civic order and may indicate erosion of bridging social capital (Putnam 1993; 1995; 2000; Selbourne 1994). During the war of independence, there were only two major political organisations, the ELF and the EPLF. These fought a civil war against each other but also fought for a common national and secular interest and, at a fundamental level, had identical policies on major issues such as ethnicity and secularism. During the war of independence, especially from the mid-1970s onwards, it was considered taboo to relate with others on the basis of ethnicity, clan, tribe, religion or place of origin. When the ELF was expelled from Eritrea in the second half of 1981, it fragmented into different groups, some of which were based on ethnic rather than on national Eritrean identity. The Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement (EIJM), which was established in 1988, was one of these. However, the EIJM expanded slightly after 1991, when the Eritrean government’s exclusionist policies became clear (see Kibreab 2008a). All the organisations listed in Table 7.1 except four6 were created after 1991 and six are exclusionist. If we add the extremist Eritrean Islamic Reform Movement, the exclusionist organisations are seven. All these are members of the EDA. In fact, another exclusionist movement which purportedly represents the Jeberti – namely, the Nahda Party – has joined the EDA, which suggests that the multiplication of exclusionist ethno-nationalist groups is multiplying (Table 7.2). This is greatly encouraged by the EDA which openly encourages the different ethnic groups in the country to establish their own organisations and admits any Eritrean organisation opposed to the government, regardless of its sectarian programme. The EDA, like its predecessor the ENA, has effectively become an incubator of sectarian organisations and a legitimising agent of tribalism and religious extremism. Table 7.2 Organisational members of the Alliance of Eritrean National Forces (AENF), 1999 1. Eritrean Democratic Resistance Movement (Gash-Setit) [in south-western Eritrea] (EDRM) 2. Eritrean Initiative Group (EIG) 3. Eritrean Islamic Salvation Movement (EISM) 4. Eritrean Kunama Democratic Movement (EKDM) 5. Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) 6. Eritrean Liberation Front National Congress (ELF-NC) 7. Eritrean Liberation Front-Revolutionary Council (ELF-RC) 8. Eritrean People’s Congress (EPC) 9. Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front (ERDF) 10. Popular Democratic Front for the Liberation of Eritrea (P)DFLE 11. Mr Ali Muhammad Sayyid Berhatu.

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions Four organisations, the Democratic Movement for the Liberation of the Eritrean Kunama, the Red Sea Afar Democratic Organisation, the Nahda Party and the Eritrean Democratic Opposition Movement (Gash/Setit), are exclusionist, based on ethnicity. The goals of the Democratic Movement for the Liberation of the Eritrean Kunama and the Red Sea Afar Democratic Organisation are allegedly to protect and promote the rights of the Kunama and the Afar people within a democratic and multi-national Eritrean state, but in view of their uncritical alliance or even subservience to the regional government in Tigray (Ethiopia), their long-term goals remain unclear or ambiguous. The Eritrean Democratic Opposition Movement (Gash/Setit) is a regionalist organisation. The Gash/Setit sub-region in south-western Eritrea is the original home of the Kunama and the Nara peoples but has been settled by immigrants from other parts of Eritrea for almost a century. These include the Beni Amer, the Maria, and the Tigrinya-speaking peoples. British Military Administration surveys (BMA 1944) of the 1940s show that most immigration occurred in the 1920s and 1930s and not, as is commonly thought, as a result of Ethiopian aggression in the 1960s. According to these surveys, the first settlements of Tigrinya-speaking peasants along the Gash River began in 1912, and there was immigration to the relatively fertile lowlands from other parts of the country and the region. Some Tigrinya-speaking groups, such as the Liban, even had ancient rights of ownership of land (risti) in the Agordat area (BMA 1944). After independence, tens of thousands of returnees to Eritrea have settled in the sub-region; some of them have traditional roots in Gash/Setit, but others are Eritreans who have chosen to settle in the area although their ancestral homelands are in other parts of Eritrea (Kibreab 2002b). The question that arises therefore is whether the Eritrean Democratic Opposition Movement (Gash/Setit) intends to represent the interests of all inhabitants of Gash/Setit, regardless of their ethnicity and year of arrival, or whether it aims to promote the rights of the Kunama and the Nara peoples alone. In March 1999, a total of ten opposition groups and one ‘national’ met in Khartoum and formed the Alliance of Eritrean National Forces (AENF) (Table 7.2). The groups agreed to adopt a policy of rotating chairmanship. In 2002 these and other organisations met in Addis Ababa and formed the Eritrean National Alliance (ENA) (Table 7.3). In March 2005, members of the ENA and other organisations met in Khartoum and formed the Eritrean Democratic Alliance (EDA) (Table 7.4). Four other organisations – namely, Eritrean Democratic Resistance Movement (EDRM) (Gash-Setit), Eritrean Liberation Front-United National Organisation (ELF-UNO), Eritrean Democratic National Front (EDNF) and Eritrean Popular Democratic Front (EPDF) – that were listed in the EDA Charter of 2005 as members are missing from the list of EDA members that attended the January 2008 meeting held in Addis Ababa. The January 2008 Addis Ababa meeting admitted two new members – namely, Eritrean People’s Movement, EPM, which is led by Adhanom Gebremariam and the Islamic Congress Party, a group led by Hassen Salman also known as Abu Bera’a.7 Although it is not clear whether his previous position has changed, Salman Abu Bera’a used to be an extremist.8 For example, when he was a deputy leader of the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement (EIJM), Abu Bera’a Hassan Salman was asked to state how his organisation would rid Eritrea of

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions Table 7.3 Organisational members of the Eritrean National Alliance (ENA), 2002 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) Eritrean People’s Congress (EPC) Eritrean Islamic Salvation Movement (EISM) Eritrean Liberation Front-Revolutionary Council (ELF-RC) (refused to sign the Charter) People’s Democratic Front for the Liberation of Eritrea (SAGEM) Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front (ERDF) Democratic Movement for the Liberation of Eritrean Kunama (DMLEK) Eritrean Democratic Opposition Movement (Gash-Setit) (EDOM) Eritrean Initiative Association (Jama’at Almubadera al Eritrea) (EIA) Eritrean National Democratic Front (ENDF) Eritrean Cooperative Party (ECP) Red Sea Afar Democratic Organisation (RADO) Eritrean Liberation Front–Unitd National Unity Organisation (ELF-UNO) Ato Eyob Ma’asho (Individual)

Source: The National Charter of the Eritrean National Alliance. Signed on 22 October 2002, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Available at http://www.meskerem.net/national_charter_of.htm (accessed 12 Jan. 2004).

Table 7.4 Organisational members of the Eritrean Democratic Alliance (EDA) 1 Democratic Movement for the Liberation of Eritrean Kunama led by Qernelios Osman 2 Eritrean Democratic Party led by Mesfun Hagos 3 Eritrean Federal Democratic Movement led by Beshir Ishaq 4 Eritrean Islamic Islah Movement led by Khelil Amer 5 Eritrean Liberation Front led Hussein Khalifa 6 Eritrean Liberation Front–Revolutionary Council led by Weldeyesus Ammar 7 Eritrean Nahda Party led by Nur Idris 8 Eritrean National Salvation Front led by Abdella Adem 9 Eritrean Popular Congress/led by Taher Shengeb 10 Eritrean Popular Democratic Front led by Tewelde Gebreselasse 11 Red Sea Afar Democratic Organization led Ibrahim Haroun Source: Eritrean Opposition Organizations: New Push Towards Alliance, 20 January 2008. Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/view/4742/3/ (accessed 22 January 08).

the ‘Christian regime’, he said, through ‘da’wa’ and ‘jihad,’ (Salman 1998). These are terms used by militant Islamists to describe cleansing through struggle. (On Islamic fundamentalism see Al-Azm 1993; Jansen, 1986; Kepel, 1986, 2002, 2004; Rubin 2002; Ruthven 2004, 2006; Saad-Gurayeb 2002; Sidahmed 1997.) The majority of the organisations that formed the EDA in March 2005 were members of the ENA. The EDA has since then been joined by an organisation that claims to represent the Eritrean Jeberti known as the Nahda Party. Three members of the EDA – namely, the Eritrean Liberation Front-Eritrean National Congress (ELF-NC), a section of the split Eritrean People’s Movement (EPM) headed by Abdella Adem9 and the Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front (Se.De.Ge.E.) led by Berhane Yemane (Hanjema) – have since then merged to form the Eritrean

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions National Salvation Front (ENSF). The Eritrean Cooperation Party (ECP) led by Hurui Tedla Bairu has also been excluded from the EDA because the latter only admits organisations that have leaderships elected in a congress, which the ECP has not apparently done. After the formation of the ENSF and exclusion of the ECP, the EDA was left with 11 member organisations, including the Nahda Party. In February 2007, the EDA held a second congress in Addis Ababa and split into two blocks – Block I and Block II. The latter favoured keeping the incumbent chairman whilst Block I called for the election of a ‘more competent leader’. The coalition in Block I comprises the Eritrean Liberation Front-Revolutionary Council (ELF-RC), the Eritrean Democratic Party (EDP) and the Eritrean National Salvation Front (ENSF) and the members of Block II are Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), Eritrean Islamic Party for Justice & Development (Alkalas), Eritrean Islamic Islah Movement (Islah), Eritrean Democratic Front (Sagem), Democratic Movement for the Liberation of Eritrean Kunama (DMLEK), the Eritrean Federal Democratic Movement (EFDM) and the Red Sea Afar movement.10 In the run-up to the 1999 meeting, the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement dropped the emotive term ‘jihad’ and replaced it with the word ‘salvation’ (Harakat al–Khalas al-Islami al-Eritree). It remains to be seen the extent to which its agenda, as well as that of the Islamist organisations, has dramatically changed in favour of secularism. Islamist and sectarian organisations won key offices in the ENA; Mohammed Shengeb of the Eritrean People’s Congress was elected deputy secretary-general in 2002, while Hamid Turki (Eritrean Islamic Salvation Movement) was elected head of the ENA’s political office. Moreover Islamic groups succeeded in dictating the writing of the Charter of the ENA so that Article 4 acknowledges the right of Muslims to apply Shari’a Law in matters ‘that guide their lives’ and Article 3 recognises the ‘right to self-determination’ (Charter of ENA 2002). These controversial articles were formally withdrawn in the EDA’s second congress of February 2007. The Islamist organisations still occupy key positions in the EDA. Not only are the two men elected to serve on the executive committee of the EDA but they also occupy two critically important positions. The Islamists, Mohammed Taher Shengeb and Hamid Turki, are the heads of the organisational and financial affairs respectively, of the EDA. There is justifiable hunger for change, but this has led many people in the opposition to ignore the anti-democratic tendencies developing within their ranks or to follow the flawed idea of ‘the end justifies the means’ or worse still, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’, regardless of whether the ‘friend of convenience’ represents a liability in the long term. The right of sectarian Eritrean opposition groups to operate within the country’s constitutional framework is not questioned, but the decision of the ENA/EDA, not only to grant them membership, but also to elect some of their officers to key leadership positions may prove to be counterproductive. One of the reasons the EDA may find it difficult to achieve its goal of overthrowing the dictatorship in Asmara and in providing an alternative to tyranny is because there is little that unites its members except a common enemy. They do not even agree in the characterisation of the government they aspire to overthrow and replace. Some characterise it as Tigrinya chauvinist, others label it as a Christian and anti-Islamic government and others characterise it as a dictatorship. The leader of Se.Ge.De.E and former leader of the EDA, Berhane Yemane

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions (Hanjema), for example, characterises the EPLF and by implication the Eritrean government as fascist (Yemane 2005). How can such forces which cannot even agree on the characterisation of the enemy they purport to overthrow promise to provide a unified and viable alternative? Some interviewees inside and outside the country have expressed serious concerns with regard to the extent to which the opposition groups would be able to fill the vacuum that might be created by the eventual defeat of the dictatorship. This is because some of the organisations in the opposition groups are considered as ethno-centric and religious extremists. Their commitment to sectarian rather than national projects is seen as a potential threat to unity and political stability. This is reinforced by their inability to unite along a common anti-tyranny platform to salvage the country from ruin. Unless the opposition groups are able to assuage these concerns by relinquishing their sectarian stance and by creating a strong united organisation based on shared democratic values to defeat the dictatorship, the misplaced perception that the government’s excessive determination to maintain its firm dictatorial grip on the affairs of the state and society is ‘justified’ by the need to guarantee the survival of Eritrea as a nation may continue to prevail and willy-nilly undermine the democratic project of change and transformation. Such a stance may also provide invaluable ammunition to the government to discredit the opposition groups as being ‘sectarian’ and ‘sub-national’ in order to maintain its grip on power.

Freedom of association and its potential pitfalls Although it is important to guard against taking the counterfactual argument for granted, it cannot be denied that the exclusionist government created on the basis of the ‘winner takes all’ policy is partially responsible for the emergence of organisations based on exclusive and non-secular and particular identities that form part of the opposition movement. The question is whether or not this level of polarisation would have been avoided had there been a government of national unity that represents all Eritreans on the basis of equality, mutual respect and recognition of their commonality, diversity and human rights. Can it be safely argued, for example, that the faith-, ethnic- and place of origin-based organisations in the EDA and the others outside them are nothing but a reaction to the exclusionist policies and practices of the government? Or can it be said that the conditions that gave birth to the exclusionist member organisations of the EDA, created in pursuit of particularistic interests, are regime-neutral and would have surfaced in different guises regardless of the type of regime in place? These are empirical questions that remain to be answered as the process of change unfolds in the country. Nevertheless, it is worth mentioning that most important member organisations of the de facto defunct ENA and its successor, the EDA, pre-date the birth of the Eritrean state and it is wrong to attribute their emergence solely to the policy of exclusion pursued by the post-independence government. It is also equally possible to argue albeit counterfactually that, had there been a government of national unity, neither the ENA nor the EDA would have embraced and made concessions to the exclusionist organisations, or even that the faith- and identity-based associations would have adopted moderate

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions stances. Or there might have been no need for the EDA. Notwithstanding the fact that the EPLF/PFDJ’s divisive ‘winner takes all’ policy is one of the many causes of the emergence of exclusionist faith- and ethnic-based political organisations and civil associations, the central question is whether, if given unlimited freedom of association, such political and civil associations would pose any danger to Eritrea’s unity and political stability. These issues are discussed below.

Political stability and the opposition groups The Eritrean government and the ruling party use the spectre of threat to national security and sovereignty to stifle transition to democracy and the emergence and consolidation of democratic political and civil society associations that espouse alternative visions and truths and consequently counteract its tyrannical rule (Chapter 4). However, the fact that the government makes such ‘unfounded’ allegations may not necessarily mean that such risks are non-existent. This is an empirical question and therefore cannot be determined a priori or be readily rejected simply because the government uses it as a pretext to stymie opposition to its autocratic rule. Those who deny the existence of such potential dangers that may be posed by parochial associations, are either too optimistic or they exaggerate the civic virtues and democratic values of some of the political organisations and their followers.11 A virtuous society is one that recognises and pursues unconditionally the public good at the expense of all purely individual and private ends (Skinner 1984: 218). To what extent can the organisations in the opposition and the civil associations that are affiliated to, co-opted by or sympathising with them pass this acid test of civic virtuousness? It is, of course, unrealistic to expect individuals or groups in any given society to surrender their self-interests completely in favour of the ‘public good’.12 What this essentially means is that in a civic community, personal interests are pursued subject to formal but mainly informal institutional constraints. Such constraints are reflected, inter alia, in the recognition of wider public interests. Any organisation that purports to represent a democratic and virtuous alternative should either be endowed with such traits or show commitment to their systematic nurturing and cultivation. As Robert Putnam argues, a community that is devoid of civic virtues is preoccupied with maximisation of self-interest in anticiptation that everybody else would do likewise. This seems to be true with many of the opposition groups. This has rightly or wrongly legitimated in the eyes of some citizens the government’s claim that, in the absence of the ‘Leviathan’, the self-interested leaders of the opposition groups will destroy the country and squander its unity and independence’ (Afwerki 1996). Thus, the need for a government that rules with an ‘iron fist’. The extent to which the opposition groups are committed to the common good of the citizenry or are self-interested, and whether the reality on the ground is amenable to being manipulated by private or particular self-interest-maximising groups or individuals, is too important a question to be overlooked. Critics may charge that such an argument will strengthen the cause of the dictators in Asmara. However, dirty linen, whether it is worn by the opposition or by the dictators, needs airing, otherwise the risk of decomposition and disintegration is high (see Preface). The question then is: to what extent is unlimited freedom

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions of association realistic under the present state of civicness of the political groups that seem to be dominated by particular interest-maximising behaviour? It cannot be claimed that some of the political organisations in the opposition and the civil associations that operate in exile are as committed to public as opposed to particularistic causes as they purport to be.13 For example, what do the Islamic fundamentalists and the ethnic-based organisations in the EDA and the splitting of the ELF-RC along alleged ‘ethnic and confessional lines’, as well as the amoebic multiplication of political organisations with similar ideologies, political programmes, and visions, say about the readiness of such organisations to take over from the dictators in Asmara? As we saw in Table 7.1, in 2004 there were 28 political organisations in the opposition purporting to be fighting for democratic change. It is not clear how many of these are current or defunct. According to Semret Awet who compiled the list, the names of the political organisations in Table 7.1 are not exhaustive. The data in the table are supplemented by a piece posted in Awate.com (see Table 7.1). What is interesting about the names of all the political organisations listed in the table, with the exception of the Islamists and those organisations that were created during the war of independence, is that the overwhelming majority bear the term ‘democracy’. This suggests that they all ostensibly aspire to fight for democratic change. If this is true as their names imply, what is it that stops them from uniting themselves in pursuit of the common goal of democratic change? Are the factors that ‘necessitate’ their separate existence relevant to democracy and the needs of the Eritrean people? According to Semret Awet, they are the best writers and speakers! (Awet n.d.). Most of the leaders of the political organisations are former fighters of the ELF and its factions and a few of the EPLF, organisations which have been in existence for over forty and thirty years respectively. Hence, the leaders of the various political organisations have been in the business for such a long time doing little or nothing more than talking and writing and have, therefore, over time developed refined skills of public speech and writing. That is the only way they can stay in business and recruit followers by producing ‘make-believe’ literature and speeches. The same is true of their former friends and comrades in Asmara. It is not, therefore, only Semret Awet, who becomes infuriated by the yawning gap between the talk and the writings and their actions on the ground. Semret Awet raises an important point when s/he (Semret is a male and female name) despairs saying, in spite of the ostensible formal eloquence of the leaders’ speeches and writings, ‘not only do they strive to advance the growth and consolidation of their own organisations and to promote their own personal interests but also they exploit the weaknesses of our people’ (Awet n.d.). In fact, it is important to guard against stereotyping or mythologising the so-called ‘inherent weaknesses of our people’. The Eritrean people have no major ‘inherent weaknesses’. In spite of their diversity, not only have they been able to live with each other without major identity-based conflicts but also neighbouring communities have demonstrated remarkable abilities to cooperate for mutually beneficial ends (see Tesfai n.d.; Tesfay 2003; Kibreab 2005a, 2008a, Chapter 3). The so-called weaknesses that are said to be intrinsic in the country’s social structure are in most cases socially constructed, and reproduced by ethnic, religious, regional and tribal entrepreneurs in order to justify their separate existence. The literatures produced by the ELF and the EPLF are replete with

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions unsubstantiated claims concerning the ‘cultural backwardness, tribal parochialism, ignorance, etc.’ of the Eritrean people. However, these so-called ‘backward social structures’ had never before the war of independence led to civil wars triggered by the inability of the communities to resolve their differences peacefully (see Tesfai n.d.; Kibreab 2008a). The civil wars, the sectarian divisions and violence and bigotry were introduced by political organisations which were purportedly created promising independence, liberation, democracy, justice and prosperity. The socalled ‘weaknesses and divisions’ that are said to be intrinsic in the social structure of Eritrean society, are to a large extent inventions of the leaders of the myriad of political organisations that have proliferated in the post-independence period. That is why the divisions that permeate their relations have failed to percolate into Eritrean society. As the veteran fighter and former leader of the ELF-RC, Ahmed Nasser, stated, ‘It is the leaders rather than the social structure that are the cause of sectarianism. The leaders of the proliferating organisations need distinct constituencies to justify their existence. In order to do this, they try to create and reproduce ethnic or faith-based sectarian differences that do not objectively exist in our society’ (Nasser, personal communication, London 2005).14 Nasser’s remarks make sense because if the new and the old ethnic, religious and tribal entrepreneurs do not pigeonhole the people into different categories with ‘conflicting interests’ that allegedly prevent them from working together in pursuit of collective ends, how would they justify their separate existence? The existence of a myriad of political organisations is premised on the assumption that they are indispensable on the alleged grounds that the interests of the different Eritrean ethnic, religious, tribal and regional groups can only be represented, promoted and protected by their own particular political organisations. What most of the political organisations that purport to represent particular interests share in common is the indignity of speaking on behalf of the people they purport to represent without their consent. This is not any different from what the government in Asmara does. Most of the violations of human rights are committed under the pretext of protecting the interests of the muzzled Eritrean people and the nation. Since the end of the Cold War, especially in the countries endowed with rich mineral resources such as Angola, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Sierra Leone, war is being pursued as a means of enriching the leaders of warring parties rather than as a means of resolving a conflict (see the burgeoning literature on this, e.g. Azam 2001; Azam and Hoeffler 2002; Ballentine and Sherman 2003; Collier and Hoeffler 2001; de Soysa 2000; de Soysa 2002; Fischer and Schmelzle 2004; Le Billon 2005). There are an increasing number of scholars who argue that conflict is caused by ‘greed’ rather than ‘grievance’ and that a relative abundance of natural resources constitutes the motivation for organising violence. ‘Resources offer lootable income over which to fight, making costly strategies of violence viable …’ (de Soysa 2002; see also Collier 2000; de Soysa 2000; Global Witness 1998, 2004; Ross 2003). Although it may be too early to judge, the interests of the leaders of the multitudes of the amoebically multiplying Eritrean political organisations (see Tables 7.1–7.3) are most probably better served by perpetuating the separate existence of the numerous organisations, rather than by bringing them under one or two organisation/s, leadership/s and political programme/s. This scenario is

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions likely to be exacerbated if the extensive mineral explorations under way result in the discovery of large deposits of gold and other precious minerals, as has been the case elsewhere. This is because, if the organisations are united, there would only be a few leaders and the rest would lose their ‘occupations’. As very few of these men have ever earned a living in their lives, for the large majority, it is too late to learn how to toil to make ends meet and hence the only source of social status and livelihood becomes the creation of one’s own political organisation. For most of them, the present incomes derived from having one’s own political organisation are not worthwhile. It is the promise of the future that is the main driving force that keeps them going. If the incomplete list of political organisations in Table 7.1 is a miniature depiction of what is to come in democratic Eritrea, what would the country look like in the context of a political system that guarantees freedom of association? Since there is no membership requirement for creating a political organisation, some of those listed in Table 7.1 may not have more than a chairman, a secretary and a treasurer, and the latter may have no cash to administrate. Worse still, some of them may be members of the same families. The individuals engaged in the creation of the so-called political organisations, instead of joining those which are already there, are in effect undermining the agenda for change and prolonging the life of the dictatorship and the misery of the people. The devotion most Eritreans exhibited, with varying degrees, during the thirty years war was a manifestation of civic consciousness or public spiritedness. At the time the country was under foreign occupation, nothing could be more civic than the pursuit of the goal of liberating the country at the expense of all purely individual and private ends. In the eyes of most Eritreans, ridding the country of the repressive occupying force was seen as the sine qua non for the realisation of the ‘common good of the people’. The ideas of ‘common good’, public spiritedness, civility or civic virtues, like any other social resources, are mutable. They can be maintained, reinforced, boosted, replenished, weakened, depleted or even exhausted. In fact, what is unique about civic virtues and social capital, such as reciprocity, cooperation, trust, respect, tolerance, social networks, devotion to public causes, etc. is, unlike physical capital, bolstered the more they are used, and the less they are used, the more they become depleted (Hirschman in Putnam 1993: 169). Thus, in the post-PFDJ condition whether human rights, social trust, respect, tolerance, reciprocal cooperation, and horizontal crosscutting social networks would burgeon or dwindle is, to a large extent, a function of the nature of the political system that might replace the one currently in place. An interesting question is, therefore, the extent to which these divisions would be bridged or exacerbated by the exercise of civic rights reflected in the emergence and consolidation of autonomous civil and political society associations. Civic rights refer to those necessary conditions for people to be able to pursue their self-chosen lifestyles and activities in the context of the diverse forms of associations which make up the realm of civil life (Held 1995: 196–7; Hirst 1993, 1994). However, other things being equal, the dangers may be countered or minimised by the general cultural traits of the Eritrean society whose constituent parts have over time demonstrated a remarkable ability to live and struggle together in peace and harmony, save for the few exceptional ambitious individual actors (Ahmad 2003b),

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions who tried to mobilise along the divisive lines of ethnicity and religion in pursuit of personal interest to the detriment of the common good. Nevertheless, no matter how much they tried, the large majority of the people turned a blind eye to their divisive attempts and sometimes even took bold initiatives not only to reject them but also to mediate between the adversaries (see Kibreab 2008a, Chapter 7; Tesfai n.d.). However, it is important to guard against unwarranted extrapolation from this experience to the post-independence condition. This is because first, in the past there was an external force of occupation which became a rallying cry for national mobilisation. There is no external enemy in the post-independence period, save the unsettled border conflict and Ethiopia’s obdurate rejection of the decision of the Eritrea–Ethiopia Border Commission of April 2002. Second, in the past, unlike in the present, there was no perceived or actual domination of one ethnic group over the rest. These are critical variables that must be factored into the analysis of the responses of the diverse political organisations in the post-independence situation. It is important, however, to conceptualise these issues in a dynamic rather than a static manner. Between May 1991 and September 2001, there was some degree of resentment among citizens who sympathised with the excluded opposition groups, the large majority of whom were Muslims. There was a justified perception that the post-independence government was dominated by Christian highlanders. By the same token, there was also a misperception that the government promoted the interests of Christian highlanders to the detriment or neglect of Muslim lowlanders. Slowly but surely most Eritreans seem to have realised that the government’s sole preoccupation is to exercise unfettered control over the country’s economy and society and whoever stands or is perceived to stand in the way is ruthlessly dealt with, regardless of whether they are Muslim, Christian, animist or atheist. These gross violations of human rights against all who raise their voice against injustice are happening in front of the eyes of citizens and therefore the perception that the government promotes Christian highlanders’ interests has become a thing of the past. This is especially true among those who witness the violations perpetrated against all Eritreans on a daily basis. Even the perceptions among the Eritrean diaspora have changed considerably and the degree of polarisation that marked the 1990s no longer exists.15

The anti-politics of exclusion, violation of human rights and erosion of social capital The political method of rule is to listen to these other groups so as to conciliate them as far as possible, and to give them a legal position, a sense of security, some clear and reasonably safe means of articulation, by which these other groups can and [do] speak freely. Ideally, politics draws all these groups in to [help] each other so that they each and together can make a positive contribution towards the general business of government and maintaining order. (Crick 2000: 18)

At the heart of Eritrea’s post-independence malaise lies the absence of ‘the political method of rule’. In Eritrean society, social relations among the disparate social groups are marked by bonding and bridging social capital (see Ahmad 2003b; Kibreab 2008a; Tesfai n.d.). However, post-independence Eritrean society,

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions particularly the transnational communities, have been suffering on the one hand, from some degree of depletion of bridging social capital and, on the other, from the effects of the darker side of bonding social capital. In spite of the general propensity of the government to exaggerate the level of unity and harmony that characterise Eritrean communities, during his interview on 18 April 2003, the president was asked by a journalist to comment on the following critical observation:16 One of our most treasured core values (prides) is our cultural heritage based on mutual respect and trust. However, currently, there is no shortage of people who say that these positive attributes of cultural heritage based on mutual respect, trust, commonality and sense of gratitude (zeymrsesaè) are no longer as powerful as in the past. They are being diluted [eroded]. 17

In Eritrea, where there is lack of freedom of speech and the media is controlled by the government and the ruling party, it is reasonable to assume that the fact that the president was asked to comment on issues concerning the decline of solidarity, cooperation and mutual trust is an indication, not only that the government is aware of the rapidly deteriorating resource – social capital – but it is also worried about the consequences. However, in a classic case of inverse analysis, the president, instead of seeking the cause of the rapid deterioration of Eritrea’s social, cultural, psychological and institutional resources in his own government’s policies and practices, attributes the problem to the alleged cultural degeneration the Eritrean people are said to have undergone in the short post-independence period. The president remarked: Culture can be defined in different ways. In my view, of all the distinguishing features of our culture, devotion or dedication18 is the single most important. However, at the present, there seems to be a fundamental contradiction between dedication and greed. On one side, there is greed and voracious gluttony and on the other, dedication. (Afwerki 2003)

During the war of independence, most Eritreans displayed ultimate dedication by their readiness and willingness to sacrifice their careers, education, professions, occupations, material possessions, time, and many of them their lives, in pursuit of what was regarded as the common good. If devotion were one of the single most important features that marked ‘our culture’, as the president rightly points out, it is unreasonable to say that this culture of devotion would dissipate suddenly and give way to unbounded greed in such a short time – namely, since the country achieved its independence and fell under his rule. Culture is one of the most tenacious and resilient social phenomena. It seldom changes dramatically in a short time. One of the factors that influenced the successful outcome of the war was the endowment of social capital that engendered national unity in pursuit of a common goal: independence. Times have changed, but the president does not seem to factor in this change in his expectations. The EPLF/PFDJ and the Eritrean government have been leaving no stone unturned to effect cultural change reflected in the production of a prototype of an ideal citizen. This ideal citizen, if successfully ‘re-invented’ in accordance with the specifications of the PFDJ blueprint, would be a non-thinking and non-questioning compliant individual. This is clear from many interviews the president gives to the government-controlled mass media and to foreign journalists. For example, in an interview, he told Robert Kaplan of the Atlantic Monthly, ‘All that we have achieved

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions we did on our own’ (Kaplan 2003). He further told Kaplan, ‘But we have not yet institutionalised social discipline, so the possibility of chaos is still here. Remember, we have nine language groups and two religions’ (Afwerki quoted in Kaplan 2003) (emphasis added). This statement is revealing as it epitomises the whole rationale that underpins the president and his party’s conception of Eritrean society – namely, in the absence of the Leviathan, it will break into pieces, and hence his decision to rule the country and its people with an ‘iron fist’ is to avert the danger of disintegration. Intentionally or inadvertently, the president is openly questioning the ability of the ‘nine language groups and the two religions’ to live together in peace and harmony in the absence of a Leviathan that rules with an iron fist. In his view, the potential for chaos or the Hobbesian nightmare of the ‘state of nature’ marked by endless quarrelling among men (read among the nine language groups) due to competition, difference and glory (Hobbes 1979: 143) is still there. Hobbes argues that the first maketh men invade for gain; the second, for safety; and the third, for reputation (ibid.). He further states: During the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; as is of every man, against every man. … In such condition, there is no place for industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving, and removing, such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters; no society …(ibid.) (emphasis added)

The central thrust of Hobbes’ argument concerning the rationale underlying the emergence of the state is that human beings are essentially driven by self-interest and this sets a limit to human cooperation. The Eritrean president’s rationale for dictatorship seems to be underpinned by similar logic in which he fears liberal democracy would unleash ‘chaos’ in the context of a country inhabited by ‘nine language groups and two religions’; hence the indispensability of the Leviathan. In the president’s view, the panacea for the danger of chaos and disintegration is the institutionalisation of ‘social discipline’ by reshaping and transforming what was already there and creating in its place a citizen who is culture, language and religion neutral – an ideal citizen made to order. The president’s expression of grief with regard to their failure to instil social discipline among the Eritrean people is a clear indication that the PFDJ project of reshaping the Eritrean culture(s) has not been successful. This is in spite of the combined and unrelenting efforts of the government-controlled mass media, the president’s marathon interviews, the national service, the WYDC and the unsparingly used coercive machinery of the state. The fact that all these efforts have failed to institutionalise social discipline by the president’s own admission is a clear indication that culture is not amenable to a quick fix. It is highly tenacious. If this is the case, how reasonable is the president’s claim that the Eritrean citizen whose culture was previously – namely, in the pre-independence period – marked by trans-religious and trans-ethnic cooperation and understanding has turned into a self-interested brute devoid of any morality and commitment to public or national causes? This suggests that the explanation of the rapid ‘dilution’ or erosion of social capital must be sought not in the alleged cultural degeneration the Eritrean people are supposed to have undergone in a decade, but rather in the

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions institutional arrangement within which social, economic and political interactions have been taking place since independence. The major change in the factors of the equation in the institutional arrangement since 1991 has been the establishment of an exclusionist government underpinned by the divisive logic based on the ‘winner takes all’ and, as a result, the ‘vanquished’ are left without any protection or recognition. Recognition and respect of the human and political rights of the vanquished is what distinguishes democrats from tyrants. Because cultural change is a slow and protracted process, it is unreasonable to attribute the erosion of social capital manifest in the post-independence period to ‘greed’ that is said to have suddenly gripped the previously ‘dedicated’ citizen. The president states that, if it were not for the devotion of the Eritrean people who fought selflessly to bring about an independent state, Eritrea and its people would not have reached the stage they are at present. This culture of selflessness and devotion, he argues, was not achieved overnight. It is a product of a long historical process. If the development of the culture of devotion were a slow process, as the president rightly argues, the process of decline should also be equally slow and protracted. Thus, the people who by the president’s admission displayed unlimited devotion to public causes or to the common good until 1991 cannot turn into selfinterest-maximising individuals in 2001. In historical time, a ten-year period is insignificant. The explanations must be sought elsewhere rather than in the false notion of ‘cultural degeneration’. After stating that every citizen has a duty to fight for and sacrifice their lives in the interest of their country, he repeatedly laments that, at the present, there is a contradiction between devotion and greed. He further points out: if devotion is not needed in the post-independence period, a new culture has emerged which the president describes in highly emotive terms such as ‘gnam gnam … tebajajel … shama shama’. To get the gist of the president’s expression of grief, imagine a group of hungry hyenas devouring a deer in a game without a gamekeeper, in which each is excessively preoccupied with grabbing as much meat as possible before the other hyenas finish off the carcass. None of the hyenas is concerned about the welfare of the animal it is devouring or of the other hyenas taking part in the grab. Its own selfish ends drive each hyena.19 Each is trying to maximise self-interest to the detriment of the other. In the president’s view, the new culture of greed has created the same proclivity which if unabated could strip the country of its human, social and physical capital and, ultimately, its very existence as an independent entity. The Eritrean head of state thus sees himself as the tireless gamekeeper whose job is to protect the game against callous and greedy individuals that have suddenly appeared in the post-independence landscape. By the president’s admission, these were former gamekeepers who have overnight become cold-blooded and callous poachers. It seems as if the president believes that Eritrea in the absence of a Leviathan is politically unviable. This is not fundamentally different from the views held by the British in the 1940s who proposed that the UN dismember Eritrea along religious lines (see Kibreab 2005a).20 The main reason people are no longer devoted or dedicated to the so-called ‘common good’ is because, shortly after independence, the people discovered that the so-called ‘public good’ or ‘common good’, as conceived and practised by the EPLF/PFDJ was disingenuous. Unlike during the war of independence, in which all other ‘publics’ were either collapsed into one ‘public’ or ‘common good,’ or

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions were relegated to the background in order to defeat a common and a vicious external enemy, in the post-independence period, the undemocratic and exclusionist government has brought about a new ‘public’ which embodies none of the core values – human rights, empathy, peace, justice, respect, prosperity, rule of law, equality and accountability – the people fought and died for. No wonder many people feel aggrieved and not obliged to sacrifice their interests for the so-called ‘common good’ which is essentially the good of the ruling clique. The people that the president loathes are not necessarily in the grip of insatiable avarice and a dearth of moral precepts that make them oblivious to public causes. They are more probably people who no longer equate the interests of the government and the ruling party with the country’s and the people’s national interest or the ‘public good’. In fact, many people within and outside the country that the author has talked to, see the government and the ruling party as being not only the causes of their lack of freedom but as also being the major factor in the erosion of the social trust, mutual respect and solidarity that previously characterised social relations in the country. In view of this, it is unreasonable for the president to expect the same degree of devotion and loyalty from the people, as was the case during the war of independence. The government has created social distrust. It is not promoting common good in the core values it espouses. Moreover, the government’s decision to exclude the nationalist organisations from power-sharing, detention of people without trial and the compelling of tens of thousands of conscripts to to work for it and the ruling party without remuneration, has eroded respect and trust and consequently engendered intense grievance. The president, unless he is detached from reality, cannot expect the same degree of loyalty, trust and devotion when many people now see him, his government and the ruling party as being the cause of their misery and unhappiness. The president cannot expect devotion when thousands of innocent citizens are languishing in numerous unknown detention centres without being charged for many years, some of them for over a decade. According to the extensively documented report on Eritrea, Amnesty International states, ‘Many hundreds or possibly thousands of political detainees have also been held in the first decade of Eritrea’s independence’ (AI 2004a: 9). Some of these long-tern detainees include General Bitweded Abraha who was arrested in 1992. He was temporarily released and was rearrested after a few weeks for criticising the president, regarding the way he conducted the border war. After 12 years in detention without trial, he is said to be afflicted by mental illness (ibid.). Amnesty International’s report lists 73 names of detainees that include 11 members of the G15 who were detained in September 2001. As seen in Chapter 2, these include high-ranking government officials, ministers, members of the national assembly, an ambassador, a regional governor, a former chief of staff, army generals and a vice-president. There are also 13 journalists, 10 of whom were detained in September 2001, three in 2002 and one in 2003 (AI 2004). Another 16 were detained between late 2001 and early 2002. Most of these are government officials and members of the ruling party. They also included members of the elderly mediators.21 The report also states that there are 200 members of the Afar nationality languishing in detention since 1999. Some known names include Ali Issa, member of the Eritrean National Assembly, Ahaw Ali, Helem Burhane and Ali Yusuf Mohamed (deputy mayor of Assab) who were members of the Dankalia regional assembly (AI 2004: 10). None of these has even

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions been brought to court or charged. During the war of independence, people fought for freedom. When they got what they did not bargain for, people being rational decision-makers, began exhibiting revulsion rather than devotion to the government. The war of independence was fought to relegate arbitrary rule and detention without trial to the museum of history. These figures do not suggest that the people have got what they fought for and their disloyalty to the government is not therefore contrary to expectations. While it is wrong to give the impression that democracy defined procedurally is a magic wand that can fix every problem in a poor country such as Eritrea, it may be safe to say that, had there been a political structure that guarantees ‘a fair share in governing the country,’ in conjunction with a democratic process, and with what Robert Dahl (1989: 221) calls institutions of polyarchy that are a sine qua non for democracy,22 the country and the people would most probably have been in a more desirable state than they are at present and the decline of social capital would have been avoided or countered. Had there been a political arrangement based on fair power-sharing underpinned by such institutions, there would have been no need for the political organisations to live in exile, fostering difference and cooperating with foreign governments whose interests may not necessarily be compatible with Eritrea’s national interest. The attendant potential negative consequences for national unity, political stability and security would also have been minimised if not completely avoided. In the process of power-sharing, the different political organisations would have been able to build bridges to interconnect themselves. Hitherto there has been no reason for optimism. In the medium and long term, however, if the organisations develop commitment to a common cause, in the process of working together, they may develop social networks, trust and norms of reciprocal cooperation that may enable them to commit themselves to national causes beyond their immediate group or individual interests. There have also been attempts with limited success to form alliances of civil society associations amongst the transnational Eritrean communities in Europe. The same trend is emerging in North America. Unlike in Europe and North America where there have been encouraging attempts, albeit limited, to build bridges across the ethnic, religious and regional divide, if what the author witnessed in Australia in November 1997 is still true, at that time, there were two associations which seemed to be divided along religious lines. One of the most public spirited and highly committed to democratic change and transformation is the Eritrean Movement for Democratic and Human Rights (EMDHR) in South Africa. The majority of its members are former scholarship students sent by the Eritrean government as part of its human resources development programme funded by the World Bank. However, when the government’s national service and the WYDC programmes became open-ended and the government’s human rights performance deteriorated, many of them decided to stay and fight for democratic change. The human rights organisation – Eritreans for Human Rights and Democracy in the United Kingdom (EHD-UK) – is another organisation that has been vigorously campaigning against human rights violations in Eritrea. The Network of Eritrean Civic Societies in Europe is an umbrella organisation in which all civic associations in Western Europe are represented. The Eritrean Global Solidarity in the US with 11 member organisations, and the transnational organisation – Citizens for Democratic Rights

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions in Eritrea (CDRiE), have recently been formed. Generally, in spite of the slow tempo of the process of change and reversals, these are some encouraging developments that have been occurring in exile in the last few years.

‘Groupthink’, bonding social capital and the stifling of institutional and bureaucratic development In a previous work, the author argued that the need to eke out a meagre existence in an environment marked by resource scarcity, inadequate and erratically distributed rainfall, the thirty years war, and a vicious external enemy encouraged cross-cultural and cross-spatial cooperation among the disparate ethno-linguistic groups in the country. These factors contributed directly and indirectly to the development and maintenance of bridging social capital (Kibreab 2008a, chapters 4 and 10). After the shooting stops or the war is won, if the national government that replaces the government of occupation is exclusionist and tyrannical, it may disconnect rather than connect people and, as a result, may destroy the preexisting social trust without which cooperation is difficult if not impossible. Where there is lack of trust, there can be no social capital, and without the latter no meaningful and lasting cooperation among ethnically, religiously and ideologically disparate people may be possible. Throughout the remaining part of the chapter, an attempt is made to show two developments. First to present how ‘groupthink’ among the EPLF/PFDJ leadership promoted the development and consolidation of bonding social capital. And second, how such a mindset undermined the pre-existing bridging social capital that previously linked groups across the cleavages of ethnicity, religion, region and political opinion. An attempt is also made to show how the policies of exclusion and the tyranny of ‘groupthink’ which led to consensus-based and non-transparent decision-making rather than one based on critical thinking, discussions and rigorous evaluations of alternative options, have been contributing to the development of bonding social capital and stifling the growth of democracy and bureaucratic institutions. Irving Janis, drawing on many case studies conducted by social psychologists states that the prime condition ‘… of fiascos is group cohesiveness’ ( Janis 1972: 197). Janis’ eight symptoms of groupthink23 can be applied to explain most of the tragedies that have been befalling a country like Eritrea where, along with many social problems, the political, economic and legislative powers are concentrated in one man’s hand (the president), subject to no fetters or the counterbalance of electoral accountability, freedom of the press. associational pluralism and an autonomous bureaucracy and civil service. These tragedies, both in matters of domestic and foreign policies, are to a considerable extent due to the fact that the individuals that constitute the policymaking group are what Irving Janis calls, in a different context, ‘victims of groupthink’. Janis hypothesises that groupthink is most likely to occur in situations characterised, first, by ‘group cohesiveness’ and second, by insulation of the decision-making group from the judgement of qualified associates who, as outsiders, are not permitted to know about the new policies under discussion until

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions after a final decision has been made. And third, he hypothesises, the more actively the leader of a cohesive policy-making group promotes his own preferred solution, the greater are the chances of a consensus based on groupthink, even when the leader does not want the members to be yes-men (Janis 1972: 197). According to data elicited from many discussions held with different government officials in different parts of the country over a decade, being a ‘yes-man’ is the single most important criterion for inclusion in the decision-making group. Whoever dares to transgress the ‘yes-zone’ invariably ends up either in incommunicado detention under different fictitious accusations or ‘in the freezer’24 for having transgressed the ‘red line’. As seen earlier, that was the ‘crime’ the G15 and the other government officials ‘committed’ which according to the president amounted to treason (Chapters 2 and 4). Irving Janis’ generalisations are based on case studies conducted in liberal democracies where policy-making groups are subject to electoral accountability and their decisions and policies are rigorously scrutinised by unforgiving and free mass media, autonomous civil society associations and opposition parties. None of these could prevent the US government’s foreign policy fiascos, e.g. the Vietnam war and in recent times the disastrous intervention in Somalia and the invasion of Iraq. In Eritrea, where the PFDJ under its chairman and the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, exercises unlimited absolute power, the decision-making group is cohesive and insulated. This cohesiveness is maintained by constant purging and detention of those who fail to toe the line. The legislative council, the central council of the PFDJ and the members of the Cabinet are little more than rubber-stamping bodies filled by ‘yes-men’ often preselected or hand-picked by the president who is also the chairman of the ‘legislative’ body. These are highly favourable circumstances for the emergence and consolidation of a ‘groupthink’ mentality. Such an environment also provides favourable breeding grounds for ‘victims of groupthink’. The groupthink mentality has also stifled the development of bureaucracy and formal institutions. The latter as used here refers to formal rules that include political (and judicial) rules, economic rules and contracts. Formal rules are enshrined in constitutions, statutes and bylaws, including individual contracts (North 1993: 47). As Douglass North states, political rules broadly define the hierarchical structure of the polity, its basic decision structure, and the explicit characteristics of agenda control (ibid.). Notwithstanding the fact that the country has been independent for over a decade and a half, and that, on paper, there are various ministries and government departments, in reality most important decisions are taken in the president’s office and people close to the various ministers admit that the latter are nothing more than messengers of the president.25 For example, there has never been a written budget and a budget law in the country since independence (see Petros Solomon and Berhane Gebreghziabher in Connell 2005: 78). According to Douglass North, economic rules define property rights, that is, the bundle of rights over the use and the income to be derived from property and the ability to alienate an asset or a resource (North 1993: 47). Eritrea being an agrarian society, the livelihood of up to 80 per cent of its people is derived from land-based economic activities. This being the case, there were intricate and complex land tenure systems that regulated rights of access to and use of the single most

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions important resource – land (see Kibreab 1996a, Chapter 7; 2009b; Mengisteab 1998; Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005). The Eritrean government less than a year after its birth declared the long-standing land and resource rights and the customary laws that regulated them null and void, by enacting Proclamation 58/1994. According to this proclamation, all land belongs to the state and all the customary laws that regulated land ownership and usership rights are annulled. Though the track record of state ownership of land in terms of environmental sustainability and livelihood security has been bleak in most developing countries (Kibreab 1996a, 2001a, 2001b, 2002b, 2009b), what is interesting here is that although the government has obliterated the long established property rights regimes by political means, it has failed to establish secure and enforceable economic rules that enable those who derive their livelihoods from land and related economic activities to exclude those who encroach upon their rights of usufruct. Article 59 states that the land proclamation will be in force subsequent to its publication in the Eritrean Law Gazette. While this has not taken place to date, in reality the government has been expropriating land without any regard to the fact that the land law is not formally in force. The government has repealed all the customary land laws, but has not replaced them by effective formal laws. As a result, an institutional vacuum is created and this has in some places, such as in the riverain areas along the Gash, Setit and Barka rivers, opened a Pandora’s box in which well-connected groups have been grabbing land which previously belonged to pastoralists and indigenous subsistence producers. Other evidence which indicates that the government stifles the development of institutions is in the area of contract without which no meaningful economic exchange, and therefore development, is possible. As Douglass North states, ‘Contracts contain the provisions specific to a particular agreement in exchange’ (North 1993: 47). Institutions provide the framework and assurance within which economic interactions and exchange take place. Unless economic actors are assured through clearly defined institutional rules that contracts between two or more parties would be enforced and in case of non-performance damages would be awarded to the aggrieved party to the contract by an independent judiciary, they will have no incentive to commit their scarce resources. As a result, the country would suffer from lack of foreign and domestic investment or even disinvestment. As will be discussed in the concluding chapter, the arbitrary treatment of the international mining companies at the hands of the government is clear evidence of how the post-independence situation is marked by a dearth of institutional assurance. On 2 September 2004, the mining companies working in the country were suddenly ordered to cease their activities without any prior warning or explanation.26 Though since then the mining companies have been allowed to return, some of them have incurred enormous financial and goodwill losses. The government’s credibility has also suffered considerably. Not only has the groupthink mentality stifled the development of formal institutions, it has also substantially eroded the informal institutions that are embodied in conventions, customs, traditions and codes of conduct which constituted the bastion of social trust and norms of cooperation. This is exacerbated by the government’s deliberate and systematic actions that undermine the authority of traditional leaders who, prior to the abolition of the customary property rights regimes, played a key role in devising and enforcing institutional rules that govern

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions access to and use of land and common property resources. Not only do the government and the ruling party erode the authority of traditional leaders in the country, but they also replace them by individuals who are loyal to them and often lack any form of legitimacy derived from the cultures and traditions of the communities concerned. More often than not, these new leaders or the ruling party’s cadres sow seeds of discord and, over time, weaken the bridging social capital that characterises rural Eritrean communities (Kibreab 2008a). It is also important to point out that the groupthink mentality and the strong bonding social capital that characterise relations within the EPLF/PFDJ are engendering a politics of exclusion, and therefore preventing the formation of a government of national unity and additionally preventing the development of a bureaucracy and institutional effectiveness. Selected EPLF combatants exclusively dominate the post-independence government. Their internal relationship was, at least until the mid-1990s, permeated by mutual support, cooperation and trust. One of the negative consequences of the excessive internal mutual trust of government officials and their suspicion and mistrust of ‘others’ labelled as ‘outsiders’, is that it leads to a tendency to confirm rather than reverse decisions taken by their comrades, no matter how sub-standard or mistaken the decisions may be. This was repeatedly reported to the author in different parts of the country during a series of fieldwork in Eritrea between 1992 and 2002. Most of those in government are also dependent on the ‘grace and favour’ of the president personally. This is characteristic of a patrimonial administrative state in which highly personalistic forms of rulership are dominant (Callaghy 1987: 89). In a patrimonial state, Centralised executive authority is personalised, most commonly around a presidential monarch or military leader who attempts to control the state… the personal ruler is supported, in varying and often uncertain ways, by personal officials and state administrative cadres whose positions rest in large part on political loyalty to the ruler in partially integrated and partially fragmented sets of patron-client networks … the state is the major avenue of upward mobility, status, power, and wealth. (Calaghy 1987: 87)

Thomas Callaghy further points out: Among the most important [patrimonial administrative features] are rather dispersed and not fully organised means of administration; personalised, arbitrary, case-by-case administration based on personally motivated discretion of traditional norms; much personal, face-to-face administration not extensively using written documents as bases of decision; personalistic staff selection; direct dependence of the staff on the ruler; supervision of the staff based on personal preference and loyalty; fusion of private and official affairs and resources. (ibid.)

The Eritrean state and the president, as well as his officials, fit neatly into the theory of the patrimonial administrative state as theorised by Max Weber, and as applied to the African context by Thomas Callaghy, in which the state is devoid of transpersonalised bureaucracy. Consequently, not only is everything dependent on the caprice of a leader but also his decisions and his boundless powers of discretion become the law. ‘Patrimonial officials are extensions of the personal ruler in which in contrast to bureaucracy … the position of the patrimonial official derives from his purely personal submission to the ruler, and his position vis-à-vis the subject is

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions merely the external aspect of this relation’ (Weber in Callaghy 1987: 96). Not surprisingly, patrimonial officials often treat the population with the same degree of personal arbitrariness that characterises the behaviour of the ruler (ibid. 97). In Eritrea, government officials’ loyalty is first to the president and then to their comrades rather than to their office. Not only has this been causing institutional ineffectiveness; it has also hampered the growth of transpersonalised offices that function independent of their occupants. This is because there are no binding norms and regulations of bureaucratic administration (ibid.). These are a sine qua non for the development and consolidation of a state bureaucracy and civil service. The strong bonding social capital is also used by the PFDJ government as a pretext to use oral rather than written communication even in matters of vital decisions. When asked why they are reluctant to take decisions and communicate with each other in writing, most government officials say ‘when you trust each other, oral communication is more effective and quicker than correspondence.’ What they do not say is, whatever is not put in writing is easily forgotten and is not amenable to accountability and transparent decision-making. If it were not for the bonding social capital that permeates the relationship between government officials and if it were not for the unaccountable system of governance, the former would have been forced to communicate with each other in writing, if not for anything else, to cover themselves against future demands for accountability and evidence. Thus, the strong bonding social capital and the complete absence of bridging social capital that characterise the PFDJ government are part of the explanations why the Eritrean government, in spite of nearly two decades of existence, has been unsuccessful in creating institutions, a civil service and a functioning government. The government that was established by the EPLF/PFDJ which is based on the exclusionist ‘winner takes all’ policy is a result of the bonding social capital produced within the EPLF during the war of independence. The EPLF, and later the PFDJ, could not trust and cooperate with the political organisations with which they were not connected through bonding social capital. Therefore, when the EPLF/ PFDJ leadership established the provisional government, it did not want to hear about the ‘other’ national political organisations or did not want to recognise their existence. Subsequently, an exclusionist government was created instead of a government of national unity. The EPLF/PFDJ’s exclusionist ‘winner takes all’ policy can only be explained by the fact that the EPLF/PFDJ, whilst endowed with a substantial stock of bonding social capital, suffers from a substantial deficit of bridging social capital. As we saw before, the leaders are masters of conceit and their attitude towards the ‘other’ organisations is based on their condescending attitude – ‘they know nothing and are therefore useless’. The strong bonding social capital produced during the war of national independence has engendered a strong inward-looking tendency marked, on the one hand, by an exaggerated sense of self-assurance and closed mind arrogance and, on the other, by a tendency to belittle, stereotype, vilify, demonise and underestimate the capability of the ‘other’. Other damaging effects of the darker side of bonding social capital which the PFDJ inherited from the EPLF are reflected not only in the inability of the PFDJ to build a government of national unity based on crosscutting political co-operation and trust; they have also engendered strong group cohesiveness based on a patron–client relationship. As we saw earlier, the crime of the G15 was that they

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions broke the culture of silence and consensus. The reason the Eritrean president gave the National Assembly on February 2002 for the arrest of the G15 on 18 September 2001, and they are still held in incommunicado detention without having been charged, was that they had committed treason by abandoning the very values and principles the Eritrean people fought for (AI 2002b). The ‘values and principles’ that the G15 abandoned were the culture of deafening silence, blind obedience to the arbitrary caprice of the president, and the consensus-based decision-making which was to a large extent the cause of the disaster that afflicted the country and its people during the border war against Ethiopia. The G15 in its ‘Open Letter’ stated: Until independence, the people had absolute confidence in the EPLF. The EPLF members trusted their leaders, and the leaders equally put excessive trust in the General Secretary. All activities were based on trust and a more or less family type style of work. Beginning in the late 80s, however, absolute trust and the uncontrolled family type of work started to cause problems. (2001) (emphasis added)

Although the scale of the abuse of power stemming from the so-called ‘family type style of work,’ might have intensified in the late 1980s, as claimed by the authors of the ‘Open Letter,’ the approach, namely, the ‘uncontrolled’ and unaccountable ‘family type’ of working of the EPLF leadership, was inherently fraught with fundamental problems from its inception. The consensus-based decision-making is a fertile breeding ground for abuse of power. In fact, the powerful repugnance of the head of state’s and the ruling party’s inner-circle towards the principles of accountability, transparency, and participatory decision-making processes, and the ills that have been afflicting the country and its people since independence, are attributable to the so-called ‘uncontrolled family style’ of work. This has developed over time into a corrosive norm (see Kibreab 2008a). This corrosive norm has two causes. First, because the head of state, who is habituated to a procedure of decision-making in which his ideas and decisions are, regardless of their questionable relevance and mediocrity, adopted without opposition, challenge or rigorous scrutiny, has over time developed a sense of infallibility or preposterousness. Second, because he fears no repercussions for the consequences of his mistakes, he has no incentive to weigh different options painstakingly. These are the major causes of inferior policies and decisions, as well as incompetent execution, that have been blighting the post-independence situation. For example, a lot of questions have arisen in connection with the border war. For instance, there was no acceptable reason why the Eritrean government rejected the well-thoughtout Rwanda–US peace proposal which was presented to both governments immediately after the border war broke out. Although, judging from its post-1999 intransigent behaviour, the Ethiopian government would have most probably rejected the proposal had it been accepted by Eritrea, the path taken by the latter did not bring any benefit, but only destruction, to the country. Besides losing 19,000 lives, large swaths of territory and development opportunities, the state of no-warno-peace is having more detrimental effects on Eritrea than Ethiopia. This is not only because of the fact that the Temporary Demilitarised Zone (TDZ) is located within Eritrean territory, but also, given the small nature of the Eritrean economy, the loss of the Ethiopian market as a source of supply of consumer goods and destination for Eritrean exports has detrimentally affected the Eritrean economy

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions (see Chapters 4 and 5). There are also many other questions one can raise concerning the president’s handling of the border war and its consequences (see Connell’s Conversations 2005). If his decisions were subject to rigorous questioning and scrutiny, such devastating consequences would have probably been avoided. The qualities of policies and decisions that are produced in a political environment shielded from rigorous competition, questioning and criticism are comparable to the qualities of goods and services produced in an economic environment or market shielded from competition. The qualities of policies adopted and decisions taken in the context of a shielded political environment, where all forms of opposition, freedom of the press and expression are prohibited and where alternative ideas and options are rigorously suppressed, are often inferior to policies and decisions produced in an open political environment where there is free discussion, vibrant opposition, and freedom of the press and expression and where ideas and visions compete freely without restriction. In this rapidly liberalising and globalising world, no country can go on suppressing the demands of its people for justice, fairness, democracy, and bread indefinitely. Sooner or later the government concerned will be forced to succumb to the daunting pressures of liberal democracy where its policies, decisions, and visions will be rejected as the shoddy products of a shielded market economy. As Diego Gambetta in a different, but similar, context observes: A certain dose of competition is notoriously beneficial in improving performance, fostering technological innovation, bettering services, allocating resources, spreading the fittest genes to later generations, pursuing excellence, preventing abuses of power – in short, in enriching the human lot. The rationale for this view is that not only those who succeed in competition benefit, but that the positive influence of competition is likely to be more generally felt. (Gambetta 1988: 124)

This suggests that contrary to the control freakery and paranoia of the government and the PFDJ central office, who see politics in terms of a ‘zero-sum game’, not only would a ‘dose’ of competition be beneficial to the country and its people, but also to themselves. Most of the ill-conceived policies adopted by the Eritrean government in the post-independence period as discussed throughout this book are to a large extent attributable to this stiflingly shielded anti-political environment. Accountability and democratic control presuppose acquiescence or submission to rigorous questioning, and the taking of responsibility, as well as the recognition and acknowledgement of mistakes. All these attributes are incompatible with the consensus-based decision-making procedures of the PFDJ and the presidency. Not only are the president and his cronies in the army and in the central office of the PFDJ unaccustomed to accountability and to being questioned, but over time they have developed a cancerous strategy of labelling all legitimate criticisms and calls for accountability, transparency, participatory decision-making, and for submission to the sanctity of the rule of law as acts of treason, betrayal, and a threat to national security. By labelling these genuine calls for changes and reforms as threats to national security and sovereignty, they have been able to resort to extraordinary measures, such as incommunicado detention without trial. All these are to a large extent the result of the follies intrinsic in any procedure of decisionmaking based on the so-called ‘family style of work’ which does not recognise the need for protection against excesses and abuses by the so-called ‘family members’

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions who exercise unlimited power of misplaced trust. Even members of the so-called ‘family’ are left without protection against internal suppression. This is amply demonstrated by the case of the G15. The treatment of the 11 members of the G15, the elderly mediators, the journalists, and the large number of citizens that have been languishing in incommunicado detention can only make sense in this perspective. The government’s inability to work with the United Nations, donor governments, the international financial institutions and international and national NGOs, as well as its excessive proclivity for complaint about partiality, can also only make sense when seen in this light. For the Eritrean leadership, there is only one way – its own way. ‘Family style’ or a consensus-based method of work is even found to be wanting in the management of family affairs, let alone in matters of national interest. This is due to the false assumptions that underpin this method of work. In the so-called ‘family style’ of work, the family or the household is assumed to be a site of harmony and peace where all members, regardless of their age and sex, the socially constructed roles each plays and their statuses, are assumed to have identical goals and interests. The corollary is that every member, under the wise guardianship of the male household head, works for the common good of the household members whose relationship is characterised by altruism rather than by conflict of interests. It is further assumed that since all family members are committed to the common good of the family or household, it is in the interest of all members to cooperate and, therefore, there is no need for mechanisms of control and accountability. Whatever decision is taken by the male family or household head is said to be in the common interest of all members of the family or the household (see Sen 1990; Kabeer 1997). The importance and relevance of this analogy in the case of the EPLF/PFDJ lies in the fact that the members of the Front allegedly considered themselves to belong to one family, where no conflict of interests existed and where every member was unconditionally committed to the well-being of the ‘family’ and consequently worked relentlessly, under the guidance and wisdom of the secretarygeneral (as the head of the family), in pursuit of the common good. Because all members were assumed to have identical goals and interests, there was no need for control or accountability. The leaders did not need to consult with the members of the Front, or to adopt participatory processes of decision-making. They performed their ‘duties’ as they deemed fit for the ‘good’ of all the ‘family members’, drawing on the ‘inexhaustible’ and unconditional fund of familial trust placed on them. Abuses by the leaders passed undetected or were overlooked because every ‘family member’ was too trusting. When abuses were too obvious and could not pass unnoticed, even by the most trusting members, they were deliberately overlooked because they were presented as temporary deviations from principles dictated by adverse conditions. The leadership justified these deviations as being necessary ‘evils’ but nevertheless essential to the realisation of the ‘greater good’ of all ‘family members’. Over time, not only did the male household head, the chairman of the Front, wield so much power under the pretence that whatever he did was in pursuit of the collective interest of the ‘family members’, but more dangerously he and his cronies developed repugnance to accountability, consultation, and participatory decision-making. Not only did they take it as a God-given right to define the goals and the interests of the ‘family’ but also to devise strategies

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions on how to achieve them which included suppression of family members who questioned the authority and abuse of power by the ‘family head’ and his cronies. The leaders continued to act without consultation or participation of the ‘masses of fighters’, – family members – but also against the latter’s interests. Over time, the Front developed into an apparent monolithic and highly centralised military organisation in which every deviance from the chairman’s line was labelled as indiscipline and against the interest of the family, and was dealt with severely in the interest of the ‘common good of the family’ (see Connell 2005; Kibreab 2008a; Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005). The president and his cronies’ antipathy for scrutiny, accountability, transparency, participatory decision-making, democracy and criticism is a product of this culture. The altruistic conception of the family or the household, and in our case the Front, as being the site of love, harmony, and equality in which all members, regardless of their sex, age, roles, statuses and power, are assumed to share resources and power of decision-making, resulting from identical goals and interests, is, to say the least, a myth. There is an established corpus of knowledge in the social sciences, particularly in gender studies, that rejects this conceptualisation of the family or the household in favour of a more realistic alternative (Kabeer 1997; Sen 1990). The latter notion is based on a conflict-cooperative perspective. In this perspective, the family or the household is conceived as being simultaneously a site of love, care, harmony, affection, nurturing, conflict, struggle, negotiation, bargaining and oppression. This is due to the fact that family or household members are assumed to have common and divergent interests simultaneously. The well-being of each family member requires cooperation with the other family members, but since some of their interests are divergent, they also engage in incessant conflicts, negotiations and bargaining with each other. Since most of us grew up in families no matter how they are defined or have families of our own, it is not difficult to understand the validity of this perspective. The implication of this analogy is that if it is wrong to conceive of intra-family or household relations as altruistic, it cannot be right to conceive members of an amorphous Front, whose membership is derived from different classes, sexes, ethnic and religious groups, as well as different ideologies, as having identical goals and interests, and where leaders are given carte blanche to do whatever they deem fit in pursuit of the so-called common good or ‘family interest’. Because the leaders of the EPLF/PFDJ under the ‘wise’ guidance of the secretary-general and later the president and his colleagues were assumed to have identical goals and interests with the rest of the ‘family members’, and consequently with the wider population, as stated in the ‘Open Letter’ of the G15, no need was felt to limit their power. Whatever policies the leader adopted or actions he took were construed as being in the best interest of all Eritreans, regardless of the actual effects. The ‘wall of silence’ that permeates the Eritrean post-independence condition and the sorry state Eritrea is in is, on the one hand, the result of this culture based on the so-called ‘family style of work’ and, on the other, the result of the heavy-handed and repressive doctrine of democratic centralism developed and rigorously enforced during the war of independence. These were inimical to freedom of thought, expression and action. It is this culture which is the product of the so-called ‘family style’ of work in combination with the high-handed and oppressive system of democratic centralism which by definition is anathema to democratic accountability that produced the

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions present system. A major consequence of this misplaced trust has been that the ‘family head’ – leader of the PFDJ and now head of state – has naturalised his privileges to misrule the country and regards whoever questions his power as being the enemy of the ‘family’ – that is, the nation. Any method of decision-making that is ‘uncontrolled’ and subject to no accountability is inevitably likely to degenerate into dictatorship. Political organisations or a ‘parliament’ that legislates or adopts policies without fierce debates and painstaking discussions of the issues are nothing more than a rubberstamping arm of the executive. As Thomas Paine stated, ‘I do not believe that any two men, on what are called doctrinal points, think alike who think at all. It is only those who have not thought that appear to agree’ (Paine 1945: 452). The consensus-based method of work and decision-making in the Eritrean Cabinet of Ministers, the National Assembly, the Central Council and the Executive Committee is not only an expression of political impotence and a disguise for dictatorship but also a manifestation of the unfortunate fact that these bodies are filled with people who are incapable of disagreeing with each other because they are either incapable of thinking critically or are afraid to express disagreement.

What is to be done? The answer to anything you regard as offensive is more free speech. (A.C. Grayling 2006) 27 There is no right not to be offended. And if people start asserting such a right, freedom dies. (Shami Chakrabarti 2006)28

Can freedom of association constitute a threat to the stability of the young Eritrean state? Just because some exclusionist organisations have been mushrooming in exile and the autocratic government in Asmara fears that enjoyment of civic rights may destabilise the status quo, does not justify prohibition of freedom of association. A society deprived of civic rights or rights of assembly cannot maintain and develop healthy crosscutting social networks or reciprocal cooperation which are a sine qua non for long-term well-being, national unity, economic development and social progress. These are fostered through civic engagement, open debates, dialogues and experimentation. Understanding does not always mean reaching an agreement. It can also mean understanding and accepting each other’s differences and living together respectfully in spite of such differences. Some may still argue that there is no point in denying the potential dangers that can be posed by civil and political society associations. The reason is that there are abundant examples among the transnational Eritrean communities and the Eritrean Democratic Alliance (EDA) that show that post-independence Eritrea has witnessed the emergence of exclusionist ethnic and faith-based organisations which, if given a chance, may corrode the moral resources which served the Eritrean public cause effectively before and during the thirty years war. When the leader of the EFDM, Beshir Ishaq, was asked at an interview to reflect on the future of the opposition groups, he said, I doubt the sincerity of anyone who wants to overthrow the regime and at the same

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions time avoid the contemplation of the alternative. We do not overthrow the present regime for the sake of overthrowing or to reinstate a similar one. I am afraid these people will destroy the hard won sovereignty and propel the country into an unspoken reign of lawlessness and civil war in their unholy rush for power. I also believe that the last disarray in ENA was created by the culture of gossip sponsored by some unscrupulous minors around the opposition camp (2004: 6).

As this insightful observation suggests, not all organisations that are opposed to the repressive regime in Asmara are necessarily better than the latter. Given a chance, they may endanger the hard-won independence of the country as Beshir and many Eritrean citizens fear. It is interesting to note, however, that Beshir made these statements before his organisation joined the Eritrean National Alliance. Since the EFDM joined the EDA in 2005, Beshir has been singing the same chorus as the other members of the alliance which he condemned a year earlier as constituting a threat to the hard-won sovereignty and which could plunge the country into an unspoken reign of lawlessness and civil war in their unholy rush for power. The question that arises is if Beshir Ishaq’s characterisation of the member organisations of the alliance in 2004 was correct, what is it that has changed fundamentally since then to justify not only his organisation’s membership but also for him to champion the cause of the alliance? If the alliance of the opposition constituted a threat to the ‘hard won sovereignty’ of the country in 2004, the question the leader of the EFDM needs to answer is the extent to which this is still true. If this is not true, he still needs to explain to the Eritrean people why the opposition groups no longer represent a threat to Eritrean sovereignty. An optimistic view may suggest that these potentially sectarian groups are not rooted inside the country. The perspectives of the people who are bearing the brunt of the burden of dictatorship are likely to be different from those in distant places. However, there is no political or social space in present-day Eritrea that enables citizens to voice their views, visions and grievances. The absence of groupings, inside the country, based on exclusive identities aspiring to capture state power cannot be taken to imply that there are no such inclinations, or there are no people who share some of the ‘divisive’ views harboured by some movements in the diaspora. This is an empirical question which cannot be determined a priori. Nevertheless, there is no evidence to suggest that the sectarian views of some of the opposition groups are shared by people inside the country. As Fouad Makki perceptively observed, if the EPLF/PFDJ successfully addresses the structural inequalities prevailing among the disparate ethno-linguistic groups, ‘it will likely neutralise the potential for ethnic and religious conflict’ (1996: 483). However, he argues: This is not to underestimate the catalytic effect of fundamentalist movements in the region, or the belligerent policies of the National Islamic Front which dominates the Sudanese state, on the dynamics of cultural politics in Eritrea. But without a social base to nurture it, the political energy generated by the fundamentalist movements will in due time dissipate. (ibid.) (emphasis added)

Some interviewees have suggested that, ‘if such organisations are making their presence felt in exile where there is unlimited freedom of assembly and expression, are there reasons to believe that such organisations are unlikely to create and reproduce themselves inside the country in the context of a political system that

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions guarantees freedom of association and expression?’ (Focus group, Asmara, 7 September 2002). They further pointed out that all those organisations that bear the name ‘civil’ or ‘political’ are not necessarily civil, pluralising and democracy enhancing. Some of them are exclusionist and, therefore, parochial and polarising. As Naomi Chazan perceptively argues: Parochial associations – such as … religious cults – that do not encourage an interest in matters beyond their own immediate concerns, and groups that equate their own aims with those of the state and consequently seek to take it over (some fundamentalist groups, ethno-national movements, and ideological associations) are outside the bounds of civil society. Such groups have proliferated in Africa in recent years, posing in some cases not only a threat to Africa’s nascent civil society but also to other groups that furnish the kernels for the coalescence of civil society. (Chazan 1992: 283)

It cannot be denied that post-independence diasporic Eritrean communities have a good share of such parochial associations and one should not mistake them for civil or political society for the mere reason that they are opposed to the Eritrean government. Only civil and political society associations that promote solidarity, trust, tolerance, mutual respect, reciprocal co-operation, universal principles of human rights and maintain open recruitment policies belong to the realm of civil and political society associations. Associations that lack these fundamental traits are enemies rather than being agents of civil society associations. Ernest Gellner, for example, states: … segmentary communities are cousin-ridden and ritual-ridden, free perhaps of central tyranny, but not really free in a sense that would satisfy us; there is centralisation which grinds into the dust all subsidiary social institutions or subcommunities, whether ritually stifling or not; and finally, there is the third alternative we seek to define and attain. It excludes both stifling communalism and centralised authoritarianism. (Gellner 1994: 12)

The faith-, tribal and ethnic-based organisations, such as the Eritrean People’s Congress, the Eritrean Islamic Salvation Movement, the EIPJD (Al-Khalas), the Nahda Party, the RSADO and the DMLEK, are intrinsically exclusionist and cannot pursue an open-door recruitment policy. Those who do not share the traits of being a Kunama, a Muslim or a Christian fundamentalist, etc. are excluded. Some of these traits are immutable and are therefore beyond the reach of ‘other’ Eritreans. Do such organisations represent a liability or opportunity to the civic order? Although it is important to openly debate whether these types of organisations are good or bad for Eritrea, it is important to bear in mind that they are part of the Eritrean social reality and therefore cannot be wished out of existence. They have to be lived with and gradually transformed. However, this will not be achieved easily. For example, prohibition or isolation of such organisations is counterproductive and dangerous. This would only drive them to more extremism. It is particularly important to emphasise the fact that in multi-faith societies such as Eritrea, any civil or political association whose membership or constituency does not reflect the multiplicity of the polity, and which harms directly or indirectly the common good, is beyond the bounds of the realm of civil or political society. However, this is not as straightforward as it appears to be. For example, if there is an organisation established by the Kunama ethnic group to advocate and protect

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions the interests and the cultural heritage of the Kunama people, that organisation cannot by virtue of representing the interest of a particular social group be labelled as being beyond the realm of civil society. The Kunama people have suffered historical injustice over the centuries at the hands of consecutive foreign governments and at the hands of their marauding neighbours. Independence has not substantially reversed the historical injustices the Kunama people have been suffering from. Fighting for justice, equality and fairness is one of the central preoccupations of civil society associations. The issues that may appear controversial, however, are, first, the extent to which the DMLEK represents the interests of the Kunama people29 and, second, the organisation’s apparent exclusionary membership base. Not only should such an organisation, as of necessity, pursue an open-door recruitment policy, but there is no obvious reason why an organisation that fights against the historical injustices the Kunama have been subjected to and that protects the Kunama way of life against outside encroachment should be initiated and run only by members of the Kunama ethnic group in the first place. It is not suggested here that the Kunama should not initiate such an organisation, but that the oppression and the threat they face should not preoccupy only the Kunama people. This is a vital public cause that every fair- and civic-minded Eritrean should fight against. In fact, any civil society association that does not take a stand on such vital national issues cannot be regarded as belonging to the realm of civil society. This suggests that the civility or civic virtue of associations cannot be determined solely on the basis of the ethnic, religious or regional composition of their members, but most importantly on the basis of the causes they promote, the goals they fight for and the method of fighting. As long as the interests they protect and the goals they promote are part of the common good, and the social norms and values they foster contribute to democratic tendencies, not only do such organisations belong to the realm of civil society but they constitute one of its central planks. However, if the raison d’être of such organisations is to foment polarisation, particularism, fundamentalism and ethnic nationalism, they are beyond the realm of civil society associations. It is important to appreciate this distinction. It is equally important to recognise the fact that not all organisations that pursue open-door recruitment policies necessarily belong to the realm of civil society. For example, even though the PFDJ mass organisations – namely, the NCEW, the NUEW and the NUEYS – reflect, to a large extent, the multiplicity of Eritrean society in the sense that they have in their membership people from all the ethno-linguistic groups in the country in varying degrees, they cannot be considered as part of the realm of civil society. This is because, in spite of the fact that they maintain open-door recruitment policies, they do not accept people who hold different political opinions and visions. Not only are these mass organisations affiliated to the government and to the ruling party and, therefore, are without autonomy but also they actively enforce the government’s anti-civil society agenda. They do this by suppressing the emergence of any civil association that the PFDJ and the government do not initiate or control. The main theme discussed in this chapter is the extent to which post-independence Eritrean society is endowed with sufficient social capital that the exercise of freedom of association would not threaten its unity and the country’s political stability. This is critically important because whether or not the right of association

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions manifested in associational pluralism (civil and political) promotes the pursuit of the common good or erodes it by creating opportunities or niches for ethnic and religious entrepreneurs to mobilise people on the basis of religious and ethnic affiliations is a function of citizens’ level of civic awareness. It is equally important to understand that the preconditions for civically responsible political and civil associations are created and reproduced in the process of participation in collective action. Although the short-term potentially destabilising effects of civil and political society associations, in situations where civic virtues are either weak or lacking, cannot be denied, on balance, there can be no substitute for civil and political society associations. They are the causes and effects of social capital – mutual respect, tolerance, trust, empathy and cooperation. Restrictions or prohibitions are not the way forward. Prohibition would only mean perpetuating the status quo of low level civicness. De Tocqueville, in spite of some reservations, for example, warns against restrictions on freedom of association by pointing out that any state that restricts the right of political association should know what price it pays for these blessings (de Tocqueville 1969: 33). The most important reason de Tocqueville strongly endorses civil society associations, is because they are the surest guarantee against either the despotism of parties or the arbitrary rule of the prince (ibid.: 190–3). As pointed out earlier, the arbitrary rule of the PFDJ government has been one of the major factors in creating and reproducing conditions that erode and reinforce bridging and bonding social capital, respectively. Political and civil society associations in the country may, by countering the despotism of the government, reverse the process of depletion of social capital and therefore weaken Types B and C associations and enhance Types A and D associations (see Table 2.4). It is important to point out, however, that unless the Eritrean political landscape is liberalised, reflected in the emergence of other political parties besides the PFDJ so that they are able to participate in open debates, provide an alternative to and challenge the monopoly of power by the PFDJ and compete for political power in open and fair elections, civil society associations will remain weak, ineffective and feebly organised. The converse is also true of political society associations. In a social and political environment in which civil society associations are weak and poorly organised, political associations regardless of the government’s policy on political parties will remain weak and ineffective. This is due to the fact that the development and consolidation of civil and political society associations are inseparably and symbiotically linked to each other. One cannot thrive without the other. De Tocqueville observed that, ‘In all countries where political associations are forbidden, civil associations are rare’ (ibid.: 520). The development and growth of political and civil society associations are inextricably linked with each other. It is argued that the Eritrean government, by prohibiting political associations, has stifled the emergence and consolidation of civil society associations. This has, in turn, prevented the development and consolidation of civic bonds, civic virtues, and commitments that are necessary conditions for harmonious political and social integration – national unity. The government is, therefore, indirectly conspiring against Eritrea’s long-term national interest. Although it is necessary not to be complacent about the potential short-term destabilising effects of unlimited freedom of association, there is evidence to show

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions that ‘Very slight political liberalisation leads to conflict, but larger increases reduce the danger considerably, supporting the view that conflict is driven by opportunistic behaviour rather than grievance’ (de Soysa 2002: 395) in which selfinterested opportunist, ideological, ethnic, and religious entrepreneurs might try to mobilise members of their communities in pursuit of goals that undermine the common good. It must be recognised that the only way to counteract and prevent this danger is by creating a favourable political and social environment that allows civil and political societies to develop. The most effective way to combat such dangers is through democratisation of the political structure so that political and civil society associations flourish, enabling citizens to interact and gain experiences from engagement in democratic activities. Such associational life is a sine qua non for the long-term creation, maintenance and reproduction of norms of reciprocal cooperation, tolerance, trust and civic engagement. In the long term, participation in democratic civil society associations is the most effective weapon against bigotry, parochialism, sectarianism, and faith- or ethnic-based exclusive associations. The mother of civic engagement and civic virtues is social capital reflected, as we saw before, in social organisation such as trust, norms, reciprocal cooperation, and social networks (Coleman 1990; de Tocqueville 1969; Hadenius and Uggla 1996; Putnam 1993, 1995, 2000). Ignorance is the prime cause of hatred and intolerance. Participation in civil and political society associations enables people to know each other, builds interconnecting bridges across social cleavages and is a sine qua non for peaceful, respectful, empathetic, and cooperative coexistence. Unless people meet and discuss each other’s problems, hopes, aspirations, worries, and concerns, they cannot empathise with each other’s plight. As long as they do not empathise with each other, they are likely to engage in destructive zero-sum games in pursuit of particular interests at the expense of their common interest. It cannot be denied that in the short term, freedom of association is likely to lead to the proliferation of a myriad of small civil and political associations and these may impinge negatively on the political situation. However, the potential danger can easily be overcome by strict enforcement of law and order. Over time, the proliferation of such single and exclusive identity-based associations is likely to create and reproduce conditions that render them obsolete and primordial, because the most effective way by which people cultivate civic virtues is through democratic activities. Prohibition or the stifling of civil and political society associations does not, therefore, avert the dangers that are caused by parochialism, ethnocentrism, sectarianism, religious fanaticism, ideological romanticism and regionalism. In fact, the prevalence of such conditions in any society is correlated with the absence rather than presence of vibrant civil and political society associations (Chazan 1992; Gellner 1994; Kibreab 2008a; Putnam 1993). A virtuous civil society is often a necessary and sufficient condition for breaking social barriers, and for the development of social norms of tolerance, civic engagement, crosscutting social networks, reciprocal co-operation, mutual trust, and cross-cultural understanding (Chazan 1992; Coleman 1990; Diamond 1994; Hadenius and Uggla 1996; Putnam 1993, 1995a, 2000). In other words, civil society, in spite of the dangers it might pose in the short term, as de Toqueville said, is a school that, on the one hand, fosters patterns of civility in the actions of citizens by enlarging their hearts

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Freedom of Association, Political Stability & Institutions and broadening their minds, and, on the other, produces an independent and organised force that can countervail tyrannical rule. The reason for this is that democratic civil societies are associations whose interactions generate the network through which civility and democratic values and norms of cooperation are created, sustained and reproduced. It is necessary to explain what this means. Civil society associations have two critically important functions – namely, pluralism and education. The pluralist function of civil society is a vital instrument against autocratic and oppressive rule. By organising themselves into multitudes of civil associations, citizens can act collectively, on the one hand, to pursue and protect their interests and, on the other, to hold those at the helm of power accountable for their failures and misdeeds. For our purpose, it is the educational function of civil society that is a vital instrument partly for the development and consolidation of democratic values and norms, social bonds and civic engagements and partly for averting the dangers that might be posed by freedom of association. These goals are only achievable in the context of associational pluralism. It is in the process of participation in pluralist civil society associations that citizens learn and acquire civic virtues and civic consciousness which are necessary conditions for understanding one’s rights and civic duties, as well as other people’s rights and freedom. In the post-independence period, the corrosive effects of all the grievances harboured by many disillusioned political and civil associations on the stock of social capital would have been substantially diminished, offset or even reversed completely, if the following conditions were met. First, if a transitional government of national unity with an open and liberal policy on political associations (parties) was formed. Second, if the Eritrean provisional government adopted an open and liberal policy on civil society associations so that the country’s citizens were able to form and participate in multitudes of civil associations and social movements in pursuit of their interests. Third, if the constitution was implemented subsequent to its ratification by the Constituent Assembly in May 1997. Fourth, if these were followed by a constitutionally elected democratic government in which all Eritrean political parties that fulfilled the minimum requirements set by the supreme law and the relevant legislation were allowed and enabled to compete freely and fairly for political power. It is over seventeen and fifteen years since the country has been de facto and de jure independent, respectively. However, to the consternation of change-seeking Eritreans and the Eritrean people’s international and regional friends, not only has nothing happened, but there is no clear sign that they will ever happen as long as the country remains under the dictatorial grip of the PFDJ, and its ‘supreme’ leader. Nearly two decades after the country’s independence, these issues still remain as pertinent and as critical as ever.

Notes 1

Diamond, Linz and Lipset also define democracy as a condition comprising first, meaningful and extensive competition among individuals and organised groups (especially political parties) for all effective positions of government power, at regular intervals and excluding the use of force. Second, a highly inclusive level of political participation in the selection of leaders and policies, at least through regular and fair

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elections, such that no major (adult) social group is excluded. Third, a level of civil and political liberties – freedom of expression, freedom of the press, freedom to form and join organisations – sufficient to ensure the integrity of political competition and participation. Quoted in Abrahamsen (2000: 67). As we saw earlier, though it cannot be denied that the PFDJ government’s follies and misgovernance reflected, inter alia, in their divisive exclusionist ‘winner takes all’ policy is having a detrimental effect on inter-religious relations, luckily in Eritrea so far the relations between Muslims and Christians in the country are cordial. It is wrong to assume, however, that this status quo will remain the same forever. It is not clear why Beshir feels he and his family have the right to belong to the Gash Setit area and not the Christian highlanders who migrated to the area either simultaneously with his family or even before them. The only difference is that Beshir’s family belong to the Muslim faith and the others to Christianity and therefore the latter have no legitimate claim to the Gash Setit but the Muslim Blin have a legitimate right by virtue of their religion. Can there be a more bigoted view than this? As we saw earlier, that was what he told Robert Kaplan of the Atlantic Monthly in April 2003. The day the Eritrean Liberation Army marched victoriously to Asmara. The Eritrean Liberation Front-Revolutionary Council; the Eritrean Liberation FrontCentral Command; the People’s Democratic Front for the Liberation of Eritrea; and the Eritrean Revolutionary Democratic Front. Eritrean Opposition Organizations: New Push Towards Alliance, 20 January 2008. Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/view/4742/3/ (accessed 22 January 2008) Salman, Abu Bara’a Hassan (1998) Deputy Amir of the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement in Interview with Nida’ul Islam Magazine, February–March 1998. Available at http://www.fas.org/irp/world/para/docs/eritrea.htm (accessed 7 July 2004). The other group headed by Adhanom Gebremariam was outside the EDA until January 2008. EDA: Sana’a Axis Mediation Didn’t Bear Fruit, 1 March 2007. Available at http://www.awate.com/portal/content/view/4482/3/ (accessed 3 March 2007). Civic virtue as used here refers to interest in issues and devotion to public causes (Walzer 1992: 64). Undoubtedly, life within the Eritrean fronts, at least among the rank and file, during the war of independence was marked more or less by the absence of self-interest and unconditional devotion to the cause the fronts stood for. The fighters were not allowed to possess anything privately except their clothes and other few personal items such as combs, mirrors, and toothbrushes. But this was only true within the framework of the fronts. However, the freedom fighters that exhibited unconditional devotion to the cause their organisations stood for were intolerant of ‘others’, especially if the latter purported to represent alternative visions and ideologies. Any form of criticism of the leaderships or their policies was also not tolerated. Many of those who dared to express dissenting views were subjected to different forms of intimidation, harassment, arbitrary detention and, in the worst-case scenario, elimination (see Kibreab 2008a). This said, it is still important to preface this statement with an important caveat. Though the civilian population throughout Eritrea stood united against a common enemy, the two fronts that led the war of independence did not exhibit the same degree of virtuousness. Ahmed Nasser, personal communication, London, 10 June 2005. I am grateful to Suleiman Hussein for drawing my attention to this important observation. Personal communication, London, 15 March 2008. This is my own free translation from Tigrinya into English. Interview with president Isaias Afwerki, Dimtsi Hafash, 18 April 2003. The key terms he uses in Tigrinya are tewefaynet v seseà. Tewefaynet can be translated as devotion or dedication and seseà means selfishness, insatiable greed. A propos hyenas, I have heard many citizens in Eritrea using the term hyena to

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describe the behaviour of high-ranking military officers in terms of their sexual behaviour and material avarice. The reason the British proposed to dismember Eritrea was because they did not believe Muslim and Christian Eritreans could live together in peace and harmony. Isaias seems to believe the same thing, but instead of partition the solution in his view is dictatorship. Four of the five elderly mediators were released by 2004. Fitewrari Hidad Kerar was released earlier due to critical illness and died while under house arrest. Dr Mahammed Shummay, 63, a business executive, and Sheikh Sunabara Debena, 83 a businessman, were released in mid-2004. Sheikh Abdu Ahmed Younis, 75, a businessman, was also released after nearly three years in detention without trial in August 2004. Sheikh Hassan Kekia, a long-standing prominent EPLF supporter and businessman, 78, was held in an unknown place for a longer period and was released in 2007. The institutions of polyarchy which according to Robert Dahl are necessary conditions for democracy are: a. Elected officials: control over government decisions about policy is constitutionally vested in elected officials. b. Free and Fair elections: elected officials are chosen in frequent and fairly conducted elections in which coercion is comparatively uncommon. c. Inclusive suffrage: all adults have the right to vote in the election of officials. d. Right to run for office: practically all adults have the right to run for elective offices in the government, though age limits may be higher for holding office than for the suffrage. e. Freedom of expression: citizens have a right to express themselves without danger of severe punishment on political matters broadly defined, including criticism of officials, the government, the regime, the socio-economic order, and the prevailing ideology. f. Alternative information: citizens have a right to seek out alternative sources of information. Moreover, alternative sources of information exist and are protected by laws. g. Associational autonomy: to achieve their various rights, including those listed above, citizens also have a right to form relatively independent associations or organisations, including independent political parties and interest groups. (Dahl 1989: 221) The eight symptoms of groupthink according to Janis are: a. an illusion of invulnerability, shared by most or all the members, which creates excessive optimism and encourages taking extreme risks; b. collective efforts to rationalise in order to discount warnings which might lead members to reconsider their assumptions before they recommit themselves to their past policy decisions; c. an unquestioned belief in the group’s inherent morality, inclining the members to ignore the ethical or moral consequences of their decisions; d. stereotyped views of enemy leaders as too evil to warrant genuine attempts to negotiate, or as too weak and stupid to counter whatever risky attempts are made to defeat their purposes; e. direct pressure on any member who expresses strong arguments against any of the group’s stereotypes, illusions or commitments, making clear that this type of dissent is contrary to what is expected of all loyal members; f. self-censorship of deviations from the apparent group consensus, reflecting each member’s inclination to minimise to himself the importance of his doubts and counterarguments; g. a shared illusion of unanimity concerning judgements conforming to the majority view; silence is seen as consent; h. the emergence of self-appointed mindguards – members who protect the group from adverse information that might shatter their shared complacency about the effectiveness and morality of their decisions. Mdskal (to freeze) is the term the people use to describe the president’s method of punishing, disciplining and humiliating high-ranking government and party officials. An official who does not toe the unwritten code of conduct or the non-existent party line or

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is heard complaining or gossiping about the sorry state of affairs or the president’s and his cronies abuse of power is simply told not to come to work by a clerk from the President’s Office or from the respective ministries. This instruction is invariably communicated by telephone. No explanations are given and, in the majority of cases, whoever dares to ask for an explanation often ends up in detention. In the majority of cases, frozen officials draw their salaries at the end of the month. There are many professionals who have been frozen for many years, some of them for over a decade in a country where there is acute shortage of professionals. A frozen person cannot resign their post. The government’s rationale is, if they resign, they may find alternative means of survival and therefore cannot be humiliated, punished and disciplined. Frozen officials and public servants cannot also leave the country. They are de facto salaried prisoners of conscience. Mdskal is also used by the president to instil fear and terror among government officials, army officers and civil servants. It is a major means of deterrence and a critical instrument of engendering blind obedience and deafening silence, even in the face of gross injustice and human rights violation. Many high-ranking government officials repeatedly reported this to the author on condition that they remained anonymous. See ‘Mining companies want answers from Eritrea’. Available at http://www.mg.co.za/ Content/13.asp?eg=BreakingNews-Business&ao=122710 (accessed 27 September 2004). The philosopher A.C. Grayling, in The Independent on Sunday: The Sunday Review, 3 December 2006. The human rights campaigner, Shami Chakrabarti, Director of Liberty in The Independent on Sunday: The Sunday Review, 3 December 2006. The fact that the DMLEK says it represents the interests of the Kunama people does not automatically suggest that this is true or it has the mandate of the Kunama people. Many of the political organisations listed in Table 7.1 purport to represent different ethnic and religious groups and speak on behalf of these groups as if they have been mandated to do so. Nothing is worse than the indignity of speaking on behalf of people without having the mandate to do so. That is what the present government in Eritrea does and those who purport to represent an alternative future should avoid falling into the same trap of indignity.

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Eight Shattered Promises In Lieu of a Conclusion

The government is trusted by its people. Government institutions have been set up for the people. (Isaias Afwerki 2003)1 The most convincing legitimation of new states has lain in the plausibility of their indictments of their predecessors. Their own positive legitimations – however strenuously worked at and for a time convincing – have not worn well. Indeed, the collapse of the hegemony of one form of state has routinely been attended by nostalgia for its once reviled predecessor. (Ranger and Vaughan 1993: 1) [The Eritrean president] is both the guardian and the apex of the system in control of an interlocking set of state and party…Cabinet ministers are accountable individually to the president… (Pool 2001: 171–2)

Contrary to the president’s assertion, his post-independence government has not only failed to create new institutions, but it has also systematically dismantled the formal and the informal institutions that pre-existed it. The raison d’être for this project has been to facilitate a highly personalised presidential rule and to pave the way for an arbitrary and unaccountable way of making decisions and exercising power. To this end, the PFDJ government has had policies designed and enforced to ensure unfettered political, social, cultural and economic control. These include: (a) the prohibition of political and civil society associations and private mass media; (b) the stifling of the private sector and consequently the destruction of the nascent middle class; (c) the domination of the economy by the PFDJ’s feebly-run firms; (d) the nationalisation of land; (e) the mobilisation of citizens aged between 18 and 50 under the national service and the WYDC, thereby eroding the diverse livelihood systems of the citizenry; (f) the expulsion and prohibition of international and domestic NGOs; (g) the militarisation of the society; (h) the absence of a national budget and national accounts; (i) the dismantling of the only university in the country; (j) the relocation of final-year secondary-school students to the Military Camp of Sawa; (k) the suppression of

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Shattered Promises religious freedom – the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Pentecostal Christians, Bahai and the Medhanie Alem Orthodox Church; and (l) the mdskal ‘freezing’ of ‘recalcitrant’ officials and civil servants. It seems necessary to add to this list the dismantling of the department of national security and the dismantling of the civil service. Even the dissolution of the party which was an instrument of control can be seen as part of the dismantling of an institution to facilitate personal control. These have ensured that the whole country and its people are in the grip of an unaccountable dictatorship. The government’s failed economic policies are inextricably linked to its failures in the realms of politics, war and diplomacy. At the heart of these failures lie the ruling clique’s illiberal and intolerant attitude which makes them perceive everything not initiated and controlled by them as representing a threat to national security. Consequently, civil and political society associations, national and international NGOs, private enterprises, international financial institutions, donors and the United Nations organisations, including the peace-keeping force, are seen not as partners in the fight against poverty, deprivation and violent conflicts, but rather as enemies engaged in constant struggle to undermine Eritrea’s sovereignty and the PFDJ’s self-reliance project. Post-independence Eritrea and its citizenry have also suffered as a result of the manner in which decisions concerning the economy, politics, war and diplomacy are made. For example, when the guerrilla leader and former chief of staff, Ogbe Abraha, was asked by Dan Connell on 7 August 2001 about the border war, he said: To have a war at that time [when there was a crisis of leadership] was a very bad thing. If it was only Badme, it could have been solved by other means – the UN, etc … I didn’t even hear about the crisis until we were three or four days into it. At first, the only question for us was how to defend the country in a conventional war. But the reason behind this should be studied. I am not convinced by the explanation of how it [the border war] started. It is still unclear who made the decision for us to go to Badme. And this points up the problem in the way all these decisions were taken. There was never any group discussion of strategic questions first. (Connell 2005: 101)(emphasis added)

When the border war broke out, Ogbe, a member of the Cabinet, had no information. This was because the decision to invade Badme was discussed neither in the cabinet of ministers nor in the national assembly. Decisions on economic policy and diplomacy are also routinely made without consulting the Cabinet. As we saw in Chapter 5, the EPLF adopted economic policies that were littered with neo-liberal jargon during its second congress held in 1987. At the congress, the private sector was identified as a key player in postindependence Eritrea’s economic development. This policy was reinforced and amplified by the policies adopted at the third congress of the ruling party held in February 1994. Notwithstanding the fact that the central council, the ruling party’s executive committee and the Cabinet of ministers had declared that the market and private sector would play a key role in the country’s economic development, the president condemned the private sector a year and a half later, for being corruption-ridden and therefore detrimental to the country’s economic development and social progress (Afwerki 1996). This ‘sharp reversal of policy’ was not preceded by a debate in the cabinet of ministers or the National Assembly.

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In Lieu of a Conclusion Disregarding the previous resolutions and decisions of the central council and Cabinet of ministers, the president unilaterally declared that the future of the country lay in the hands of the ruling party’s enterprises, such as Gedem and Segen. He also said that both the economy and politics would continue being dominated by the PFDJ for the foreseeable future (Afwerki 1996). Government members who espoused the liberal policy agenda were dumbfounded by these unilateral decisions and actions, but they lacked the necessary organisation, voice and plan of action to countervail these decisions (see G15 2001). When Dan Connell independently asked Haile (Duruê) and Petros Solomon how things could go so woefully wrong without resistance from the rest of the leadership, they both said that he had done well in sowing seeds of discord and mistrust among those whom he suspected would challenge him. Petros told Connell (2005: 127), ‘Isaias [the president] had very good ways of treating you and making sure that people did not converge. He was enjoying when people fight, and he was utilising it. And he has outsmarted everybody for a long time. He was out of this comradeship way back, and he was using it before we realised it. By the time we realised it, it was too late’ (emphasis added). Haile (Duruê) also told Connell (2005: 110), ‘The problem is that he wanted parallel structures, and he wanted to control one structure by using the other structure’ (emphasis added). This suggests that dissident groups could not trust each other and therefore could not build a united and organised body to countervail the president’s tyranny. Attempts to work together by some groups in spite of internal feuds, the G15, for example, came a little too late. By the turn of the millennium, the president and his allies in the party’s central office and the army had not only amassed so much power in their hands, but they had also systematically purged the change-seeking members of the Cabinet, the party and the army from key positions and replaced them with the president’s henchmen. The same is true in the realm of diplomacy. When Eritrea unilaterally severed diplomatic relations with an important neighbour and a long-standing occasional supporter of the Eritrean war of independence, Sudan, in December 1994, the decision was taken without consultation with or even informing the foreign minister of the country – Petros Solomon, who was touring Europe at the time (see Connell 2005). At the time of the severance of diplomatic relations with Sudan, over half a million Eritrean refugees were in the country anxiously waiting to be repatriated to Eritrea2 through the on-going pilot repatriation project (see Kibreab 1996b). The government should have taken into account the needs of the refugees before taking such a dramatic action. Had there been consultation or proper discussion, the dramatic unilateral decision that caused a major diplomatic debacle would have been avoided. Eritrea’s sudden change of direction after the second half of the 1990s caught Eritreans and international observers by surprise. One of the author’s publisher’s reviewers of this book, for example, wondered why the PFDJ leaders made such a dramatic turn from the liberal positions they adopted in the second and third congresses in the second half of the 1980s and first half of the 1990s. He asked, ‘Did Isaias have a change of heart in the late 1990s after trying out liberalism in the early part of the decade? Or did he simply lose his way as a post-war leader and fall back on old dogmas because he lacked other ideas and was too impatient to work with others on developing or testing them?’3

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Shattered Promises There is no evidence to prove that the president and head of the PFDJ’s political office ever believed in liberalism unless that was the only way they could promote their short-term goals. Towards the end of the 1980s, the EPLF realised that, on the one hand, the collapse of the Soviet bloc was inevitable and, on the other, its call for a national referendum would fail unless they ‘abandoned’ their Maoist stance. This was a smart move because their call for a referendum had been endorsed by many Western governments. During the third congress, the group within the leadership that championed liberal democracy was to some extent able to influence the decisions and resolutions of the congress. Soon after the third congress, the president and his close allies within the PFDJ seem to have realised that liberalism was incompatible with their dream of creating a monolithic society based on the slogan of one people-one leadership. It was also incompatible with the highly centralised and controlled regime without pluralistic visions, ideologies and power centres that they dreamt of creating. Aspects such as inclusion, negotiation, bargaining, compromise, respect for difference, tolerance of alternative visions, commitment to the rule of law, human rights, freedom of the press, expression and private property, all of which are intrinsic to liberal democracy would have no space in their ideal government. The developments that have been unfolding in post-independence Eritrea in the realms of economic policy, governance, war and diplomacy are clear manifestation of the leaders’ fall back on the old Maoist dogma. Although the humiliating defeat the Derg suffered at the hands of the heroic EPLF and the Eritrean people was ecstatically celebrated and the PGE justifiably demonised their predecessors, a decade and a half later, disillusionment is not uncommon. A few Eritreans have been heard expressing some sense of nostalgia in utter desperation for the once most reviled and insufferable government of the Derg. Victims of injustice, torture, and incommunicado detention at the hands of people who took over power on the promise of eliminating such practices often say, ‘What did the Derg do that was worse than this?’. ‘At least, then rents were very low.’ ‘The Derg neither detained parents whose children joined the ELF-EPLF nor did they force them to pay 50,000 Nakfa.’ It is in this sense that Ranger and Vaughan state that the ‘collapse of the hegemony of one form of state has routinely been attended by nostalgia for its once reviled predecessor’ (1993: 1). The nostalgia for a reviled and ghastly regime is a manifestation of disaffection and frustration resulting from the incumbents’ betrayal of trust and failed promises. It is important to guard, however, against misconstruing this to indicate that there are people among those interviewed by the author who miss the most oppressive regime of the Derg. The interviewees mentioned the Derg to emphasise how bad things had become in spite of their high expectations, not to say that they wanted to return to the dreadful past. The promises the EPLF/PFDJ and the Eritrean government made to the Eritrean people were presented in Chapter 2. The evidence and the evaluative analyses presented in Chapters 3–6 show that none of the promises have been kept. Contrary to expectation, the EPLF and later the PFDJ presided over a tyrannical regime similar to the one that they had overthrown and demonised unreservedly. This undoubtedly represented a flagrant abuse of a people’s trust without which the war of independence might not have succeeded.

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In Lieu of a Conclusion

The betrayed promises In a series of fieldwork conducted between December 1992 and September 2002, the author posed the following question to systematically selected government officials at different levels, places and times. The interviewees were all former EPLF combatants. You don’t owe your power to the people because you seized it by force rather than through democratic elections. The people have, therefore, no means of holding you accountable, because they cannot have you removed from office by peaceful means if they believed that you either neglected their interests or betrayed the endless promises you made to them. So what incentives do you have to listen and respond to their needs and to act in their interests? The people have no means of enforcing the promises you made during and after the war of liberation.4

Most of the combatant interviewees who were my former friends, classmates, neighbours, relatives, friends’ friends or friends’ relatives.5 thought that I was from ‘another planet’. This was especially true in the early euphoric years after independence. Since the different interviews were conducted over a period of ten years, only the gist of what was said by the different interviewees is presented here. In the view of most of the interviewees, if the author had known the ‘mutual understanding, empathy and respect’ that marked the relationship between the tegadelti (fighters) and the people, he would not have asked the ‘superfluous’ questions that he was asking. In their words, ‘We have earned the deep trust of our people the hardest way by paying the highest price – our lives, careers, education, property and families’.6 Many of the interviewees said, ‘Our people have nothing to lose but everything to gain by trusting us.’ Others added, ‘Our people know us and they trust us as much as they trust themselves.’ In fact a few even suggested: ‘Our people trust our judgement and intentions more than their own.’ The corollary of the reasoning of the majority was that because political power was in the hands of individuals who have demonstrably exhibited an ‘impeccable commitment and selflessness’ in pursuit of the ‘common good’, the ‘broad masses’ have nothing to worry about. A few among the interviewees said, ‘the notions of accountability and periodic elections were Western imports oblivious to our history, social reality and political processes.’ One of the interviewees said, ‘You only need safeguards and mechanisms of enforcement against a government that you don’t trust. The relationship between us and our people is like that of family members.’ The most important impression I got from the interviews was, on the one hand, an incredible sense of self-exaltation bordering on a condition of megalomania, and, on the other, unrestrained vilification of those who did not participate physically in the armed struggle or who questioned their intentions and actions directly or indirectly. Physical participation in the armed struggle, particularly in Sahel – the EPLF base throughout the war – was regarded as a litmus test for measuring ‘selflessness, trustworthiness, courage, steadfastness and resolute commitment to the cause of the masses’. The other impression the author got was the feeling, in the opinion of most of the interviewees, that the ‘masses would be in disarray without their guidance and care’.

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Shattered Promises Although the interviewees were not at the helm of power, they occupied high positions in different ministries and departments. If one could infer from the material elicited from these interviews, it seems as if the people exercising power in the country believed that no one else but themselves possessed the ‘essential’ qualities of trustworthiness, leadership and commitment necessary to govern the people and the country. The logic underlying this reasoning was that, since all of them participated in a life and death struggle to liberate the country from foreign occupation and domination, they demonstrated an unequalled degree of selflessness and commitment and, therefore, were fit to govern as custodians of the common good. Many of the interviewees argued, ‘if we were willing to sacrifice our precious lives in the interest of the “masses”, surely it would be an utmost folly to suspect that we would exercise power for purposes other than for the good of the “masses”.’ The meaninglessness of this rhetoric has been demonstrated by the repressive scenarios that have unfolded since the betrayals of the promises, culminating in the stifling of the processes of transition to a democratic future, violation of human rights, destruction of the private sector and incommunicado incarceration of many innocent citizens and the prominent leaders of the war of liberation. The opinions of ex-combatants and others have as a result become increasingly polarised and differentiated in recent years, especially after the border war. This was the time when the consensus-based – the so-called ‘EPLF family’ – model was slowly breaking down. Not many ex-combatants would express themselves as they did in the postindependence euphoric days. Since the cessation of the euphoria, not only has the optimism of many patriotic combatants faded, but also they no longer hold identical views on the president and the post-independence situation. Data collected after the second half of the 1990s on the issues of power relations, human rights and the political situation show more differentiated, nuanced and critical outlooks. Many ex-combatant interviewed by the author in 2001 and 2002 were worried about the dangers of the unrestrained exercise of political power. Those who dared to raise concerns over the potential dangers of a government that exercised power without constitutional constraint were imminently threatened. In January 2001, the PFDJ circulated a paper from the party’s central office, most probably written by the president’s henchmen, Yemane Gebreab, Yemane Gebremeskel and Zemhret Yohannes. Entitled ‘Woyane’s Third Offensive and the Political Campaign that Followed It’ it initiated a vicious campaign among middle-level cadres to discredit the president’s critics (Connell 2005: 20). It was intended to create a country of ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’, ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’, ‘patriots’ and ‘traitors’ without a middle ground. The ‘heroes’ and the ‘patriots’ included the president and his inner circle of sycophants and flatterers while the villains were the critics, the G15, and advocates and defenders of human rights, such as the incarcerated journalists and all the other change-seeking forces and individuals within and outside the country. The discourse represents a rupture from the nationalist historiography and at its core lies Isaiasism or wodi Afomism which is distinct from the past in which today’s ‘villains’ were presented as gallant and selfless heroes. This is similar to Ranger’s observation of post-independence Zimbabwe. He argues that Robert Mugabe and his publicists employ a new concept – ‘patriotic

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In Lieu of a Conclusion history’ which is different from the ‘nationalist historiography’ whose core is Mugabeism (Ranger 2004: 7). To him, the ‘Nationalist historiography, …depicted nationalism as emancipatory… By contrast, “patriotic history” emphasises the division of the nation not only into races but also into “patriots” and “sell-outs” among the African population. It proclaims the need for authoritarian government in order to repress and punish the “traitors”…’ (Ranger 2004: 8). Although the rewriting of the Eritrean ‘nationalist historiography’ has yet to match the Zimbabwean experience, there are clear indications that the government media, including the ruling party’s periodicals and websites, have been leaving no stones unturned to reduce the ‘nationalist historiography’ into the history of the ‘heroic’ and ‘broad-minded’ leader – ‘Wodi Afom’.7 The PFDJ cadres use these discourses to elevate the president’s status to near infallibility. In doing so, they promote their own interests and discredit the president’s critics who are a threat to them. In spite of the promises the Eritrean government and PFDJ made concerning the formation of political parties and a pluralistic system of governance, the National Assembly that met for the first time in February 2002 since its last meeting in September 2000, decided ‘not to allow formation of parties. The opinion of the ‘overwhelming majority’, according to the ruling party, is that they are not needed or wanted at this time although the principle of forming political parties is “acceptable’’ (Allafrica 2002). This was the same position the president and his cronies, Yemane Gebreab and Zemheret Yohannes maintained in the central council’s and National Assembly’s meetings in August and September 2000, respectively. They were, however, defeated temporarily by the changeseeking forces (see Haile Durué in Connell 2005: 111–12). The National Assembly, also ignoring the principle of presumption of innocence endorsed ‘the arrest … of 11 prominent dissidents and a promise that charges against them will be made public’ (Allafrica 2002). Not only did the national assembly pre-judge the members of the G15, before they were proved guilty or before they were charged, but also without even knowing where they were held.

Shattered optimism The immediate post-independence period was awash with an enormous sense of optimism. Most civilians interviewed said, ‘Let us give the new government time to build the institutions.’ ‘The leaders are new to the art of governing and they need time to learn.’ ‘They inherited a country that was brought to its knees due to centuries of colonial rule and neglect and the war of 30 years.’ ‘The route Eritrea will take is going to be unique and unprecedented in the African continent.’8 People thus took the risk and gave the government the benefit of the doubt. Those who warned of the potential dangers therein and against the dangers of the absence of institutional constraints were dismissed as being ‘alarmists’, ‘pessimists’, ‘joy killers’, and so on. After all, most people were in the grip of euphoria and therefore too uncritical or too magnanimous. However, in the mid-1990s, some Eritreans began to realise that the nirvana they were promised and had awaited for so long was nowhere to be seen. They started to wonder whether it was reasonable on their part to believe that a military

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Shattered Promises organisation would create auspicious conditions for a democratic transition in addition to relinquishing power, in favour of an elected democratic government. For example, an elderly female former passionate supporter of the president interviewed in August 2002 told an interesting story that may demonstrate the public’s change of perception in relation to the government. She said that when the EPLF marched victoriously into the streets of Asmara city, residents, including religious leaders of all faiths, welcomed them with song and dance. In the midst of the ecstatic frenzy, she and her friends saw a milkman – an old peasant from one of the rural villages in the vicinity of Asmara (Durfo) – sitting under a tree. The women, surprised by the man’s behaviour, asked him, ‘Abo, neúnay nezom jeganu dekina nkebelom. – Father,9 let’s go to welcome our heroic sons and daughters.’ An unimpressed old man answered, ‘Dekey, nesikin kida. Ane aykeyidin iye. Dear daughters, you go, I am not going.’ The women asked him why he wouldn’t join them and he told them, ‘dekey, shaebia aitfeltean ikin. tesebeia tiray. dem ms nebaikin ikin tmehara. My dear daughters, you don’t know the EPLF. Just wait until you shed tears of blood. It is then you will learn to know them.’ The women silently (for it would have been out of character for a decent Eritrean woman to call an old man names) cursed the man for being ‘rugum, evil, quruh, mean’, etc. What the euphoric women failed to realise at the time was that the milkman had a first-hand experience of the EPLF since he came from the area of their operations. Ten years later, the women came to the realisation that the disillusioned milkman’s remarks were simple statements of fact. In the informant’s words, ‘I wish we all had the same knowledge and insight of aboy (father) X. It would have been easier to deal with them then, than it is now. Now that he [the president] has tasted the sugariness of power, why would he relinquish it?’ (sltan ti’um ti’um ti’emwo de’a intay ilu kigedfo). In a series of group discussions held with the female informant and her friends over a ten-year period at different intervals, it became clear that public opinion about the government and particularly the president was changing from one extreme to the other. Women who had in the early 1990s described the excombatants and the president as ‘selfless heroes’, in 2002 said, ‘iziom iko seb aikonun: aremin iyon. These [those in power] are not human beings. They are aremin’ – nonbelievers’. Although that is the literal meaning, the word has different connotations in Eritrean and European cultures. In the latter, it is possible to be a nonbeliever and morally incorruptible and humane, while in Eritrean communities, which are also deeply religious, a person who is non-believing is regarded as a non-person devoid of any ‘good’. The Latin equivalent of aremin’net in the Eritrean cultural setting would be Summum malum – a font and embodiment of all that is wicked and bad. The word aremin is now a common reference to the PFDJ leaders and those in government. What is worth noting is that, in the immediate post-independence period, it was not just the common people who expected the government and the PFDJ to keep their promises. Many intellectuals also did. It is bizarre that most of the country’s intellectuals, especially those in the diaspora in Europe and North America, could believe that the leadership of a national liberation movement would keep its promise when history had demonstrated such organisations’ inability to govern democratically world-wide. Even those who were aware of the potential dangers hoped that the Eritrean experience would be unique and would break new

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In Lieu of a Conclusion ground by following a different path. Tekie Fessehatzion, a highly regarded scholar and a long-standing supporter of the EPLF, for example, observed: The question for all Eritreans is whether an organisation whose predecessor (EPLF) was founded to lead Eritrea to independence and national sovereignty, which it did, is equipped structurally and programmatically, to move the country into the ranks of the economically and politically developed family of nations during the next few decades. Can an organisation initially formed along military lines and the politics of command to achieve what has already been achieved (independence) be reprogrammed to deliver within the framework of a civilian government where by consensus and through consultation with the public is the norm? Simply put, can yesterday’s liberationists become tomorrow’s democrats given the dismal record on democratisation in the post-liberation world? (Fessehatzion 2000)

Although he knew the correct answer was: ‘absolutely not’, Tekie ended his remarks on an unrealistic but well-meant optimistic note, hoping against hope ‘that there is no predetermined reason why Eritrea should not break the mould’. To some supporters of the government, there is now nothing that gives reason for optimism that the PFDJ leaders are any different from other leaders of national liberation movements or from any other leaders who ascend to power by force. Hitherto, there has not been a single leader in modern history that seized power by force and allowed a democratic society to flourish or abandoned violence in favour of dialogue and consultation as a means of conflict resolution. Eritrea, as a latecomer to statehood, failed to draw an important lesson from this dismal history. As Nicholas Kittrie observes perceptively: The French Revolution of the late eighteenth century is recorded as an uprising against privileged, insensitive, and tyrannical authority. Yet the reign of terror imposed by France’s revolutionaries exceeded the abuses of Louis XVI and the evils of the Bastille. The American Civil War, popularly depicted as a struggle for the liberation of African Americans from the inhumanity of slave labour, was followed by political powerlessness and continuing social degradations for a new subject class of ‘freemen’. Similarly, the 1917 Russian Revolution, portrayed as a workers’ and peasants’ uprising against a thoroughly abusive authority, quickly created its own and even more terrifying reign of terror. (Kittrie 1995: 58–9)

To some extent, the same is true of most national liberation movements throughout the developing societies of Africa, Indo-China and Central America. Although it would be absolutely wrong to say that the EPLF/PFDJ imposed a similar reign of terror to that of the regime it threw out of the country, as seen before, actions taken by the post-independence government clearly show that the latter is not substantially different from the Derg in the areas of human rights, the rule of law and freedom but not with regard to human life. Nevertheless, even though so many Eritrean suspects, including many innocent people, disappeared, and many others were subjected to inhuman and degrading treatment in the Derg’s numerous torture chambers, those who survived the nightmare, namely, prisoners had greater rights then than in post-independence Eritrea. During the Derg’s reign, those who survived the disappearances, arbitrary killings, assassinations by death squads and the torture chambers were transferred to the main prisons in Sembel, Adi Qala or Karscelli. Such prisoners, including those awaiting trial, could hire defence lawyers if their relatives could afford the fees, and if they were paupers, the courts appointed defence lawyers to represent

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Shattered Promises them. The late eminent lawyer and later freedom fighter, Ato Tsegai Iyasu, was one of several practitioners who specialised in defending Eritrean political prisoners. The late Ato Misghina Ghebrezghi and Ato Berhe Musgun and others were also well known for their daring and tough defence of political prisoners. None of the lawyers who either submitted writs of Habeas corpus on behalf of political detainees or represented suspects, including those who were accused of the most serious offences, such as treason, faced any consequences. The Derg’s government respected their profession. How many lawyers would dare in present-day Eritrea to represent a suspect accused of political offense against the state? How many lawyers would dare to submit a writ of Habeas corpus on behalf of a detainee? None of the high court judges would also dare to order the police to bring the body (detainee) before a court of law. In spite of the fact that there are thousands of arbitrarily detained citizens in the country, there has never been any submission of a writ of Habeas corpus in the country since 2001. In post-independence Eritrea, persons suspected of political offences are deemed to have forfeited or relinquished their rights and therefore whoever tries to ask about their whereabouts or their rights to due process is accused of being anti-government, and risks detention and illtreatment. During the Derg’s reign, after detainees were transferred to prisons, their relatives knew their whereabouts, they had visitation rights and in most cases they served sentences issued by courts that applied the provisions of the Ethiopian codes of criminal law and criminal procedure. The term incommunicado detention which is currently on most Eritreans’ lips and which has wrecked thousands of families’ lives did not even exist in the Derg’s lexicon. Many of the author’s informants were therefore right to ask the heart-breaking question: ‘is this what we fought for?’ One of the author’s key informants, a mother in Asmara, who had lost a son and a daughter in the thirty years’ war and whose third son, after being picked up by the security forces, had disappeared (probably held in incommunicado detention), shedding tears lamented: ‘nezi diyom keyahti dekey tefi’om? N’hade hawom iqa zey adhnu! Is this what my beautiful children paid their lives for? Their martyrdom cannot even guarantee the safety of their only surviving sibling!’ Contrary to its pledges, the PFDJ government has: • pursued an exclusionist approach to governing the country based on the ‘winner takes all’ policy that has excluded deserving political organisations from power sharing; • refused to implement the constitution ratified by the constituent assembly in May 1997; • stifled the transition to a democratic future; • held thousands of citizens, including the G11, journalists, government employees, elders, US Embassy staff and other citizens in incommunicado detention without trial; • stymied the development of new institutions and destroyed pre-existing ones; • dismantled the only university in the country and replaced it by militarised vocational schools in different parts of the country; • militarised Eritrean society; • established a special court headed by legally illiterate army officers appointed by the president, who pass sentences arbitrarily with complete disregard to the

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country’s substantive and procedural laws, as well as overruling the decisions of the civil courts; removed the esteemed Patriarch of the Orthodox Church from office and held him under house arrest for criticising the government’s human rights records and for defying its orders to close down the Medhanie Alem Church in Asmara;10 prohibited internal trade and movement of goods within the country depriving citizens of basic livelihoods; implemented a policy of forcible requisitioning (seizure) of food crops in rural areas eroding the livelihood systems of the peasants; deprived Eritrean Jehovah’s Witnesses of their citizenship rights and detained and tortured their members; banned the evangelical churches and detained and tortured their leaders and members without charge; closed down the ma’had (Islamic schools) and allegedly caused the disappearance of teachers who taught in the schools in Keren and Asmara between 1991 and 1994 (see Kibreab 2008a, Chapter 11); forcibly recruited hundreds of thousands of citizens into forced labour under the guise of the open-ended national service and its concomitant the WYDC; undermined long-standing livelihood systems by forcibly mobilising the country’s able-bodied members of the labour force (18–50 years) into the army depriving agriculture, industry and the service sector of badly needed manpower and market; detained or charged ERN 50,000 (US $3,570) parents of draft-evaders and deserters, including those who absconded from the army, ministries, departments or regional administrations;11 banned all political and autonomous civil society associations; reneged on promises to hold national elections in 1997 and 2001;12 banned all private newspapers and detained most of the journalists in the country without being charged for over seven years; stifled the private sector and consequently suppressed the emergence of the middle class which could have played a vital role in the promotion of market economy and consequently on democratisation; allowed the business interests of the ruling party to completely dominate the economy of the country at the expense of the private sector and the country’s future; tortured detainees and consequently violated the fundamental principles of international human rights and domestic laws; nationalised all land and abolished the historically evolved, culturallyembedded and socially-sanctioned customary laws that regulated tenurial and usership rights, as well as the institutions, such as the Baito (village assembly) (institution of self-governance) that enforced such rights (for extended discussion on the Baito see Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005: 119–29); pursued policies that created and perpetuated deprivation and human suffering by throwing out of the country the agencies, such as USAID and NGOs that previously fed two-thirds of the Eritrean people and by imposing taxes and/or duties on all aid goods imported into the country; banned distribution of food aid when 66 per cent of the population lived below

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the national poverty line exposing the majority of the population to avoidable malnutrition, morbidity and mortality; disregarded the basic principles of human rights and the rule of law and consequently deprived the country and its citizens of badly needed international development aid;13 undermined the survival strategies of the border communities by continued hostile relations with Sudan;14 imposed gratuitous and irrational restrictions on the UN peace-keeping force, as well as expelling nationals of the European Union, US, Canada, and Russia from the peacekeeping force, without an explanation, thereby increasing the risk of border war; detained without explanation 1315 local employees of the United Nations who monitored the disputed border with Ethiopia, and forced another 30 into hiding for fear of being detained (BBC news 2006);16 stopped the supply of diesel to the UN peace-keeping force, leaving the UN with no other choice but to relocate the mission; provided defiant Ethiopia with a convenient alibi or excuse to behave contemptibly in defiance of the international community and yet appear to be in favour of peace even though it is the main cause of the state of no-war-nopeace situation between the two countries thanks to the Eritrean government’s diplomatic mediocrity and irrational obduracy; picked an unnecessary and meaningless fight with the only superpower in the world contrary to Eritrea’s national interest and without regard to the fact that the US was the major supplier of food aid to the country before the government forced USAID to cease its activities since the second half of 2005; picked a fight with the EU by expelling their dean in the country, the Italian ambassador, for complaining about the government’s poor human rights record in 2001; imposed restrictions on freedom of movement and residence of foreigners, including diplomats in the country; squandered scarce resources to support Ethiopian, Sudanese and Somali opposition groups in pursuit of a proxy war when the large majority of Eritrea’s citizens live in abject poverty; and pursued counterproductive policies that have left the country isolated and marginalised in the international and regional arenas exacerbated by the government’s decision to suspend the country’s membership of IGAD.

Not only do these actions constitute a betrayal of the promises made during and after the war, but they may also threaten the country’s political and economic security. If these problems continue unabated, it is only a question of time before Eritrea becomes a pariah state. The US government has already threatened to add Eritrea to the list of terrorist-sponsoring states and that will be detrimental to Eritrea’s short-, medium- and long-term interests. Had transition to democracy not been stymied by the PFDJ government, a representative democratic state would have been formed and most of these follies would have probably been avoided or the responsible government would have been thrown out of office through democratic means and replaced by a more responsive one. In representative democracies, it is not just the right of the

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In Lieu of a Conclusion represented to resist abuse of power or betrayal of trust that discourages representatives from neglecting or undermining the interests of constituencies, but the architects of representative democratic governments also theorised that there are in-built constraints that prevent representatives from abusing power or from using such power in pursuit of self-interest. For example, James Madison, ‘the Father of the [American] Constitution’ observed, ‘… the system of electoral accountability’ and the fact that the law-makers or legislators are as affected as the rest of the people by the laws they make, are the two important factors that constrain representatives from abusing their power or from passing laws that affect the represented detrimentally (referred to in Williams 1998: 166; see also Hamilton 1864: 434). The preceding discussions show that the promises of the liberation were betrayed, and soon after independence people realised that they were being let down. Petros Solomon, a former combatant who held three key ministerial positions – defence, foreign affairs and fisheries – consecutively confessed that, ‘Once we came to Asmara, the Central Committee … was unpopular … It became very unpopular … But we were not sitting down, discussing issues, responding to the needs and looking at the future and things like that in the way that was demanded after independence. And there was a lot of dissatisfaction the way this country was run’ (in Connell 2005: 86).

Dearth of freedom, institutions and the rule of law In addition to other basic rights, the post-independence period is also permeated with a lack of freedom of movement and residence. The requirement to obtain a pass, locally known as ‘menkesakesi ’, constitutes a flagrant infringement on citizens’ freedom of movement and residence. Further, every citizen aged between 18 and 50 can be stopped at random and be subjected to arbitrary search by police at numerous checkpoints. The 2006 US Department of State’s Report observed that, ‘The government deployed military police throughout the country using roadblocks, street sweeps, and house-to-house searches to find deserters and draft evaders…’ (US Department of State 2006: 5). Whoever was found without ‘menkasakesi’ was locked up or taken to a screening centre where physical abuse was rampant. According to the May 2004 Amnesty International report: The legal penalty for evading conscription or assisting evasion is two years’ imprisonment … In practice, offenders are punished administratively by local commanders without any form of trial, legal recourse or opportunity for appeal or redress. The forms of punishment consist of torture and arbitrary detention for an indefinite period. Although these punishments are unlawful and abuses of human rights, they are well-known to government and military officials and the public, and no army officer has ever been punished for employing them. (quoted in Home Office 2004: 25)

This is a clear demonstration of a complete lack of the rule of law in which local commanders mete out arbitrary punishments not prescribed by law. The 2004 US Department of State’s report also stated, ‘Security forces detained deserters and draft evaders and subjected them to various disciplinary actions that included

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Shattered Promises prolonged sun exposure in temperatures of up to 113 degrees Fahrenheit or the binding of hands, elbows, and feet for extended periods’ (US State Department 2004: 2–3). The report further noted that in a detention centre outside the capital, Asmara, ‘detainees reportedly were held in an underground hall with no access to light or ventilation, and sometimes in very crowded conditions. Some detainees reportedly suffered from severe mental and physical stress due to these conditions’ (ibid.). In one round-up that took place in October 2004, over 20 people were killed at the Adi Abeito detention centre after an overloaded wall collapsed and the shooting that ensued. The US Department of State’s report reads: The government continued to authorise the use of deadly force against anyone resisting or attempting to flee during military searches for deserters and draft evaders, and deaths occurred during the year. For example, in November, there were credible reports of the deaths of 20 civilian and 4 security force members in an incident at a detention facility near Asmara following searches for military draft evaders in and around the capital. The individuals were killed when a cinderblock wall at the facility collapsed, and guards reportedly fired at inmates attempting to escape. No action was taken against the guards. (ibid.: 2)

Gedab News put the total number of deaths at 40, including those who died in hospital from wounds sustained in the shootings (Awate.com 2004).17 The government also rounds up citizens and conducts house-to-house night searches and arrests those who resist its policy of indefinite forced labour programmes, thereby subjecting children, the elderly and women to unnecessary harassment and stress. The open-ended forcible extraction of unremunerated labour is implemented under the so-called national service and its concomitant the WYDC, both of which have been blighting the Eritrean economy and society for over a decade (see World Bank 2002; IMF 2003).18 An important goal of the thirty years war was to bring about justice – ’respecting rights and providing remedies for their infringement or violation’ (Campbell 2001: 48; see also Rawls 1977). ‘Justice is the set and constant purpose to give every man his due’ (Plato quoted in Campbell 2001: 24). In a society where there is justice, every citizen is entitled to receive what is due to him or her ‘as a matter of right, not as grace or favour’ (ibid.). As seen throughout the preceding chapters, there is a scarcity of justice in present-day Eritrea and citizens are denied what is due to them. For example, political organisations with an inalienable right to compete for political power in open and fair elections have been forced into exile. Many citizens are detained arbitrarily and denied justice because they are left to languish in incommunicado detention without being charged. Another important goal of the thirty years war was to bring about a state whose ‘coercive power can be used only in cases defined in advance by the law in such a way that it can be foreseen how it will be used’ (Hayek [1944] 2001: 87). As an important guarantee against arbitrary rule and abuse of power, the rule of law provides for the protection of individual rights, fair trial and due process of law. But the Eritrean head of state has the ultimate say on all matters of public interest and his powers are not limited or defined in advance by law and it is not possible to foresee how he uses the power. This has created an atmosphere of fear and

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In Lieu of a Conclusion uncertainty, which is not only inauspicious for democracy, justice and the rule of law, but also for medium- and long-term decisions concerning domestic and foreign investment. Without the rule of law, there can be no institutional assurance and no rational entrepreneur would be expected to invest resources in the country. As the Nobel Prize winner, the American economic historian, Douglass North, states, ‘Civil laws governing contracts are essential to investment and economic growth as they define the framework within which economic decisions are made’ (North 1993: 54). If the executive, through its dominance of the legislature, is able to amend, repeal or enact laws under the constraint of a supreme law – a constitution – applied rigorously by an independent judiciary, it is impossible to have stable and predictable civil laws governing contracts. If economic actors within and outside the country are not assured that contracts entered into with the government or with other parties in good faith are enforceable in independent courts of law that apply civil laws that are stable and predictable and which cannot be violated, changed, repealed or amended at will, they are unlikely to invest in the country. Douglass North, for example, argues, ‘… political institutions constitute ex ante agreements about co-operation among politicians. They reduce uncertainty by creating a stable structure of exchange.’ He further states, The evolution of polities from single absolute rulers to democratic governments is typically conceived as a move toward greater political efficiency. In the sense that democratic government gives a greater and greater percentage of the populace access to the political decision-making process, eliminates the capricious capacity of a ruler to confiscate wealth, and develops third-party enforcement of contracts with an independent judiciary, the result is indeed a move toward greater political efficiency. (ibid.)

Because of a lack of institutional certainty resulting from the sanctity of the rule of law, the goal of reconstructing the war-torn economy has remained an empty promise. This is because no rational investor would use their scarce resources in a country where the executive is unaccountable and the head of state rather than the law has the final say. Investors are uncertain of a government that has not only enacted laws that jeopardise individual or group property rights without restraint, but has also routinely violated its own laws when it suits its own interests. The 1994 land proclamation that entrusted ownership of all land to the state is a classic case in point. Conclusively, Eritrea’s dismal failure to attract foreign investments, including the capital of the otherwise acquiescent members of the diaspora, during the past fifteen years is to a large extent a result of the climate of uncertainty and unpredictability created by the complete lack of institutional stability engendered by the absolute monopoly of legislative and executive power by the ruling party and the presidency. The predatory nature of the PFDJ is another major source of uncertainty and risk. During fieldwork in Eritrea, the author was told by many informants who were personally affected – including returnees from the diaspora and deportees from Ethiopia – that the PFDJ leadership commonly stole business ideas and projects submitted to the government in connection with applications for licences. There were also cases in which investors with capital or promising business ideas

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Shattered Promises were put under pressure to accept the PFDJ as partners. These partnerships invariably would end up being taken over by the PFDJ after consolidation. This obviously made many people cautious but, unfortunately, refusals could result either in denial of a licence, intimidation or in extreme cases, detention under concocted pretexts. Since this is known to most potential investors, they refrain from investing in the country and, as a result, both Eritrea and its people lose out. The presence of a competent and independent judiciary in combination with well-developed institutional rules are the most important factors that determine the presence or absence of a conducive environment for investment and, therefore, for economic growth and social development. As Douglass North argues, ‘Parties to a contract must be able to enforce compliance at a (transaction) cost such that the exchange is worthwhile to them … The inability of societies to develop effective, low-cost enforcement of contracts is the most important source of both historical stagnation and contemporary underdevelopment in the Third World’ (1993: 54). Lack of institutional rules in Eritrea can be demonstrated by the capricious treatment of international mining companies by the post-independence government. On 2 September 2004, mining companies working in the country were ordered to stop their activities without any prior warning or explanation.19 Among the companies, four were Canadian – Nevsum Resources, Sanu Resources, Sunridge Gold and Northern Mining Exploration.20 The government’s order came less than a month after Nevsum Resources announced its discovery of ‘high-grade gold and copper during a series of test drillings in Western Eritrea region of Bisha’.21 The government’s impulsive decision led to, among other things, the collapse of Nevsum Resources’ shares in the stock market. The firm ‘lost US $135 million of its stock market capitalisation in a single day, September 7’ (Africa Mining Intelligence 2004). The government’s unexpected decision also dealt a blow to Eritrea’s credibility. Mining exploration is highly risky, as well as being a capital- and knowledgeintensive enterprise. Nevsum Resources had invested substantial amounts of its shareholders’ capital to explore minerals in the country. These investments were made under the assumption that there was law that provided assurance that the government would not behave unpredictably and impulsively. Nevsum Resources and the other mining companies expected that the government would only behave as stipulated in the relevant laws of the country. Investment decisions are made and contracts are entered under the assumption that the existing institutional arrangements are not changed at will and, if a party fails to perform, redress can be sought in an independent court of law. The importance of the principle of the rule of law is to provide institutional assurance to both citizens and enterprises that the state and state officials, including the head of state, will act in a manner that is stipulated in advance by law. The decision to ask the mining companies to cease activities was taken, as are most other decisions in the country, by the highest office in the country – that of the president. When the director-general for mining, Alem Kibreab, was asked to explain why the government ordered the mining companies to halt their activities, he replied, ‘I don’t have the answer to why they were closed.’22 Although the director-general was the person the mining companies dealt with directly, the government did not inform him why it was necessary to take such a decision.

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In Lieu of a Conclusion Nevsum’s director’s visit to Asmara ‘to get a better understanding of the directive by the Eritrean government’ produced no results.23 Without any binding norms and regulations of bureaucratic administration, as well as rule of law in the country, the government was not constrained from taking such an impulsive action. If the reverse were true, Nevsum Resources and the other firms that suffered financial losses would have been able to sue the government in its own courts to seek damages. It is possible that the government had problems with loyalty payments. However, if the Eritrean government had concerns over payments, it should have tried to renegotiate the terms through legal means, instead of changing its position about the terms of the agreements and ordering the mining companies to pack up and leave. The companies were allowed to return in January 2005, that is, after four months when the damage to the firms’ coffers and the credibility of the Eritrean government was already done. The most important question that arises is whether companies will in the future have enough confidence in the government to invest in the country. The dearth of the rule of law in the country is, therefore, not only detrimentally affecting citizens’ human rights but is also prejudicial to the country’s medium and long-term economic and social development and is the direct result of lack of constitutional government underpinned by separation of powers between the executive, legislature and the judiciary in which all power is concentrated in the president. Nothing happens without his ‘grace or favour’. Such behaviour is typical of patrimonial arbitrariness. As noted by Weber: The patrimonial state lacks the political and procedural predictability, indispensable for capitalist development, which is provided by the rational rules of modern bureaucratic administration. Instead we find unpredictability and inconsistency on the part of court and local officials, and variously benevolence and disfavour on the part of the ruler and his servants. (quoted in Callaghy 1987: 102)

The Eritrean post-independence situation fits well the Weberian description of a patrimonial state in which everything is dependent on the caprice of the patrimonial leader, the president. The achievement of national independence may have brought about a temporary relief from war, persecution, suffering and tyrannical rule, but the political changes that took place in 1991 have not brought about lasting peace, order, prosperity, justice and community. The government’s flagrant violation of the fundamental principles of human rights has resulted in the denial of justice. Its open-ended national service and the so-called WYDC have undermined longstanding survival strategies of households that were based on diversification of sources of incomes and mobility designed to take advantage of variations in the environment and opportunities in the different labour and commodity markets, thereby reducing their prospects for prosperity in addition to fragmenting communities and dismembering families. During the liberation war, it was most people’s expectation that the factors that had forced Eritreans to flee in search of international protection would be addressed after independence. However, as history is rarely made to order, independence has not stopped the flow of refugees from the country. Further, an unknown number of Eritrean asylum seekers are perishing in the Sahara Desert

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Shattered Promises and the Mediterranean Sea en route to Western Europe. Many others are languishing in Libyan detention centres in which corruption and gross violation of basic human rights are widespread (see Human Rights Watch 2006). On 21 July 2004, the Libyan authorities forcibly repatriated 109 Eritreans the majority of whom have been held in incommunicado detention since then. In the month of August the same year, the Libyan government attempted to forcibly deport 75 Eritreans. Determined to avoid arrest upon arrival, the refugees hijacked the plane and forced the pilot to land in Sudan (Human Rights Watch 2006b: 57). Based on interviews conducted with the refugees, the UNHCR stated: UNHCR conducted interviews with sixty of the Eritrean passengers after their arrival in Khartoum on 27 August. The group said that they had been detained without charges for a prolonged period of time in the Libyan town of Kufra, and had endured repeated physical abuse. They also said that, despite their request to see UNHCR, they had not been given access to any asylum procedure. Additionally, the group was never informed of the decision to deport them to Eritrea, were forced to board a special charter flight, and only found out after their plane took off that the destination was their country of origin. Sixty of the seventy-five passengers have since been granted refugee status in Sudan. (UNHCR in ibid.: 58)

When Eritrea became independent, it was most Eritreans’ hope that the factors that force people to flee in search of international protection would be relegated to the dustbin of history. National independence was seen as a means of achieving democracy, freedom, justice and the rule of law, whose scarcity drove tens of thousands of men and women to flee the country or to join the armed struggle to realise these ends. When they joined the armed struggle and when parents either turned a blind eye to their departures or acquiesced in to their children’s decision to join the armed struggle, they knew that many of them might not make it to Independence Day. It was therefore most Eritreans’ hope that, by sacrificing precious lives, tyrannical and arbitrary rule, injustice, inequality, lack of democratic rights and the rule of law and forced migration would come to an end, allowing the remaining citizens to live in peace, prosperity and equality. It is often said that history does not repeat itself. However, if human beings fail to draw lessons from it, history may repeat itself. The following examples show that the Eritrean government, with the president at the helm has failed to learn from history and, as a result, some of the scenarios that befell Eritrea in the 1950s are repeating themselves. The unionist Eritrean government of the 1950s systematically stifled the emergence and consolidation of democracy, freedom and civil society associations, such as labour unions on the grounds that there was no law to regulate their activities (see Kibreab 2008a: Chapter 4). As seen in the preceding chapters, the postindependence Eritrean government has also been stifling the emergence and consolidation of autonomous civil society associations citing lack of laws on civil society associations, including non-governmental organisations (see Chapter 3). Since laws are made and unmade by governments, the Eritrean chief executives of the 1950s and the present would have enacted such laws with relative ease if they had the necessary political will. When the post-independence government, however, enacted a law on NGOs in May 2005 after nearly a decade and a half, it imposed stifling conditions on both international and national NGOs.

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In Lieu of a Conclusion In the 1950s, the Eritrean Chief Executive, Ato Asfaha Woldemichael, refused to promulgate the Eritrean Labour Code that was approved by the first Eritrean Assembly (Killion 1997). Isaias Afwerki did the same by refusing to promulgate the Eritrean constitution, ratified by the Eritrean Constituent Assembly in May 1997. The first Eritrean chief executive (first half of the 1950s), Ato Tedla Bairu’s and the present Eritrean head of state’s cavalier attitudes towards democracy and participatory decision-making are also strikingly identical. Ato Tedla Bairu’s dictatorial proclivities were eloquently criticised by Wilson-Heathcote, the British financial advisor to the Eritrean government. He stated, inter alia, The dominating role of the Chief Executive in the Government cannot be overstressed. The Secretaries [ministers] have been reduced to the status of clerks who are not permitted to take decisions on comparatively minor matters on their own. The cabinet has never met despite the provision to that effect in the constitution, neither has he taken any other steps to make the democratic provisions of the constitution function.24

He added, ‘On specious excuses he has violated the freedom of the press by suppressing the only independent newspaper, he has prevented reports of the auditorgeneral being communicated to the assembly and has vetoed persons returned in by-elections – all incidentally opposed to him politically.’ Ironically, the behaviour of the Eritrean head of state as described by his closest former colleagues, the G15, nearly half a century later (May 2000), has been exactly the same: Regular meetings of the Executive Committee (scheduled to be held monthly) and [the] Central Council of the PFDJ (scheduled to be held every four months) have not been held. Since 1994, the Executive Committee should have met 84 times, instead, it met only 11 times. … In the three years of the war with the Woyane [Ethiopian government], the Central Council only met twice, both in 2000, instead of the scheduled nine times. As the Chairman decides on all matters between meetings of the Executive Committee and the Central Council, he became the sole decision-maker as a result of these circumstances. (G15 2001) (emphasis added)

They further point out that, as a result, ‘Transparency, accountability, democratic processes and participatory decision-making were abandoned’ (G15 2001). This suggests that the Eritrean government, in spite of its endless promises to create a new society based on democratic principles, is repeating the mistakes of the predecessors it demonised without reservation. The actions of Ato Asfaha Woldemichael, the Eritrean chief executive of the second half of the 1950s, and Isaias Afwerki are in this regard nearly identical, the only difference between the two men being that the former did not come to Eritrea from Addis Ababa promising to deliver freedom and justice to Eritreans. He had promised his master, the Ethiopian Emperor, to deliver Eritrea and its people to him ‘root, stock and barrel’. Although the mission was accomplished with a remarkable degree of success, it was accompanied with ruthless methods and contemptible tyranny. The same was also true of Ato Tedla Bairu. Both men, acting as trusted messengers of the Emperor, had the sole mission of destroying Eritrea’s autonomy as soon as possible. Reports of the British consul-general and his officers are replete with evidence regarding the incompetence and complete subservience of the first chief executive to the Emperor and his representative in

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Shattered Promises Asmara.25 Nevertheless, no matter how contemptible his actions were to nationalist Eritreans, there were clearly discernible patterns of consistency in his behaviour. The EPLF and later the PFDJ’s purported agenda was to bring about bread, justice, freedom, rule of law, democracy and efficient and accountable government. This was expected to happen through reversing the follies and injustices committed by people such as Ato Tedla Bairu and Ato Asfaha Woldemichael who acted against Eritrea’s interest at the behest of their masters in Addis Ababa. Unfortunately, the total lack of these treasured core values is unmistakable in Eritrea under the present regime. Further, there are recognisable inconsistencies in the present head of state’s and his government’s behaviour. The gap between the promises made during the revolution, as well as in the immediate post-independence period and the reality of the post-independence situation is too wide. During the war of independence, citizens hoped independent Eritrea would become a ‘great free school’ and fortress of liberty. Contrary to public expectation, the post-independence government has turned the country into a ‘great prison’ where detentions without charges have become part of everyday life (see Human Rights Watch 2001–2009; AI 2000–2007). Not only has the government deprived the people of the right to freely form civil and political associations, it has also gone to the extent of capturing the Type D informal traditional institutions that were historically autonomous, such as the Baito (village assembly). The Baito has lost its autonomy and has been incorporated into the formal structure of administration. One of the false assumptions that underpin the government’s hostility towards autonomous civil and political society associations is that the country and its citizens are not ready for freedom of association. According to a high-ranking government official (personal interview, Asmara, 2002), the government argues that if freedom of association is guaranteed when ‘the necessary conditions for the emergence and consolidation of civically responsible civil and political society associations are lacking; the country’s unity and national sovereignty would be squandered’. But the government’s argument is false because the so-called ‘lacking pre-conditions’ cannot be created through prohibitions. They can instead be created in a process of popular participation in civil and political society associations. Contrary to the government’s argument, the development and consolidation of civil society associations contributes in the long term to political stability and peace because free debates and active participation in such organisations provides a means of creating interconnecting bridges across sex, class, ethnicity, religion and region. The government’s prohibition of civil and political society associations has not promoted peace and political stability either. The converse has actually been the case. The peace and tranquillity witnessed in the immediate post-independence period was more than anything else a result of self-restraint exercised by the exiled opposition groups rather than by the military might of the government. This is not, however, a suggestion that the transitional Eritrean government lacked such might. Rather, the fact that massive firepower would not have been necessary to disturb the peace meant that it was within the reach of any of the exiled political organisations to disrupt the peace and tranquillity if they wished to do so. This was with the exception of the Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement (EIJM) which, unlike

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In Lieu of a Conclusion all other opposition groups, engaged in minor military incursions across the border, and planted landmines on the Eritrean side of the border with the deliberate intention to disturb the peace and cause harm (Adlan 2005; Gunaratna 2002; Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005). Before the formation of the alliance of the opposition groups in 1999, the Islamist organisations were regarded by most exiled Eritrean opposition groups not only as being extremists but also as organisations that fought for unachievable goals. This was because, beside the fact that Muslims and Christians inhabit Eritrea, the extremist ideology of the Islamic fundamentalist groups was not shared by the overwhelming majority of the Eritrean Sunni Muslims. A government based on either of the two religions to the exclusion of the other was seen as being offensive and dangerous. Nevertheless, it is important not to disregard the impact of the government’s exclusionist policy on the attitudes of the opposition groups towards the ethnonationalist and Islamic extremist groups. It was probably the government’s blanket rejection of all the opposition groups, regardless of their positions on the vital issues of national interest, that influenced the decision of the moderate groups to embrace the extremist Islamic fundamentalist and ethno-nationalist organisations. This was reflected, inter alia, in the admission of the latter into the alliance established in 1999, and later into the ENA and the EDA, in 2002 and 2005, respectively. It was the exclusion of the exiled moderate opposition groups from power that caused their radicalisation over time. The government, instead of trying to win over the moderates in the opposition groups, adopted undifferentiated blanket and inimical policy towards all of them, including those that extended ‘olive branches’ to it (see Kibreab 2008: Chapter 10), by denying their existence. Not surprisingly, the opposition groups formed an alliance with the Islamic fundamentalist and ethno-nationalist organisations even though there was little that united them except a common enemy––the government. In the immediate post-independence period, most of the opposition groups chose to maintain a low political profile in anticipation that they would eventually be invited to take part in the would-be transitional government of national unity and work together towards a constitutional and representative form of government. After all, if the African National Congress (ANC) could collaborate with the previously racist National Party in post-apartheid South Africa, there was no good reason, save the vindictive stance of the PFDJ leadership, that justified the exclusion of the Eritrean opposition groups from power-sharing. Whilst counterfactual argument is no substitute for evidence-based analysis, it is not unreasonable to claim that the country and its citizens would not have been in the sorry state they are in, had the Eritrean government exhibited some degree of magnanimity towards the opposition groups. As a result of the government’s failure to build a government of national unity, independence only exacerbated, instead of reversing, the process of corrosion of the stock of social capital that was set in motion during the first civil war of the 1970s and more profusely in the civil war which resulted in the ejection of the ELF from Eritrea in July 1981. It is worth emphasising that the government’s failure to set in motion a participatory democratisation process deprived Eritreans of a learning process that would have substantially contributed to the replenishment

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Shattered Promises and enhancement of bridging social capital. This would have been beneficial for democracy, the economy and political unity, as well as for the development of democratic values, civic virtues, and civic bonds. In short, it would have been good for the well-being of the civic order and the people. The process of democratisation would have set in motion a learning process that would have socialised citizens into the democratic norms of respect and empathy for the ‘other’. Through participation in democratic activities such as debates, participation in elections and campaigns, people might have developed the habit of confronting divergent and opposing views peacefully and amicably. Whilst democratisation is not a magic wand that can solve the chronic problems the country is facing, there is no alternative to it. It is only through the democratic process that citizens and the political organisations, including the PFDJ, can get together to seek common solutions to common problems. This desire is likely to set in motion a learning process that can produce an atmosphere of understanding, mutuality and healing. This is the quintessence of democratic pluralism and civility through which people learn to build bridges, develop leadership skills, reach agreements, manage and resolve conflicts, and respect each other’s views. All these are sine qua non for social bonds and citizens’ devotion to public causes. Thus, under favourable conditions, political and civil associations can play a key role in enhancing and consolidating social capital and therefore unity. Nevertheless, although an important opportunity was lost to set in motion a democratisation process, in the presence of political will, it is still possible to initiate vibrant organisational activities within relatively short periods of time. However, such organisational activities can only grow and flourish in the context of a democratic political system. In the process, the high level of mistrust, suspicion, and intolerance that currently characterise the relationship between the government, the opposition groups, and their supporters can be overcome. Civic engagement is one of the key pre-requisites of active participation in public affairs. Disconnection, partial acquaintance, and ignorance breed prejudice, sectarianism and particularism. In extreme cases, these foment intolerance to the unfamiliar and the unknown. Participation in civil and political associations, on the one hand, generate knowledge about the cultures, views, interests, and problems of the ‘other’ and, on the other hand, cultivate interest in and commitment to the common good reflected in co-operation, respect, tolerance, civility, mutual respect, and public spiritedness. In the process of networking, interaction and cooperation: [E]xisting conflicts … may become more manageable. Through democratic practice, citizens learn to live (to a reasonable extent) with prevailing frictions and controversies. But not just that. Democratic participation can also, under favourable conditions, contribute to a convergence of opinions among the contending parties, and to their integration into a common system of norms. Through participation in the democratic process, citizens come to a greater understanding of each other’s views, and they may also discover that, in many questions – perhaps more than they believed – their interests coincide. (Hadenius and Uggla 1996: 1623)

It is only through popular participation in multitudes of democratic civil society associations that shared Eritrean identity and values can be developed. It is also

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In Lieu of a Conclusion through engagement in vibrant civil society associations that people are able to rise above bigotry, ethnocentrism, factionalism, parochialism and narrowmindedness. Participation in civil society is said to broaden the mind, enlarge the heart and habituate people to democratic norms. In present-day Eritrea, the rifts, the grievances, mistrusts, and suspicions that characterise the relationship between the political organisations and the government, on one side, and government supporters and their opponents, on the other, can only be bridged through open debates and devotion to public causes. ‘People who have active and trusting connections to others – whether family members, friends, or fellow bowlers – develop or maintain character traits that are good for the rest of society. Joiners become more tolerant, less cynical, and more empathetic to the misfortunes of others’ (Putnam 2000: 22). When the EPLF took over power de facto in May 1991 and de jure in May 1993, instead of using the newly-born state as a resource to heal wounds, build bridges and bring together the fragmented political and civil society organisations for a fresh start and for (re)-constructing a viable political community, independence was seen as an opportunity by the EPLF leadership to exclude the other political organisations from power-sharing. Politics of reconciliation, negotiation and compromise were thus replaced with the anti-politics of vindictiveness, exclusion and intolerance of the ‘other.’

Is the president to blame for everything? While researching post-independence Eritrea, the author has come across many well-informed ex-combatants and civilians within and outside the country who have claimed that Isaias Afwerki, who, amongst other things, is the head of state, the chairman of the PFDJ – the only political party in the country – the chairman of the National Assembly, the founder of the Hidri Trust Fund (see Chapter 6) and the chief of staff of the armed forces, is solely responsible for the tragedies that have befallen post-independence Eritrea. Initially, the author was inclined to dismiss this claim as farfetched, but, over time, it has become increasingly clear that the present head of state is exceptionally cunning and this has enabled him to outmanoeuvre whoever tries to challenge his power both during the liberation war and after independence. He is also extraordinarily good at playing groups off against each other not only to maintain his power but also to attribute his own failures to other people in the leadership (see Haile Durué and Petros Solomon in Connell 2005). For example, he used the EPLF’s and later PFDJ’s middle-rank cadres not only to discredit but also to stigmatise his opponents in the leadership. Since the mid-1980s, his most successful mantra has been that ‘the higher echelon of the leadership apart from him are corrupt, rotten and bankrupt’ (see Haile (Durué) Woldensae, Ogbe Abraha, Berhane Gebreghziabher; Petros Solomon in Connell 2005). The author’s inclination to reject the claim that the development and consolidation of autocracy in the country is all due to the dictatorial proclivities of Isaias Afwerki has, however, been weakened by the extraordinary revelations of the five leaders of the war of liberation who knew him better than anyone else – namely Haile (Durué) Woldensaé, Mahmoud Sherifo, Ogbe Abraha, Petros

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Shattered Promises Solomon and Berhane Gebreghziabhier. In fact, Haile Durué was his personal friend and had worked intimately with him from the early inception of the Eritrean student movement in Asmara secondary schools and later at the Haile Selassie University in Addis Ababa (Ammar 1997; Haile (Durué) Woldensae in Connell 2005). In that sense, the reliability of their testimonies in regard to Isaias’ quality of leadership, character, behaviour and mindset, and also his actions, inactions, successes and failures during and after the war of independence cannot be questioned. Connell, their trusted comrade, held lengthy conversations with each of them between 13 March 2000 and 23 August 2001, less than a month before they were detained indefinitely. Connell, a prized friend of the Eritrean war of independence, the Eritrean people and the revolution, fell in love with the revolution and the people after his first visit to the rebel-controlled areas in 1976. Consequently, he enjoyed a high level of trust and could therefore get to interview the five leaders of the liberation war and elicit important data, inter alia, on the strengths, weaknesses and conspiratorial proclivities of the Front’s chairman. In view of the fact that some of them are unlikely to survive the oppressive conditions of the detention centres, Conversations with Eritrean Political Prisoners (Connell 2005) will quite possibly be one of the last memoirs left behind. The documentary provides information on how Isaias systematically exploited middle-rank EPLF cadres to discredit and stigmatise all other leaders during the war of liberation and after independence. For example in 1986, in a series of seminars that involved the whole organisation, he accused all the leaders of the Front, including those in the Polit Bureau, of what he called ‘three privileges’ that included drinking, luxurious living and womanising (Berhane Gebreghziabher in Connell 2005: 87). According to Dan Connell: The mid-1980s represents a crucial turning point in the trajectory of the EPRP/ EPLF in which Isaias made a bid to marginalise the political core of the movement’s founding leadership and then diluted it through the militarisation of party and front decision-making bodies, packing the party Central Committee and the front’s Political Bureau with military men unswervingly loyal to him. The ‘three-privileges campaign,’ which set the stage for this reorganisation, was a moral crusade in which Isaias appealed to second-tier cadres to heap shame on their leaders for drinking, womanising and using their positions to secure material advantages. He then brought three generals into both the party CC and the EPLF’s Political Bureau. (2005: 4–5)

According to former combatants interviewed by the author, the campaign against what Isaias referred to as zemete represented a critical watershed in his relationship with the leaders of the Front and with all combatants. He attacked what he described as the ‘guEzuyn mushmushn tebayat nay merahti’ (the corrupt and depraved behaviour of the leaders) and urged the rank and file combatants, especially the middle-rank cadres to rescue the revolution. He warned that the consequences of failure to do so would be too dreadful to contemplate. According to the interviewees, Isaias was interested in uprooting neither the corrupt practices of the leaders nor his own. Rather, the single most important message he wanted to pass to the whole Front was that all leaders except him were corrupt, drunkards, womanisers and luxury-loving. According to an informant who attended the series of meetings, ‘Isaias presented convincing arguments that a

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In Lieu of a Conclusion leader with such weaknesses could intentionally or inadvertently compromise or betray the revolution.’ The campaign to build his so-called ‘impeccable reputation’ by distancing himself from the rest of the leadership was one of the most intelligent strategies that Isaias undertook. After attacking the activities and those who indulged in them, he presented himself as the only ‘true revolutionary, honest, incorruptible and talented leader’. During the campaign against the ‘three privileges’, his publicists and foot soldiers (middle-rank cadres) were busy spreading rumours that ‘he was unique and the only one who has dedicated his life to the revolution.’ It is important to state that, while he preached against them, the halefatat (excesses) were not Isaias’ invention. Leaders at all levels, including him, had all engaged in practices previously considered taboo such as excessive drinking, womanising and consumption of luxury goods. This had led to widespread resentment among the combatants and Isaias cunningly seized the opportunity to distance himself at the right time. His campaign was most effective because he publicly and to their faces accused all other leaders of being ‘useless, corrupt, rotten, etc.’ and because none of them could say that he was equally guilty of the ‘crimes’ of excessive drinking, womanising and consumption of luxuries or that the accusations were unfounded. An informant told the author that the reason the leaders did not do so was because it was not safe to challenge him. Another said, ‘what distinguished Isaias from the other leaders was that whenever he felt threatened, he took swift and brutal action and that was a major deterrence.’ He also said, ‘had any of the leaders said in public that he was in the centre of the halefatat (accesses), the person concerned would have been devoured by his dogs.’ Therefore, because the leaders neither denied the accusations nor challenged him, the middle cadres and the rank-and-file combatants took the president’s words for granted and believed that only he could redeem the country from ruin. In a make-believe gesture, he set up different committees comprising middlerank cadres and rank-and-file combatants to allegedly iron out such profligate activities. However, this did not yield much because what mattered to him was discrediting the other leaders in the eyes of the tens of thousands of combatants and building his ‘impeccable reputation as being an exception and a genuinely selfless revolutionary’. The campaign, in addition to allowing him to discredit other leaders, also provided him with indispensable material that could be used whenever necessary to blackmail ‘discredited’ leaders. The irony of the whole saga was that none of the ‘culprits’ was demoted or removed from his position. Some who were at the centre of the alleged ‘three-privileges’, such as the three generals, were even promoted to higher positions. This meant that the ‘culprit,’ who instead of being punished was rewarded, would feel indebted to the ‘magnanimous’ leader and serve him unwaveringly. Soon after independence, the president is said to have done a similar thing when everything began to go wrong in the country. According to Petros Solomon, ‘The leadership is rotten,’ … ‘I cannot continue with this rotten leadership. We need to put new blood into this leadership’ (in Connell 2005: 86). Soon after this pronouncement, a pre-congress meeting was held in Beleza in which Isaias presented a list of candidates for the central council to be elected at the Front’s forthcoming third congress. He excluded the names of two very popular leaders of

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Shattered Promises the war of liberation – Romedan Mohamed Nur and Mesfun Hagos. His decision was overturned with regard to Mesfun Hagos who ironically received an almost equal number of votes to his in the third congress in February 1994. However, with regard to Romedan, the leaders legitimated Isaias’ earlier call for injecting younger blood into the leadership. Romedan was made to read a farewell speech in which he said the time had come for the old guard to give way to the younger generation. It is even rumoured that he did not write the speech himself. He was probably too angry. Romedan was not the oldest in the leadership. The author asked a key informant the reason why the president and leader of the front, Isaias Afwerki, did not want Romedan in the leadership. The informant speculated ‘Romedan being gentle and fair-minded, probably implicitly disapproved of Isaias’ heavy-handedness in the post-independence period.’ In Conversations, Durué acknowledges the role he played in the cover-up of Romedan’s exclusion as being one of the things that he regretted most. He said, ‘I should have stood firm by opposing the president.’ He saw the injustice but said, ‘why pick up a fight?’ (in Connell 2005). It is a typical ‘antchiwa t’hlef me’inti mogogo’ thing (‘let the mouse escape for the sake of the cooker’ – a Tigrinya saying). It was the consequences of such cavalier attitudes towards unfairness and injustice that over time contributed to the making of the dictator. Although he accused all other leaders of having lost their sense of direction, Isaias nevertheless refused to call meetings in order to analyse and address the causes of the alleged ‘rottenness and loss of direction’. When he was urged by the leaders, he refused obdurately and said, ‘Meetings will not solve problems. This is a sense of losing direction.’ (Berhane Gebreghziabher quoted in Connell 2005: 82). The data in Connell’s Conversations indicate that Isaias did not only rely on duplicity and intrigue to remain in power. They admitted that he was also very popular. Petros Solomon opines, ‘He [the president] needed a little bit of guts to become the next president of this country. He can be that. He is so popular. But you don’t know his character. He is very timid, timid, timid – very timid.’ He added, ‘Only yesterday [22 August 2001] I saw him. Now they are accusing me of being a coward and giving this country up to the UN and America, and I’m telling him, “Okay, you are the witness – what are you going to say?” But I am quite sure [Isaias] is not going to say anything in public, and I am quite sure he has nobody who is going to accuse me in court. It’s just a mockery, a slander game’ (ibid.: 126). Connell’s data provide rare insights into the mindset and the tyrannical predilections of the Eritrean head of state. Although no one knew him better than the five whose testimonies Connell has eloquently documented, the weighty nature of their testimonies notwithstanding, the time in which the conversations were conducted is critical in terms of how much weight one can give to their evidence concerning their former ally turned adversary, Isaias Afwerki. As mentioned earlier, some of the interviews were conducted a few weeks before their incarceration. They told Connell that the head of state and the people in the PFDJ central office were determined to court martial them and they repeatedly said that they were racing against time since their days were numbered. The corollary is that they had axes to grind and they consequently had theoretically powerful incentives to exaggerate and taint the image of the president by focusing, on the one hand, on his contemptuous behaviour and

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In Lieu of a Conclusion dictatorial proclivities and, on the other, by understating or denying his achievements. Theoretically, any rational person in their situation would have had an incentive to exaggerate and tarnish the character and reputation of an adversary who was intent on taking dramatic actions to get rid of potential challengers. However, whether the five members of the G15 with whom Dan Connell had the conversations distorted or exaggerated evidence against the president in order to slate the serious accusations he and his henchmen in the PFDJ central office made against them (see Chapter 2) cannot be determined a priori. This is an empirical question that needs to be established rather than inferred from that motive. However, what makes the data presented in Connell’s Conversations important is the fact that they are consistent with other sources (see also Kibreab 2008a; Markakis 1990; Mengisteab and Yohannes 2005). The data collected for this book and that collected for Critical Reflections on the Eritrean War of Independence (Kibreab 2008a) clearly show that nothing significant could take place in the EPLF, PFDJ and in the country as a whole in the realms of war, peace, economic policy, diplomacy and other forms of public policy, without the president’s caprice. Nevertheless, it is still important to recognise that he would have been unable to accomplish most of his wishes had it not been for the services of thousands of others in his office, the security authorities, the armed forces, the PFDJ central, regional and district offices, the ministries, departments, regional administrations, the mass organisations in and outside the country as well as apologist intellectuals in the diaspora. It cannot also be denied that some of the civilian population are supportive of the government. Yosief Ghebrehiwet is not far off the mark when he states: It has now become fashionable to attribute all the ills of Eritrea to a few at the top: the dictator, a few corrupt generals, some policy makers at the President’s Office and some few criminal colonels in the middle. This let’s-make-everybody-happy diagnosis carries the solution in its sleeve: take out these few at the top and everything else will be returned to normal. They forget that taking out the few at the top has been very difficult precisely because nobody could make his way to the top as a result of countless entanglements at the bottom.26

Yosief further states, ‘An enforcer at the bottom – an informer, a torturer, a cadre, a foot soldier, a fund raiser, a technocrat, a propagandist, a cheerleader, etc. – is as much to blame as the ones at the top. The fact that his reach is more constrained is simply offset by the fact that the likes of him, unlike those at the top, come in large numbers (and that, given the opportunity, he would act exactly like the ones at the top). But more importantly, this kind of minimalist attribution leaves out the multitude of true believers that really enable the very survival of the totalitarian regime.’27 History is replete with examples in which, at least at the initial stage, people put their trust in diverse forms of governments, including the most tyrannical ones. The hideous regimes such as the Soviet state under Stalin, the National Socialist government under Hitler, the Iranian state under Ayatollah Khomeini, the Indonesian state under Suharto, the Chilean state under Pinochet and the Ethiopian state under Mengistu were all supported by a substantial proportion of the citizens of the countries concerned.

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Shattered Promises In Eritrea, although the fortunes of the president and the PFDJ are continuously dwindling, some groups and individuals, especially those in the diaspora, continue to support the autocratic ruler and it is therefore wrong to assume that he has relied solely on brute force to remain in power. This is not surprising. Hannah Arendt, in her groundbreaking book––The Origins of Totalitarianism – states: Their [the National Socialists’ and the Bolsheviks’] idea of domination was something that no state and no mere apparatus of violence can ever achieve, but only a movement that is constantly kept in motion: namely, the permanent domination of each single individual in each and every sphere of life. (1973: 326)

Arendt’s phrase, ‘a movement that is constantly kept in motion’, is critical for understanding why the PFDJ government, in spite of its incompetence and appalling human rights record, still enjoys some degree of support both at home and in the diaspora. Key to its success has been its ability to keep the country and its citizens ‘constantly in a state of heightened tension of insecurity and uncertainty’. The logic behind the government’s action is that, if people are kept under permanent potential external threat, they are unlikely to think about internal oppression. Soon after the country’s de facto independence, the provisional government picked a fight with Sudan by exaggerating the threat posed by the diminutive Eritrean Islamic Jihad Movement (EIJM). The EIJM was undoubtedly supported by the National Islamic Front-backed military government in Sudan. However, had the Eritrean government opted for constructive diplomatic engagement instead of being confrontational, the government of Sudan might have banned the EIJM. Instead the Eritrean government unilaterally severed diplomatic relations with Sudan in December 1994. This was done without considering not only the plight of over half a million Eritreans in Sudan who were anxiously waiting to be repatriated to Eritrea, but also that crossborder economic activities constituted the central plank of the livelihood systems of many Eritreans, especially in the western lowlands. From the time the Eritrean government broke off diplomatic relations with Sudan and its gross interference in the internal affairs of Sudan, there has been an uninterrupted heightened tension between the two countries. Before the conflict with Sudan was resolved, the Eritrean government picked yet another fight with Yemen by invading the Hanish Islands in the Red Sea. Fortunately, a ceasefire was declared through third party mediation before the conflict degenerated into full-scale inter-state war. Nevertheless, this became a second source of insecurity and heightened tension which could have been resolved by negotiation. The government later agreed to present the case to international arbitration. Although its decision to accept the award of the arbitration in spite of the fact that most of its claims were rejected was admirable, it would have been much better had it negotiated before its invasion of the islands. A few years later, in May 1998, the bloody border war with Ethiopia broke out. In the last ten years, Eritrea has been in a state of alert and heightened tension because of the state of no-war-no-peace. Although it has to be admitted that the state of no-war-no-peace is a result of Ethiopia’s obdurate refusal to accept the final and binding decision of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission issued in April 2002, the Eritrean government has not done enough to win the

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In Lieu of a Conclusion hearts and minds of the international community to help in the implementation of the decision. Instead of trying to win the hearts and minds of the international bodies that could help break the deadlock, the Eritrean government has been unreasonably attacking the United Nations, the European Union, the African Union and the US government for not doing enough to bring pressure to bear on Ethiopia to accept the decision on demarcation of the border. The consequent isolation of the Eritrean government has given intransigent Ethiopia an opportunity to stage a diplomatic coup and to come across as being in favour of peace in spite of its defiance of the international community. Ten years of no-war-no-peace have enabled the government to keep the people in a state of permanent heightened tension. The government and its apologists have been arguing that freedom, democracy, constitutional government and the rule of law have had to be subordinated to the make or break issue of national survival. ‘When the country’s survival is imminently threatened by its more populous neighbour, Ethiopia,’ they argue, ‘it is misguided to talk about democracy, freedom, human rights and constitutional government.’ These are people whose minds are controlled by the autocratic PFDJ government. Totalitarianism, in Arendt’s view, involves state control over the minds of its subjects and, in her words, ‘totalitarian regimes combine high repression with a high capacity to generate loyalty to the totalitarian party’ (1973: 326). In spite of the ghastly nature of such regimes and the beastly character of their leaders, they are able to rally and mobilise people behind them. For example, Stalin was able to rally tens of millions of Russians as Hitler did in Germany, including those who suffered from his ill-conceived collectivisation and requisition policies. That may be why Robert McNeal, in the book, Stalin: the Man and the Ruler, wrote: If Stalin was mad, he possessed the genius of projecting his own reality onto large numbers of normal people. They were ready, for the most part, to believe that large numbers of their erstwhile comrades were traitors. They were ready to denounce, to turn away from the incriminated and even from their spouses and children … The atmosphere of devotion to the leader and alienation from suspect ‘comrades’ led to the atomisation of members of the Soviet life. Normal human relationships, within a certain level of society, dissolved. (quoted in Kittrie 1995: 61)

One of the most powerful weapons of totalitarian political organisations and states is the ability to stifle the agency of their followers through intensive indoctrination, disinformation, intimidation, blackmail and use of force. Nevertheless, few are the governments, even the most gruesome ones, that have been able to rule solely by relying on brute force. They always have certain sections of their citizens who follow them and it would be a folly to deny that this is to some extent true in Eritrea. To return to the question of whether the head of state is solely to blame for Eritrea’s dismal state, it is important to draw on the data elicited from former combatants. As seen earlier, the views of many, but by no means all, former combatants interviewed by the author especially during the euphoric years were similar to those of the Eritrean head of state on the critical issues of freedom, democracy, civil society, multi-partyism, the opposition groups and national and international NGOs. The critical question that arises is that if the president’s illiberal views and perceptions were shared by a considerable proportion of the

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Shattered Promises former combatants interviewed by the author, how safe is it to postulate that the head of state, Isaias Afwerki, is solely responsible for the mess the country is in? It is important to recognise that the Eritrean head of state, in spite of his craftiness, vindictiveness and intrigue, is not a phantom. He is a product of a particular system, in whose creation he played a vital role Although he was the master architect of the system that shaped his and many other combatants’ mindsets, the people who at different phases of the EPLF’s genesis got on or fell out with him must have evidently contributed not only to the creation but also to the perpetuation of an oppressive machinery that paved the way to tyranny. In view of this, it would be a distortion to attribute the creation of the repressive system to the work of one man. Inasmuch as the spectacular military achievements of the liberation war cannot be reduced to the work of one person, the unhappy scenarios that have been unfolding in the country cannot be attributed to a single person. Most people, including his recent vociferous critics, are to varying degrees responsible for the creation and perpetuation of the repressive system that has brought the country to its knees. The role of an individual in history is one of the most contentious issues among historians. In his celebrated essay on the ‘Role of the individual in history,’ G.V. Plekhanov observes: In assuming the role of the ‘good sword’ to save public order, Napoleon prevented all the other generals from playing this role, and some of them might have performed it in the same way, or almost the same way, as he did. Once the public need for an energetic military ruler was satisfied, the social organisation barred the road to the position of military ruler for all other talented soldiers. The power of this position became a power that was unfavourable to the appearance of other talents of a similar kind.28

Plekhanov further states: This is the cause of the optical illusion which we have mentioned. Napoleon’s personal power presents itself to us in an extremely magnified form, for we attribute to him the social power which had brought him to the front and supported him. Napoleon’s power appears to be quite exceptional because the other powers similar to it did not pass from the potential to real. And when we are asked, ‘What would have happened if there had been no Napoleon?’ our imagination becomes confused and it seems to us that without him the social movement upon which his power and influence were based could not have taken place.

The corollary in the context of the EPLF is that, although Isaias’ power had evidently blocked the rise of others who would have been able to do what he did in the same or similar way, there is nothing to suggest that only he and no other leader among the combatants would have taken the country down the drain as he has done. The people in the leadership and the middle rank cadres in the EPLF as well as the mass organisations in the diaspora have either played different roles to facilitate his exercise of absolute power or have done nothing to stop him. Consequently, they can be said to have been not only capable of doing what he did but they also bear some responsibility for the pathetic state the country is in. Nevertheless, several ex-combatant intellectuals interviewed by the author have suggested that, although there were hundreds if not thousands among the leaders who were potentially as vicious as Isaias, only a few, if any, could match his

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In Lieu of a Conclusion ‘duplicity, craftiness, spitefulness, vindictiveness and his insatiable hunger for power and control’. These descriptions were used by different intellectual excombatants both inside and outside the country over more than a decade during which data were collected. Three interviewees also independently said that Machiavelli’s book, The Prince, is Isaias’ Bible. All his actions, they said, are the ‘literal application of the precepts of the The Prince’. When the author asked the ex-combatants to comment on whether Isaias’ rise to tyranny could have been stopped by any group within the EPLF, most of them said the peasants, workers and secondary and primary school drop-outs who were the large majority in the Front could not stop him. These were preoccupied with the war and a few were also mobilised as his foot soldiers, informers, cheer leaders, publicists and rumour mongers and therefore could not be part of the potential forces of change and transformation. Some also belonged to the secret party. They were made to believe that the revolution belonged to them and were encouraged to perceive themselves as being the custodians of the revolution. The only people who could have therefore prevented Isaias from degenerating into a tyrant were the intellectuals. Unfortunately, as seen earlier, this group belonged to two adversary groups. One group, including the president, was at the helm of power and pretended to have betrayed its class and allegedly exercised power on behalf of and for the benefit of the peasantry and the working class. Some intellectuals in this group included some members of the EPLF’s central committee, the Polit Bureau, military commanders, senior cadres and commissioners. Some intellectuals who held no leadership positions became apologists for the boss and his henchmen and therefore suffered no repression. The majority of intellectuals, however, belonged to the second loathed group that was under watch for ‘twenty-four-seven’ (24 hours/seven days a week). As a result, they had no means of stopping Isaias from rising to tyranny. The corollary is that what enabled him to assume unfettered power and consequently to influence the development of the EPLF and later the post-independence government was a combination of the social reality within which he operated and which was to a large extent of his own making, and the traits or talents that he possessed. According to Plekhanov: In order that a man who possesses a particular kind of talent may, by means of it, greatly influence the course of events, two conditions are needed: First, this talent must make him more comfortable to the social needs of the given epoch than anyone else. If Napoleon had possessed the musical gifts of Beethoven instead of his own military genius he would, of course, not have become an emperor. Second, the existing social order must not bar the road to the person possessing the talent which is needed and useful precisely at the given time. This very Napoleon would have died as the barely known General, or Colonel, Bonaparte had the older order in France existed another seventy-five years.

What were the special talents Isaias possessed that enabled him to influence the course of the Eritrean war of liberation and the post-independence situation? As seen earlier, according to data elicited from ex-combatants who worked with him for between two and three decades, some of the exceptional talents include: ‘duplicity, vindictiveness, stubbornness, maliciousness, obsessive hunger for power and control, spitefulness and ruthlessness’. Some of the enlightened ex-combatant interviewees actually went into great depth to demonstrate how each of these traits

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Shattered Promises enabled him to dominate each single individual and to control their minds, as well as to terrify them. The few resilient intellectuals whose minds could not be easily controlled were subjected to inhuman treatment. Some were sent to the infamous security department (Halewa Sowra) ‘to be re-educated’ where torture was routinely practised (see Habte Selassie 2007; Kibreab 2008a), while others were sent to the frontline to face imminent death. There were also intellectuals who lost their self-esteem and consequently either turned a blind eye to injustice or became flatterers and cheer leaders. According to the interviewees, Isaias skilfully used duplicity or two-facedness to sow discord, suspicion and mistrust among the leaders, intellectuals and high, middle and low-rank cadres. He said different things to different individuals about each of them at different times and would not hesitate to deny this at any time with no qualms whatsoever. He also encouraged his informers, cadres and foot soldiers to spread rumours about any targeted individual. The rumours could involve awrajanet (sectarianism), sexual orientation, cowardice, corruption, being a CIA or Ethiopian agent, personal weaknesses, etc. Once a rumour had been unleashed about someone, the person was alienated even though the victim did not know why people turned their back on him/her. However, no one would dare question the veracity of the rumour. According to one informant, a number of intellectuals could not cope with the situation and they were consequently driven to suicide or mental illness. Other ex-combatant interviewees argued that Isaias was so cunning that, to him, human beings had only instrumental rather than intrinsic value. To him, they were a means to an end rather than the end itself. An ex-combatant who now resides outside the country said, ‘He uses and disposes [of] human beings as if they were plastic shopping bags.’ Another said, ‘He would deliberately encourage you to break a rule or commit a prohibited act and then he will enslave you for ever.’ Other informants said, ‘Isaias is so vindictive’ that once you are in his ‘bad books, he would never rest until he destroys you or tarnishes your reputation beyond repair.’

The stigmatisation of intellectuals The majority of Isaias’ and his henchmen’s victims were intellectuals throughout the war. Most ex-combatants interviewed by the author said that Isaias hated intellectuals because he knew they were the only group that could challenge him. Considering that the large majority of EPLF combatants were peasants, workers, primary and secondary school drop-outs, this made a lot of sense. Isaias told the peasants and the workers that the revolution belonged to them and they had to guard it against the threat posed by petty bourgeois opportunists who ‘would not hesitate to betray the revolution in return for a glass of water’. Thus there was an open campaign against intellectuals who they said ‘could betray the workers’ and peasants’ revolution at any time in pursuit of self-interest’. This was said to be because of their inherent opportunism, vacillation, lack of commitment to public causes, obsession with self-preservation and decadent habits of consumption. According to one informant who was himself an intellectual combatant and therefore one of the victims, ‘the intellectuals had two choices – either to renounce

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In Lieu of a Conclusion their class origin and adopt the characteristics and behaviour of the peasants or to vote with their feet.’ Unfortunately, those caught ‘voting with their feet’ were either killed or subjected to inhuman treatment. The risk of detection and commitment to the nationalist cause made many intellectuals to stay put or, to use the EPLF’s terminology, to ‘commit class suicide and become peasanterised’. Several former friends from Haile Selassie university who joined the EPLF told the author that intellectuals were so terrified of being identified as petty bourgeoisie that ‘even your former best friends who joined a year earlier would turn their back instead of welcoming you for fear of giving the impression that they had not delinked themselves from their past.’ The common adage in the EPLF was, ‘A petty bourgeois who is not dead cannot be trusted.’ A background to the EPLF leadership’s dislike for intellectuals has been dealt with in Critical Reflections (Kibreab 2008a) in great depth. Suffice it to say here that the only time Isaias was seriously challenged by an internal opposition was in 1973. This was when a reform movement led and organised by highly talented intellectual Marxist-Leninists from Haile Selassie university demanded democratic changes. Although the movement initially won the hearts and minds of the EPLF fighters, the EPLF leadership derogatorily referred to the movement as ‘Menqaé’ (bat) or the Destructive Movement of 1973 and it was ruthlessly suppressed resulting in the physical elimination of the alleged ringleaders (see Kibreab 2008a; Markakis 1990; Pool 2001). Even so, the EPLF leadership was panic-stricken by the sudden surge of the reform movement that initially threw it into disarray. From that time onwards, they were determined not to allow a similar movement that could challenge their hegemonic exercise of power. Towards this end, two important organisations were created – namely, the disreputable department of security – Halewa Sowra – (Protection of the Revolution) and the secret party under the chairmanship of Isaias. The existence of the secret party was jealously guarded throughout the war of independence and divulging information regarding its existence was punishable by death. That was why its twenty years’ life as a secret organisation within the EPLF was announced simultaneously with its dissolution in the EPLF/PFDJ’s third congress. When its dissolution was announced by Isaias, the overwhelming majority of the combatants who did not know of its existence were dumbfounded and felt deceived. One ex-combatant told the author that the underground party was not a real political party. It was an instrument of control and intelligence collection whose secret members spied on every individual combatant, as well as on civilians in the liberated and semi-liberated areas. Although Connell states that the secret party played an important leadership role, he also pointed out that ‘it also functioned as an instrument of command and control. … In time, however, it inevitably became more an instrument of control than one of leadership’ (2005: 162). According to an ex-combatant key informant, because all fighters knew or suspected that whatever they said or did was reported on a daily and perhaps hourly basis, the unwritten code of conduct among the combatants was, ‘You haven’t seen, heard anything; don’t ask questions; say nothing unless you are told to speak.’ Another said, ‘When someone suddenly is missing from your unit or platoon, you don’t ask as this could result either in your own disappearance or blacklisting.’ Several of the interviewees said that Isaias and his henchmen ‘kept

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Shattered Promises detailed dossiers of most individuals whom they suspected would present a threat to their power or domination’. This was made known to the persons concerned for easy control. What makes the interviewees’ accounts concerning the secret party credible is the fact that before and after Isaias announced its dissolution, no one ever talked about it, except Dan Connell in his account based on conversations with the five leaders who are in detention (2005: 139–63). If, as one interviewee opined, it were a political party that contributed constructively to the success of the revolution, its previous leaders, including Isaias himself, would have spoken or written about it. The fact that it is never mentioned either in the literature of the EPLF or in the speeches of its former chairman, Isaias Afwerki, is an indication that it was not a political party but rather an intelligence gathering agency that spied on every fighter in order to facilitate the leadership’s domination of each single fighter and to enable them gain control over their minds.

What of the G15? Any victim demands allegiance. (Graham Greene 1948)29 The arts of power and its minions are the same in all countries and in all ages. It marks a victim; denounces it; and excites the public odium and the public hatred, to conceal its own abuses and encroachments. (Henry Clay 1934)30

Any person socialised into one of the Eritrean cultures would feel a sense of uneasiness and guilt about critically scrutinising the previous activities of a person or a group of people who cannot defend themselves. More importantly, these people are victims of a tyrant and his henchmen who have left no stone unturned to stigmatise them and make them a subject of hate in an attempt to conceal their own incompetence and abuse of power. Eritrean moral ethics would in such circumstances call for solidarity and allegiance rather than criticism. As made clear in the Preface, this book promised not to be constrained by any taboos, including the discussion of matters relating to victims of injustice in a manner that is sensitive, fair and transparent. A critical question that needs to be addressed is, therefore, the extent to which the G15 share responsibility for the dismal state Eritrea is in and for what has gone woefully wrong in spite of great expectations. The author has come across people (albeit less in number than those who lay the blame solely on the president and the few people in his office, the army and the central office of the PFDJ), who allege that all combatants, members of EPLP’s mass organisations included and specifically those who held leadership positions during the immediate post-independence period, including the G15, are equally responsible not only for the sorry state the country is in, but also for the development and consolidation of the president’s tyrannical exercise of power. Ex-combatant intellectuals were over-represented amongst those who argued that a majority of the G15 members and the five Dan Connell conducted conversations with were Isaias’ right-hand men throughout the liberation war. They also

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In Lieu of a Conclusion argued that their views on the critical issues of individual freedom, democracy and power-sharing were indistinguishable from Isaias’ illiberal views throughout the liberation war. One combatant said that most of the G15 played a key role in Menqaé’s suppression in 1973. Haile (Durué) was captured by the Ethiopian army and was in prison during the 1973 crisis and therefore played no part in the suppression of the reform movement. His condemnatory view of Menqaé was, however, identical with Isaias’ (see Markakis 1990). Markakis’ account of the Menqaé was solely based on an interview he conducted with Haile Durué in the field in the early 1980s. Although Durué was not present during the crisis (he was in an Ethiopian prison), his accusations of Menqaé were identical with those of the leadership. The reason some ex-combatant interviewees were critical about the G15 was because they did not admit their past mistakes. One interviewee, for example, told the author, ‘If these people wanted us to take them seriously, instead of only telling the Eritrean people that Isaias is an irredeemable tyrant, they should have confessed that they were his right-hand men and did his dirty work without restraint during the liberation war.’ He further said, ‘That was why their [the G15’s] ‘Open Letter’ in spite of its brilliance and topicality, fell on deaf ears. They had no social capital to tap into. The intellectuals that had suffered under their reign did not trust them.’ In the informant’s view, they could have replenished their depleted stock of social trust if they had come out clean about their past. While it is true that Isaias at times played off the leaders against each other whenever it suited his tactical impulse, the members of the central committee, including the G15, were his trusted allies and they stood by him throughout the liberation war. Without them, he would not have been able to build a formidable repressive machinery to control every aspect of the movement. On the positive side, however, it was, inter alia, their intimate camaraderie, mutual trust and cooperation that contributed to the spectacular military victory of the liberation war. By the same token, without the camaraderie and unquestioning acquiescence, Isaias would not have risen to the pinnacle of tyrannical power. Although members of the G15 had at different stages of the war of liberation been subjected to varied forms of machinations and harassment at the hands of Isaias, it cannot be denied that they were part of the core forces that created the system that produced him. Without their unswerving loyalty and unreserved service, the informants argued, Isaias would have been unable to build the highly centralised machinery that enabled him, on the one hand, to suppress any potential danger to his tyrannical exercise of power and, on the other, to generate loyalty among tens of thousands of combatants and civilians. The high level of loyalty he was able to generate was indispensable in stigmatising ‘suspects’ and demoralising independent thinkers. It is important to emphasise, however, that in spite of the counterproductive roles the G15 played in terms of helping Isaias to suppress all forms of dissent and to dominate and control each single individual during the liberation war, they had at least two choices in the post-independence period. They could have chosen to continue being part of the autocracy that has been bleeding the country nearly to death or to denounce dictatorship and become champions of democratic change and freedom. They chose the latter and consequently forfeited their liberty, privileged positions and the livelihoods of their families. Since their disappearance

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Shattered Promises on 18 September 2001, their whereabouts has been unknown. It is also not known whether all of them are still alive. When the president refused to implement the ratified constitution, ruled the country arbitrarily without any restraint, took decisions of vital national interest in the realms of war, peace, diplomacy and the economy without any consultation with the Cabinet, the National Assembly and the central council of the PFDJ, as well as refusing to convene the overdue regular sessions of the legislative and governing bodies, the G15 legitimately said ‘enough is enough’. They consequently took the highest risk to their lives and also to their families’ well-being and future. The country and all fair-minded Eritreans are likely to remain deeply indebted to their sacrifices, courage and principled commitments to freedom and democracy.

In the grip of nationalism Another relevant question that needs to be answered is: why did the members of the G15 wait for so long? This is a difficult but an important question that needs to be addressed. Human motives are not easy to explain and therefore the following discussion will involve a certain degree of speculation. Some of the reasons why the G15 did not challenge Isaias during the liberation war have been addressed earlier. During the war, as we have seen, the G15 were a part of the forces that facilitated the creation of the oppressive system. To give them the benefit of the doubt, however, it is important to recognise that during the thirty years’ war, all Eritreans, especially the combatants, the G15 included, were in the grip of compulsive nationalism. Independence was a most treasured value which took priority over everything else, including human life. As Bernard Crick states: Nationalism is at this time perhaps the most compelling of all motives that can lead men to abandon or to scorn politics. Every feeling of human generosity is stirred by the struggle of an oppressed people to be free. And nothing can argue people who feel themselves to be a nation out of the belief that they are a nation; and that if they are to be oppressed, it is better to be oppressed by their own people than by foreigners. (2000: 74)

If this were not the case, tens of thousands of volunteers who were ready and willing to die for the cause would not have joined the Front. To the large majority of the combatants, including members of the G15, nothing mattered more than the nationalist cause. Every measure was thus taken in the perceived interest of the nationalist cause irrespective of how excessive or gruesome the measures were. It is worth noting that in the process, human life, freedom, democracy, democratic dialogue, accountability and participatory decision-making were considered luxuries which the Front could not afford to indulge in. Independence was the single most important common good that would benefit all Eritreans irrespective of ethnicity, creed, region, gender and ideology. Debessay Hedru ‘hits the nail on the head’ when he asks the painful question that is on most citizens’ lips, but only few dare to raise publicly: ‘Why did Eritrea fall from grace? What happened to the celebrated heroes who fought for freedom? What happened to the promise of peace, democracy and prosperity? Who is to blame?’ (2003: 435). Although I only saw Hedru’s edifying article a few hours

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In Lieu of a Conclusion before I sent off the final manuscript to my publishers, these are the very issues this book and the one that preceded it (Kibreab 2008a) seek to answer. These are the most critical questions every fair-minded Eritrean or Eritreanist scholar should seek to address. However, in answering his own fundamental questions, he misses the point by placing the blame on the victim. The answer to post-independence Eritrea’s tragedy in his view: … lies in the fact that the people willingly conferred absolute power on the leadership of the guerrilla movement that won their freedom from Ethiopian occupation, and then deprived them of liberty. Values such as national unity and focus on a single goal (i.e. independence), translated into uncritical loyalty and unquestioning obedience. Eritreans became prisoners of the warrior culture that brought them independence. By the end of the final decade of independence, values such as dialogue, compromise and consensus needed to build a democratic society came to be regarded as symbols of weakness, even treason. (2003: 435–6) (emphasis added)

When I started researching Critical Reflections on the Eritrean War of Independence (2008a) and this volume, I had an almost identical point of departure. The single most important question this volume seeks to explain is: what went woefully wrong in a movement that came to power by promising to relegate injustice, tyranny, lack of freedom, rule of law, human and democratic rights as well as indignity into the museum of history? The initial hypothesis that guided my research was as follows. At the heart of post-independence Eritrea’s tragedy lies, on the one hand, the EPLF/PFDJ’s betrayal of the trust the Eritrean people placed in them and, on the other, the oversight of the people in entrusting their interests and future to an organisation which is not accountable to them. Not only is the ruling party in power unaccountable to anyone, but also the people cannot remove it from power if it abuses their trust and does not respond to their needs. It was further assumed that although the Eritrean government took over power through conquest rather than democratic elections, ‘it enjoyed the full trust of the large majority of the people during and in the immediate postindependence period.’ The interesting question that arose from these untested assumptions was: what happens to a government that blatantly betrays the trust of its citizens? In an attempt to provide theoretically informed analysis, I plumbed the depths to understand and to draw some useful insights from how some of the eminent political philosophers, such as Plato, Hobbes, Locke, Burke, Mill and others, addressed the question. I abandoned the hypothesis because it was based on false or impressionistic assumptions. This is because there is no evidence to show that the Eritrean people placed their ‘unqualified trust’ in the leadership of the EPLF and later in the Eritrean government. Not only were the people not consulted on how they wanted to be ruled, by whom and for how long, but the EPLF leadership sat on the saddle of power disregarding other political organisations that had and still have legitimate rights to share power. Debessay Hedru’s assertion that ‘the people willingly conferred absolute power on the leadership…’ presupposes that the EPLF/PFDJ leadership was voted into office by the will of the Eritrean people manifested in free, democratic and fair elections. The major weakness of my abandoned hypothesis and Debessay’s claim is, as Bernard Crick eloquently

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Shattered Promises wonders: ‘And how does one find out what people think except by giving them real choices to discuss and real freedom to criticise and choose their government?’ (2000: 73). None of these freedoms exist in Eritrea. The heart of Eritrea’s tragedy does not lie in the fact that ‘the people willingly conferred absolute power on the leadership’, but rather that the leadership that took over power by force is exercising its power tyrannically to deprive the Eritrean people of the right to discuss, criticise and confer power on a political party that is accountable to them, responds to their needs and that can be thrown out of office through peaceful means. Debessay Hedru’s argument is, however, an apt description of the level of trust that characterised the relationship between the leaders and the rank-and-file combatants, as well as the relationship between the chairman, Isaias Afwerki, and members of the executive and central committee of the EPLF (see G15: 2001; Haile (Durué) Waldensae, Ogbe Abraha, Mahmoud Sherifo, Petros Solomon and Berhane Gebreghziabher in Connell 2005). It may not, therefore, be unreasonable to argue that one of the reasons the G15 did not challenge Isaias during the war of liberation was because they feared this could cause internal feuds and consequently divide and weaken the struggle. A saying in Tigrinya could help the reader understand what might have blunted the leaders’ vigilance and therefore discouraged them from limiting the chairman’s autocratic exercise of power – antchwa tihlef meinti mogogo (let the mouse escape for the sake of the cooker). Mogogo, which is made of baked clay is used in the baking of the staple food in the cities and the Eritrean highlands – the injera. Injera is a prized commodity because its production is both labour- and skill-intensive. A mouse (antchwa) is a despised rodent in Eritrean cultures. When seen, an Eritrean’s first instinct would be to kill it. However, if the killing of the mouse is likely to damage the mogogo, it is advisable to let it go. The corollary is that, during the war of independence, even those who disapproved of their leaders’ follies may have turned a blind eye for the sake of the revolution. The same could be said of the G15 who turned a blind eye on the chairman’s tyrannical exercise of power in anticipation that they would deal with him after winning the war. For example, as seen earlier, when Isaias excluded Romedan Mohamed Nur’s name from the list of candidates in the EPLF’s third congress in 1994, the leaders staged a fake resignation speech and legitimised his contemptuous behaviour instead of challenging him. As we saw earlier, Haile (Durué) regretted his decision to cover up for the deceit, instead of standing up for the truth by challenging him. He did not challenge the president because, in his own words, ‘he did not want to pick a fight’ (see in Connell 2005). This example is interesting in the sense that it reflects the general attitude of the leaders towards each other’s excesses and abuse of power, especially towards the dictatorial and sometimes outrageous decisions and actions of the former chairman and later head of state. What the leaders who turned a blind eye to their boss’s abuses and impulses failed to realise was that the president was slowly getting habituated to behaving contemptuously and taking the privilege of not being questioned as a natural right. In 2002, the author asked a former member of the EPLF central committee why they allowed Isaias to behave the way he did during the war. He said, ‘Firstly, we trusted him too much. Lately, we have found out to our consternation that it was stupid to do so. Now there is nothing we can do about it. He has too much

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In Lieu of a Conclusion power and too many running dogs. Secondly, the central committee existed in name only. It had no power. Its main job was to rubberstamp the decisions and actions of the chairman which were already approved by the secret party.’ He further pointed out, ‘Many of us did not mind as long as the work was done to advance the revolution because we were nationalists and not democrats. We were excessively pre-occupied with the desire to win the war.’ He added, ‘If you are a nationalist, you tend to tolerate cruel treatment of anyone considered as an enemy rightly or wrongly. We never asked questions. We did not see the need. We never thought some people would exploit our strong feeling of nationalism to build their own power base for the future.’ The informant said that it was also dangerous for anyone to express disagreement or raise uncomfortable questions. If, according to Karl Marx, ‘Religion … is the opium of the people,’ surely it can be said that nationalism is the crack cocaine of the human conscience. It blunts people’s sense of justice and fairness. Albert Einstein was therefore right to say that ‘Nationalism is an infantile sickness. It is the measles of the human race.’31 During the war of liberation, whoever stood or was perceived to be standing in the way was condemned or eliminated as being the enemy of the revolution. When these things happened, it was normal either to keep quiet or to celebrate the brutality as a revolutionary act. Such a situation provided fertile ground for the gradual development and consolidation of unaccountable leadership. Although this historical perspective does not fully explain Isaias Afwerki’s rise to tyranny, it helps to understand the background that paved his way to the pinnacle of power. Over time, he became habituated to the exercise of absolute power without constraint. It is not surprising therefore, that he refused to implement the ratified constitution. He knew well that his powers would be limited and his dream of remaining in power for life could be compromised. Petros Solomon told Connell that by the time the president’s former allies, namely the G15, realised that he was taking the country down the drain and they consequently defied his authority and challenged him, ‘it was too late’ (in Connell 2005). This was because he was already too powerful and they were too weak and feebly organised. Haile (Durué) Woldensae also told Connell that Isaias created different structures and played off the different leaders against each other in order to maintain dominance and to control them. Most of his opponents were therefore at odds with each other and they could not get together to challenge him. When they finally managed to put aside their differences (most of these were the result of Isaias’ machinations) and build a common front to challenge him, they were no match for him. During the independence war, many observers thought that an independent Eritrea was going to be Africa’s beacon of hope and bastion of liberty (see Chapter 1). However, to the consternation of its citizens and its regional and international friends, the country has been wobbling due to the president’s and his henchmen’s tyranny and loss of direction. The few people around the president have run out of ideas and they are either unwilling or unable to listen to others because they seem to suffer from closed arrogance. As seen in Chapter 3, the birth of the Eritrean state coincided with the demise of the bipolar division of the world order. If the leaders had seized the opportunities and interacted in the regional and international arenas constructively instead of barricading themselves in, the country and its people would not have been in the sad state they are in. Unfortunately, the president and his allies have

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Shattered Promises wantonly squandered the great opportunities that surrounded the birth of the Eritrean state and the results have been contrary to the Eritrean people’s great expectations.

Notes 1 2

3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10

11

12 13 14

Isaias Afwerki, in a three and a half hour interview broadcast on Eritrean Radio, 18 September 2003. Available at http://www.shaebia.org/cgi-bin/artman/exec/ view.cgi?archive=4&num=1091 (accessed 6 October 2006). I happened to be in Kassala researching a book on repatriation. In fact, I had an appointment with the Eritrean Consul at 10 am. When it came to the agreed time, I found the office sealed and guarded by Sudanese police. My arrival at the office coincided with the arrival of about 30 other Eritrean refugees who came to visit the office for different reasons. All of us were dismayed by the unexpected and dramatic decision of the government. I am grateful for this but I have decided to withhold the name of the commentator. These data are elicited from numerous formal and informal discussions conducted with former friends, classmates, relatives and neighbours who were holding different but responsible positions in government. Without such connections, it is difficult to gain access to officials but more importantly to conduct frank discussions. This was basically true except that the interviewees were the survivors and therefore did not pay the highest price. Those who died in the war were the people who paid the highest price and if they saw what was being done and said in their names, they would probably have ‘turned in their graves’. The flatterers and sycophants call the Eritrean head of state ‘Wodi Afom’. These views were repeatedly reported to me by most of the people I interviewed in Asmara, Keren and Gash-Barka between 1993 and 1995. In the Eritrean cultures, old men and women are referred to as ‘father’ and ‘mother’. They are never addressed by their names. This is unprecedented in Eritrea’s history. Even the Derg never touched the church or its leadership. Medhanie Alem Church was very popular among the orthodox youth. The government loathes the church because it considers that it competes for the hearts and minds of the youth. Those who are drafted into national service are over 18 years old and, according to the country’s laws, they are not minors and therefore their parents are not legally responsible for their actions. I know of several widows who have been forced to pay ERN 50,000 for their offspring who are over 35 years old and who have their own families. Many parents are also forced to pay for the disappearance of their offspring from the army. There are even some sad cases in which the defectors have died either in the Sahara desert or in the Mediterranean Sea and yet their parents are forced to pay ERN 50,000. The government promised to hold elections in 1997 and 2001. None of them took place. Not only did the government give no explanation as to why they were not held, but the people were also not informed that the planned elections were cancelled. Owing to its appalling human rights record, the government has only received emergency aid and some funds for demobilisation which has never happened. Most donors have phased out their development aid programmes. Cross-border economic activities have always been critical to the livelihood systems of the border communities. The government of Eritrea may not be solely responsible for the hostile relations that exist between itself and the governments of Ethiopia and Sudan, but there is no doubt that it is part of the problem. This is especially true of its relationship with the government of Sudan. The Eritrean government has no reason to be hostile to it. One of the main reasons is the support the Sudanese government

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In Lieu of a Conclusion

15 16

17 18

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

allegedly extends to the Eritrean Jihadist movements. However, if the Eritrean government were to improve its relations with the government of Sudan, the latter would most probably have forced the Eritrean Jihadist organisations to cease their activities inside Sudan. It is the fact that both governments were bent on using each other’s citizens to destabilise each other, that accounted for their unfriendly relations. The Eritrean government’s relationship with Ethiopia is, however, a different matter because of the border war and because of Ethiopia’s subsequent obdurate refusal to be bound by the decision of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Border Commission, contrary to the Algiers Agreement which unequivocally stipulated that the decision was final and binding. The rapprochement between the government of Eritrea and Sudan has led to the opening of the border since October 2006. One of the 13 was released at the end of June 2006. See BBC News, protest at UN arrests in Eritrea, 15 February 2006. Available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/a\frica/4715410.stm (accessed 15 February 2006). The 30 have most probably crossed into Ethiopia to join the over 10,000 young Eritrean refugees who have run away from the national service and its concomitant the WarsaiYikaalo Development Campaign and violations of human rights. 21 wounded at Adi Abeito Die at Halibet. http://www.awate.com/arman/ publish/printer_3778.shtml (accessed 17 November 2004). The first round of the national service was implemented in 1994 but the WarsaiYikaalo was introduced in May 2002. However, the two differ only in name. The duration of the national service was supposed to last for 18 months. When it became open-ended and indefinite, the government introduced the so-called Warsai-Yikaalo Development Campaign to continue extracting unremunerated forced labour from those whose service had lasted nearly a decade instead of 18 months as required by the relevant proclamation. See ‘Mining companies want answers from Eritrea’. Available at http://www.mg.co.za/ Content/13.asp?eg=BreakingNews-Business&ao=122710 (accessed 27 September 2004). Ibid. Ibid. Quoted in ibid. Ibid. J. Wilson-Heathcote on Eritrean politics and finance, 6 May 1953, FO 371/102635. These are available in the Public Records Office in London. For more discussion on these see Kibreab 2008a, Chapter 4. Yosief Ghebrehiwet, Romanticising Ghedli (I): the Excuses, 12 March 2008. Available at http://zete9.asmarino.com/?itemid=1310 (accessed 13 Mar. 08) Ibid. G.V. Plekhanov, ‘The role of the individual in history’. Available at http://artbin.com/art.oplecheng.htm (accessed 1 March 2008). G. Greene, The Heart of the Matter (1948) bk.3, pt. 1, ch. 1. In The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, ed. Angela Partington. Revised edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. H. Clay, Speech in the Senate, 14 March 1834, in C. Cotton (ed.), The Works of Henry Clay (1904) vol. 5, p. 627. The quotation here is from The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, ed. Angela Partington. Revised edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press H. Dukas and B. Hoffman, Albert Einstein, The Human Side: New Glimpses from his Archives, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979, p. 38.

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Postscript The Impending Famine?

When tiny Eritrea defeated sub-Saharan Africa’s largest army on 24 May 1991, the EPLF’s victory represented an awesome display of discipline, courage, organisational skill and operational competence. Every Eritrean regardless of political opinion, creed, sex, ethnicity and location was seized by a powerful euphoria shared by Eritrea’s friends world-wide. However, to the dismay of the Eritrean people, their friends and the substantial proportion of former combatants, not only did the PFDJ, the successor of the EPLF, turn into one of the most tyrannical regimes in the continent, but they have also presided over the meltdown of the country’s economy. This is due to incompetence exacerbated by the preposterous notion of self-reliance which has left the Eritrean people and the large majority of the former combatants impoverished, disenfranchised and isolated in the rapidly globalising and interconnected world. In 2007, Eritrea was described by the World Bank ‘as the most food insecure country in the continent, and listed among those worst affected by the global food and fuel crisis in 2008’ (IRIN 2009). Since it is one of the most closed and repressive states in the world, it is difficult to determine with certainty the extent to which the severe food insecurity has deteriorated into widespread starvation. There have been reports of severe hunger in the country. For example, a Catholic charity, Aid to the Church in Need (CAN) stated, ‘Eritrea is on the brink of famine and thousands of people are pouring across the borders to escape starvation and state persecution…’1 UNICEF identifies three groups that are at risk, namely, an estimated 85,000 malnourished children, 300,000 pregnant and breast-feeding women, 800,000 urban poor and the population inhabiting drought-affected areas, as well as the people displaced due to the May 1998-June 2000 border war.2 In other words, nearly the whole population is facing an imminent threat of starvation. The severity of the situation can be demonstrated by the following indicators. A carefully documented eyewitness report from Eritrea shows that there is high rate of livestock mortality, deteriorating terms of trade between livestock and food crops, dramatic increase in staple food prices,3 increased rate of marketing of household durables, such as jewellery, furniture, as well as livestock, mass distress rural-urban migration, begging, abandonment of villages, high malnutrition rates, and increased reliance on wild foods (Hadgu 2009). An update of the report on 8 May 2009 also

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Postscript stated that large numbers of households from the Southern Region have abandoned their villages and are camping in church compounds in Asmara. There is no distribution of relief and, according to the report, the migrants survive by begging from church visitors and from residents, nearby the churches. Because the government denies that there is hunger in the country, beggars are routinely rounded up and taken to a detention centre at Enda Saál (former tuberculosis hospital). Eritrea is located in arid and semi-arid areas leading to constant shortage and erratic distribution of rainfall. However, while drought is one of the contributing causes of food shortage, famine is never the result of lack of availability of food, but rather the result of market and/or political failure (Sen 1981). Given the closed nature of the state, the international community is likely to be caught unawares when the threshold between starvation and famine is crossed. There is, however, no doubt that the country’s severe situation is due to political failure resulting in acute shortage of agricultural labour due to indefinite conscription of nearly all able-bodied citizens between 18 and 50 years of age (Kibreab 2009a), confiscation of cultivable and grazing lands in the most fertile areas and river valleys throughout the country; destruction of the private sector; prohibition of trade in grain, wheat flour, sugar, edible oil; requisitioning or seizure of food crops implemented through house-to-house search and confiscation of grains in excess of 100 kg per family; abject poverty, prohibitive food prices and, more importantly, lack of democratic governance, freedom of press and gross violation of basic human rights. As Amartya Sen famously stated (1981), famine never takes place in a country where there is a democratic government and free press. The situation is likely to deteriorate further as a result of a new government policy introduced on 28 April 2009 to further curtail trade in food crops and other essential commodities (Hadgu 2009). When the government faced severe shortage of foreign exchange to import wheat and barley for bread and beer production, it supplied seeds of the said crops to farmers inhabiting the most fertile areas of the Eritrean highlands in 2007. The ministry of agriculture cultivated the said farms using government tractors while farmers and their families supplied the labour necessary for land preparation, weeding, harvesting and threshing. At harvest season, all farmers were required to sell the produce to the government at one-third of the prevailing market price. Most farmers resisted the government’s confiscatory policy by hiding their produce. In response, the government confiscated the land in question and the farmers were reduced to landlessness (ibid.). In the pastoral and semi-pastoral areas, the government’s land policy has resulted in loss of dry season grazing lands and watering points as the river valleys are taken over by the government and the firms of the ruling party, the PFDJ. The situation in the country is so serious that if no immediate action is taken to avert the threat of mass starvation, the result is likely to be a human catastrophe-famine of unprecedented scale.

Notes 1 See http://catholicexchange.com/2009/03/27/117059/ (accessed 7 May 2009). 2 http://www.unicef.org/har09/index_eritrea.php (accessed 7 May 2009) 3 Ibid.; http://www.reliefweb.int/rw/rwb.nsf/db900sid/EGUA-7RSQXS? Open Document (accessed 7 May 2009).

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Index

AbaArre, Idris 215 Abba Zeccharias, Yohannes 307 Abbink, J. 123 Abdella, Ali Said 69, 72, 84 Abdu, Ali 58, 158, 170 Abdulai, A. 154-5 Abraha, Gen. Ogbe 34-8 passim, 42, 51, 72, 192, 354, 375, 390 Abraham, Girmai 115 Abrahamsen, R. 54 accountability 10, 25, 28-30 passim, 46-7, 54, 68, 87, 147, 297, 307, 308, 317, 335, 338-43 passim, 385, 389 ACORD 121, 123, 139 Adem, Abdella 203, 321 Adlan, I. 373 Afar 165, 320, 332 Africa Confidential 183, 240 African Development Bank 157 Africare 85 Afwerki, Isaias 3-5, 16-18, 30, 33-5, 39, 41, 43, 50-1, 55, 60, 68-70, 73-9, 84, 86, 87, 91, 99, 124, 146, 149, 150, 157, 160, 173, 174, 187, 189, 192-4, 198209, 225, 226, 229, 230, 234, 240, 2478, 252-3, 256, 269, 272, 276, 282, 284, 293, 324, 329-32, 335, 337, 339, 340, 353-5, 371, 375-88, 390-1 see also President agriculture 57, 60, 154, 165, 171, 172, 185, 186 Ahmad, I.A. 327, 328 aid 17, 19, 54-6, 67, 69, 73, 90, 122, 123, 127, 131, 133, 135, 152-62 passim, 167, 169, 171, 180, 183, 184, 195, 223, 23842 passim, 363, 364; food 16-19 passim, 60, 91, 107, 127, 131, 133, 135, 137, 152-8, 162-5 passim, 180, 223, 298, 3634; Grant Assistance Policy 152-5;

humanitarian/emergency 107, 127, 131, 154, 164, 238 Alayli, D. 80 Al-Azm, S.J. 321 Al-Fadl, Jamal 91 Allen, C. 92, 308 al-Mukhar, Sheikh Ibrahim 97 Amare, Elias 39, 41, 192 Ammar, Woldeyesus 149, 150, 317, 376 Amnesty International 33, 39, 41-4 passim, 50, 59, 92-5 passim, 98, 102, 158, 161, 190-2 passim, 196, 209, 235, 240, 274, 275, 332, 339, 365, 372 Andemariam, Gen. Gerezgiher (Wuchu) 276, 278, 279 Angola 148, 256 Antonios, Abune 90, 92-3 Arabs/Arabic 157, 211-16 Arendt, Hannah 380, 381 army 275-80, 285, 355 arrests 37-47, 58-9, 92-3, 98, 191, 199 Asaorta 210-11, 214 Asmara University 66-7, 73, 99-105 passim, 353, 354, 362; AUSU 8, 11, 54, 99-105, SWP 100-3 Asmarom, Girma 122 association, freedom of 2-3, 9, 10, 12, 16, 28, 50, 68, 305, 308 associations 47-51, 53-222, 257, 305-53 see also civil society Awate 94, 366; Research Unit 101, 102; Team 43-4, 139 Awet, Semret 325 Axworthy, Lloyd 196 Azam, J. 326 Babu, Abdul Rahman 13-14 Bado Showate (Zero Seven) 224 Baduri, Ahmed 121, 169

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Index Bahai 93, 354 Bairu, Ato Tedla 371, 372 Balazs, J. 39 Ballentine, K. 326 BANA 8, 54, 84-7, 160 Barrett, C.B. 154-5 Barya, J. 54, 56 Bayart, J. 316 BBC 34, 102, 192-3 Beetham, D. 56, 252, 257 Belloc, Hilaire 230 Benn, Tony 53 Berhane, Teferi 83, 84 Beyene, Teame 32, 61, 64, 102 Bhagwati, J. 257 Bickford, L. 98 Black, Lauren 84 Bondevik, Kjell Magne 137 border, Ethiopian-Eritrean 193-8 passim, 328, 329-40, 380 see also war; EEBC 20, 165, 167, 186, 193-8, 203, 236, 328, 380-1 Bratton, M. 54, 55, 58, 160, 167, 168, 174 BRIDGE 80 Britain 1-2, 198, 208, 231; BMA 1, 2, 25, 97, 320 Brot für die Welt 105 bureaucracy 10, 253, 256, 335, 337-8 Burgess, D. 80 business plan 228, 242, 244, 248, 367 Buzan, H. 39, 190, 198 Cabinet 17, 35, 38, 232-3, 242, 243, 335, 343, 354-5 CAFOD 84 Callaghy, T.M. 337-8, 369 Campbell, T. 366 CAN 394 capital, human 229, 234, 240, 289; social 229, 309-19, 327-31 passim, 334, 337, 338, 346-7, 373-4; start-up 280-2, 294 CARE 122 case studies 67-121 Catholic Church 62, 63, 91, 92, 96, 127; Bishops of Asmara etc. 63, 89-90, 127, 204 Cernea, M. 175 Chakrabarti, Shami 343 Chazan, N. 55, 58, 345, 348 Chesterton, G.K. xiii China 3 Christian Aid 84, 105 Christianity 89-96 passim, 151, 188, 210, 214, 215, 311, 328; Pentecostal 93, 354 CIDA 84 Citizens for Democratic Rights 333-4 Citizens for Peace 62 civic consciousness 309, 314, 327, 349 civic duty 306-9 passim

civic engagement 374-5 civic virtues 324, 327. 347, 348 civil service 10, 19, 75, 253, 354 civil society/associations 4, 8, 16, 17, 38, 48-50, 53-121, 126-7, 146-222 passim, 230, 296, 345-9 passim, 363, 370-5 passim Clapham, C. 160, 161 class factors 82 Clay, Henry 386 Clinton, President 55 Coleman, J. 348 Collier, P. 326 Compact Direct News 95 competition 280-94, 340 competitiveness 237, 243, 294 conditionalities, aid 54, 55, 162, 168, 241 Connell, D. 24, 27, 29-32 passim, 34, 36, 51, 72, 77, 79, 148, 149, 151, 172, 1902 passim,198, 203, 335, 340, 342, 354, 355, 358, 359, 365, 375-9 passim, 385, 386, 390, 391 conscription 19-20, 60-1, 114, 126, 186, 235, 365 Constitution 26-8 passim, 33, 36, 38, 42, 47, 51-2, 55, 73, 190, 191, 200, 202, 212, 240, 349, 362, 367, 371, 388, 391; Commission 4, 33, 73 construction 247, 255-6, 274-5, 283, 285, 288 contracts 282-3, 336-8 passim cooperatives 254 coping strategies 133, 176, 236, 241 corruption 230, 231, 253, 256, 275-80, 285 Cowan, N. 80 credit 238, 247, 280-1, 312 Crick, B. 1, 17, 265, 328, 388-90 passim crime 275-9 CSSECIDPC 62 culture 329-31 passim; Department of 11617 Dahl, R. 115, 307, 333 Danish Church Aid 85, 105 Davidson, Basil 14 Dawkins, Richard 53 De Soysa, I. 213-14, 326, 347-8 De Tocqueville, A. 198, 306, 347, 348 Debessai, Ermias 69, 70 debt 156-8 passim, 160, 183, 184 defence spending 181, 234 Defoe, Daniel 53 Deleuze, G. 210 Demena, Sheikh Sanabera 92 demobilisation 74-5, 81-3, 171, 185-6, 2357; NCDRP 185, 235 Democratic Movement for Liberation of Kunama 318, 320-2, 345-6 democracy/democratisation 3, 4, 14, 15,

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Index 24, 28, 31, 47, 50, 54-6, 146, 160, 168, 194, 202, 205, 206, 257, 265, 296-7, 307, 308, 317, 325, 333, 340, 373-4 Denison, Edward 15-16, 21 dependency 152-8, 223 deportation/ deportees 126, 132, 196, 228, 229, 255, 370 Derg 15, 28, 66, 71, 97, 174, 199, 224, 226, 228, 255, 273, 356, 361, 362 deserters/draft evaders 365-6 Destructive Movement 149, 385, 387 detention without trial/incommunicado xii, xiv, 18, 28, 32, 39-46, 64, 78, 102, 103, 147, 189-91 passim, 275, 332, 340, 341, 362, 366, 370 Diakonisches Werk 105 Diamond, L. 55, 58, 348 diaspora xii, xvi, 5, 11, 21, 68, 164, 175, 184, 188, 209, 210, 214, 215, 228, 229, 255, 289, 297, 312-17 passim, 328, 333, 344, 345, 367, 380, 382 Dines, M. 28 disappearances 16, 28, 97-8, 200, 361 displaced 59, 62, 135, 169, 175, 236; IDPs 126, 132, 166, 171 dissent/dissidents 31-2, 34-8, 61, 189, 198, 205 donors 53, 54, 56, 59, 60, 67-9, 72-5 passim, 85, 88, 122, 125, 133, 160-1, 168, 183, 228, 233, 240, 283, 341, 354 drought 106, 107, 119, 126, 132, 172, 176, 238, 395 Duffield, M. 67, 69, 105, 106, 122, 163 Dutch Interchurch Aid 105 Ecological Tourism 85 economy 2-3, 9, 176-86, 223-304, 339-40, 354, 363, 367-8 education 90, 92, 95-7, 105, 110-16, 121, 124, 181 Edwards, B. 316 Einstein, Albert 391 Eisenloeffel, F.N. 172 elections 4, 28, 31, 33, 34, 50, 56, 191, 200, 202, 238, 240, 307, 308, 317, 363 ELF 2, 7, 11, 13, 37, 67, 105, 149-51 passim, 187, 199, 207, 318, 319, 321-5 passim, 373; -NC 321; UNO 187, 320; RC 150, 319, 321, 322, 325 Elwan, A. 74 Emergency Relief Desk 105-6, 164, 173 EPLF xiii, xiv, 2, 8, 9, 13, 14, 20, 24, 30, 36, 37, 46-51, 55-8, 67-79, 93, 99, 10620, 147-51, 171-3, 176-8, 187-8, 197200, 205, 207, 210-13, 224-8, 230, 256, 289, 319, 323, 325, 338, 339, 356, 361, 376, 382-5; Manifesto 171 Eritrean Airlines 175-6 E. Cooperation Party 322

E. Christian Fellowship in Europe 95 E. Demining Agency 170, 171 E. Democratic Alliance 209, 210, 215, 308, 311, 317, 319-25 passim, 343-4, 373 E. Democratic Front 322 E. Democratic National Front 320 E. Democratic Opposition Movement 320, 321 E. Democratic Party 322 E. Federal Democratic Movement 310-11, 322, 343-4 E. Democratic Resistance Movement 319, 320 E. Global Solidarity 333 E. Islamic Congress Party 320 E. Islamic Islah Movement 322 E. Islamic Jihad Movement 91, 92, 97, 211, 319, 322, 372, 380 E. Islamic Party for Justice and Development 308, 322, 345 E. Islamic Reform Movement 319 E. Islamic Salvation Movement 345 E. Movement for Democratic and Human Rights 333 E. National Alliance 215, 310, 317, 320-2 passim, 344, 373; Charter 322 E. National Salvation Front 321, 322 E. People’s Congress 322, 345 E. People’s Movement 318, 320, 321 E. People’s Revolutionary Party 3, 68-9, 207, 385-6 E. Popular Democratic Front 320 E. Red Cross/Crescent Society 62, 67, 105 E. Relief Association 8, 15, 54, 67-70, 84, 105-10, 113, 115-20 passim, 164, 172, 173, 188 E. Revolutionary Democratic Front 321 E. Social Marketing 63 E. War Disabled Fighters Association 8, 54, 62, 74-80 E. Women War Veterans Association 84-8, 160; Cooperative 83 Eritreans for Human Rights and Democracy in UK 333 ERREC 81, 88, 121, 133, 152-4, 170; /UNOCHA 62, 63 Escobar, A. 54 Ethiopia 1, 2, 10-11, 20, 30-4 passim, 41, 62, 66, 68, 107, 110, 114, 120, 133, 148, 151, 163, 164, 181, 183, 186, 1938 passim, 200, 208, 225, 226, 228, 236, 246, 256, 289, 311, 328, 339, 364, 371, 380 see also war, border; Civil Code 83, 84; federation with 1, 2, 11, 34; Peoples Democratic Front 200; 5-Point Peace Proposal 195 European Union 31, 157, 162-3, 183, 186, 193, 194, 364, 381 exchange rate 249, 251, 286

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Index Global Witness 148, 326 Goetz, A.M. 54 Gomes, Anna 195-6 Good, K. 148 Gottesman, L. 110, 111, 115 governance, good 54-6 passim, 160, 183, 184, 195, 225, 238, 240-1, 243, 306-9 Grassroots International 85 Grayling, A.C. 343 Greene, Graham 386 ‘groupthink’ 334-57 Gruber, J. 209, 214 Guglisi, Giuseppe 97 gujletat 272-3 Gulf States 227, 236, 248 Gunaratna, R. 91, 373

exports 241, 275, 284, 339 expression, freedom of 13, 28, 115, 190, 294, 340 faith-based associations 8, 48-50 passim, 54, 62, 63, 88-96, 257 ‘family’ work style 339-43, 358 famine 106, 126, 394-5 FAO/WFP 180-3 passim, 258 Farrington, J. 156 Fasil, Eden 84, 87, 88 Fessehatsion, T. 265, 361 Fikre 278-9 Firebrace, James 110, 118 Fischer, M. 326 Foley, M. 316 food insecurity 60, 107, 126, 137, 226 foreign exchange 65, 118, 167, 168, 181, 183, 184, 234, 238, 240, 242, 243, 2516 passim, 275, 283-7 passim, 289, 395 Foucault, M. 188 Fowler, A. 54-6 passim, 160, 174, 188, 189 Freedom House 16 ‘freezing’ 35, 61, 188, 250, 354 Freire, Paulo 115-16 FRHAE 62 Fukuyama, F. 316 Futur, Woldai 58, 121-3 passim, 156, 190 fusion of powers 274-5 G11 xiv, 37, 39-42, 58-9, 190, 192, 193, 332, 341, 359 G15 xiii-xiv, 12, 17, 31-2, 34-42, 51, 59, 189, 190, 198, 256, 269, 273-4, 280, 291, 335, 338-9, 341, 355, 358, 371, 386-8, 390, 391; ‘Berlin Manifesto’ 17; ‘Open Letter’ xiv, 34-6, 38, 59, 190, 191, 274, 291, 339, 342, 387 Gambetta, Diego 340 Garcetti, E. 209, 214 Gebreab, Lul 58, 60 Gebreab, Yemane 5, 31, 58, 198, 206, 269, 273, 358, 359 Gebredingil, Col. Semeon 278, 279 Gebreghziabher, Berhane 36-8 passim, 51, 77-9 passim, 192, 335, 375, 376, 378, 390 Gebrehiwet, Hagos 5, 58, 265, 269, 272 Gebrehiwet, Zeregaber 277-9 passim Gebrekidan, Daniel 200 Gebremedhin, Ezra 26-7, 51 Gebremedhin, Redazghi 67 Gebremeskel, Yemane 34, 41, 43, 58, 59, 87, 88, 165-6, 190-3 passim, 358 Gedab News 96, 366 Gellner, E. 316, 345, 348 gender issues 60, 80-8 Gerth, H.H. 18-21 Ghaber, Michael 149, 151

Habeas corpus 64. 101-2, 362 Haben 62 Habte Selassie, Bereket 32, 33, 67, 106, 125, 149-50, 384 Habte Selassie, Elias 125 Habteselassie, Gen. Teklay 276, 278, 279 Hadas Eritrea xiv, 230, 232-42, 282 Haddad, Y. 308 Hadenius, A. 55, 348, 374 Hadgu, Mussie 394, 395 Hagos, Mesfun 38, 321, 378 Hailemariam. C. 209 Hailemariam, Mengistu 28, 120 HALO Trust 169, 170 Hamilton, A. 365 Hamish Islands 380 Harbeson, J.W. 55, 58 Harden, B. 14, 117 Haregot, Seyoum 83, 84 Havel, Vaclav 53 Hayek, F.A. 230, 257, 258, 298, 366 Hayman, R. 157, 171 health 107-9, 121, 124, 181 Hedru, Debessay 388-90 passim Held, D. 327 Hidrat, Amanuel 20, 21 Hidri Trust Fund 268-72, 274, 289-91, 295 Himbol Financial Services 285 Hirschman, O. 327 Hirst, P. 327 Hobbes, Thomas 330 Hoddinott, J. 154-5 Hoeffler, H. 326 Holland, Stuart 110, 118 human rights xii, 3, 14, 15, 17, 24, 28, 32, 51, 64, 146, 159, 160, 190, 194, 195, 257, 316, 364; Commission 126, 196; HRI 73-4; RCHRD 8, 54, 70-4, 160; violations xii, xvi, 16, 38-46, 58-9, 62, 92, 127, 157, 169, 194, 198, 326, 32834 passim, 358, 369 Human Rights Watch 17, 43-4, 46, 59, 60,

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Index 93-5 passim, 100, 102, 196, 240, 370, 372 hunger 16-17, 171, 394 Huysmans, J. 39, 190, 198 ILFRLP 108, 109, 114 IMF 157, 180, 183, 185, 186, 232, 235, 236, 238, 240, 242, 243, 288, 366 imports 238, 242, 243, 245, 247, 249-54 passim, 274, 275, 277, 283-6 passim, 2923 imprisonment 16, 39-43, 47, 59, 61, 97-8, 190-3 passim, 200, 240, 358, 361 inflation 9, 180, 224, 232-8 passim, 240, 242, 247, 258, 276, 288, 293 institutions 297, 335-43 passim, 353, 362, 368, 372 intellectuals xii, xvi, 198, 204, 360, 382-7 Interchurch Coordinating Committee 105 Intercontinental Hotel 174-5 investment 57, 65, 265, 287, 367-8; foreign 3, 184-5, 226, 228, 252, 367-8 Iqbal, Col. Mohammed 166 IRDPs 118-20 Ireland, W. 19 IRIN 58, 59, 155, 168, 192, 193, 394 Ishaq, Beshir 310-11, 343-4 Islam 8, 89-92, 96-8, 188, 210, 215, 308, 317, 373; Islamic Congress Party 320; National Islamic Front 91, 380 Iyasu, A. 62, 74, 362 Jaber, Abdella 5, 58 Jackson, R. 159, 162-3 Janis, Irving 334-5 Jansen, J.J.G. 308, 321 Jeberti 209-10, 214, 319, 321 Jehovah’s Witnesses 93-5 passim, 235, 354, 363 Jenyns, Saome 223 journalists 40-3, 47, 50, 58, 59, 191, 193, 332, 341, 358, 362-3; International Federation 42 Jua, D.N. 188, 316 Jubilee Search 183 judiciary 32, 64, 274, 308, 367, 368; special court 32, 38, 47, 61, 64, 69n16, 362-3 Juergensmeyer, M. 308 Kabeer, N. 341, 342 Kaplan, Robert 329-30 Karar, Fitworari Hidad 92 Karrani, M. 308 Kassa, Gen. Abraha 279 Keane, J. 198 Keneally, Thomas 110-11, 115 Kepel, G. 321 Kesete, Semere xix, 55, 64, 99, 100-4 passim, 191

Khalifa, Hussein 210 Khomeini, Ayatollah 308, 379 Kibreab, Alem 368 Kibreab, Gaim 3, 13, 18, 25, 27, 28, 57, 60, 91, 97, 98, 107, 114, 116, 126, 133, 139, 147-51 passim, 154, 175-7 passim, 188, 196, 198, 207-9 passim, 211, 228, 252, 298, 309, 312, 317, 319, 320, 325, 326, 328, 331, 334, 336, 339, 342, 348, 355, 370, 373, 379, 384, 385, 389 Kidane, Lieut. 277-9 passim Killion, T. xix, xxiv-vi, 147, 371 Kittrie, N.N. 19, 361, 381 Klein, N. 196, 228 Klenow, P. 151 Korn, D. 106 Kuflu, Naizghi 66, 71-3 passim Kumana 320, 345-6 labour xiii, 81, 82, 113, 171, 186, 234-9 passim, 242, 243, 246, 247, 255, 257, 277, 286-8, 297, 363, 366, 395; Code 371 Lake, Anthony xii, 41-2 Lancaster, C. 54 land 57, 240, 247, 252, 257, 288-9, 335-7; nationalisation 19, 57, 224, 225, 336, 353, 363, 367; tenure 57, 335-6, 363 language 211-16 Last, A. 125-6, 165 Lata, L. 125 Latin America 253 law/lawyers 57, 361-2 Le Billon, P. 326 Leftwich, A. 54, 56 Legesse, A. 126, 196, 228 Lewis, Bernard 92, 308 Liberal Progressive Party 2, 208 liberation movements 31, 148-52 passim, 164, 305 Libya 370 licences 229, 244-6, 248, 251, 274, 275, 285, 292-4, 367 Lindholm, C. 257, 296-7 Lutheran World Relief 105 Machiavelli, N. 383 Madison, James 16, 24, 51-2, 308, 365 Ma’had 16, 96-7, 363 Mahmoud, Ismail Haj 187 Mai Habar 74-6 passim Makki, Fouad 344 Mama, A. 80 Mandel, R. 39, 189 Mandela, Nelson 305 manufacturing 116-17, 234, 236-8 passim, 284, 286-8 passim Markakis, J. 151, 379, 385, 387 markets 54, 65-6, 241, 242, 257, 258, 280,

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Index 296-7; black 249, 251, 284-6 passim Martin, R. 308 Marx, Karl 286, 391 mass media 50, 51, 56, 168, 198, 230, 232, 254, 329, 330, 353 Massawa airport 175 Massawa–Assab highway 176 Mawdoodi, Abul Ala 308 Mayall, J. 163, 164 McAskie, Carolyn 169-70 McCall, Nathan xiv-xv McDowell, C. 175 McNeal, Robert 381 Meddeb, A. 308 Mehreteab, Amanuel 74, 75, 86-8 passim Melber, H. 21, 148, 149, 305 Mengisteab, K. 91, 194, 215, 252, 336, 342, 363, 373, 379 Menkerios, Askalu 58, 86 Mesfin, Alazar 291 Meyer, C. 54, 55 middle class 230, 257, 274, 296-8 passim, 353, 363 Milesi, Fratello Luca 307 Mills, C.W. 18-21 mining companies 336, 368-9 Miran, J. 97 Mitias 74, 75, 80, 86-8 passim mobilisation 186, 209, 234-8 passim, 242, 246, 276, 287, 288, 297, 328, 353, 363 movement, freedom of 4, 28, 286, 297, 364, 365 Moyo, D. 148 Muslims 208, 209, 214, 215, 328, 272 Mustafa, A. 308

Nevsum Resources 368-9 newspapers, private 40, 42-3, 191, 275, 297 363 NGOs 8, 11, 16, 17, 47, 50, 53-6, 60-3, 75, 90, 120-39, 146-222 passim, 257, 353, 354, 370; international 8, 11, 50, 53, 54, 56, 67, 68, 72, 85, 105-9, 158, 160, 162, 170-3, 176, 185, 193, 228, 257, 280, 341, 353, 354, 363, 370 non-combatants 229, 231 North, D. 335-6, 367-8 Norwegian Church Aid 71, 72, 105, 121 NOVIB 110 NUET 64, 66 NUEW 8, 11, 12, 56-8, 60-1, 63, 80-1, 83, 86-8, 346 NUEYS 8, 11, 55-8, 60, 63, 99, 103-4, 346 Nur, Romadan Mohamed 3, 378, 390

Nadel, S.F. 252 Nadha Party 209, 210, 319-22 passim, 345 Naim, Moises 253 Namibia 148 Nasser, Ahmed 67, 149, 150, 187, 326 National Assembly 17, 29-32 passim, 35, 38, 39, 41, 190, 200, 202-4 passim, 343, 354, 359 National Charter 38, 46-7, 50-1, 55-6, 227, 231, 283 National Democratic Programme 224-5 national service xiii, 19-20, 60-1, 93-5, 100, 170, 175, 185, 234-6, 246-8 passim, 255, 257, 272, 277, 278, 286-8 passim, 297, 330, 333, 353, 363, 366, 369 National Union of Eritrean Peasants 56 nationalisation 244-6 see also land nationalism 71, 147, 208, 211, 388-92 NCEW 8, 11, 56-8 passim, 60, 63, 104, 346 Negash, T. 125, 165 Netsa Eritrea 71 Network of Eritrean Civic Societies in Europe 333

Paine, Thomas 343 Papstein, Robert 111 Pateman, R. 106-9, 113-15 passim, 148 patrimonialism 337-8, 369 patron-client relations 19, 275, 279, 337, 338 peace, Algiers agreement 31, 165, 193, 196, 235; Rwanda-American proposal 197, 339 peacekeeping 164-7 see also UNMEE PFDJ xiii, xiv, 4-8, 16, 24, 30, 31, 34-5, 50, 55-60, 70, 72, 104, 147, 172, 174, 187, 188, 191, 194, 197, 199-207, 210, 215, 223, 225, 228-30, 265-304, 345, 358, 361-4; Central Council 17, 31, 35, 36, 38, 39, 58, 190-1, 198, 202-6, 335, 343, 354, 371, 391; executive committee 17, 35, 36, 38, 343, 354, 371; firms 255-6, 265-75, 280-99 passim; Office of Economic Affairs 5, 9, 265-82; Organisation and Mobilisation Office 56; Research and Documentation Office 5, 7, 12; shops 254, 255, 271, 284

OAU 14, 31, 67, 106, 120, 163, 164; Charter 164 O’Brien, D. 54 OBS 85 OCHA 41, 58, 135, 166 ODI 155-6 Ogbamichael, Seyoum 150 Olson, M. 316 Omer, Meriem xix, 83-8 passim opposition groups 20, 47, 50, 133, 197, 201, 202, 310-12, 316-34, 343-4, 372-3 see also G15 Orthodox Church 92-3; Medhanye-Alem church 92, 354, 363 Oxfam 109, 122; Canada 84, 85; UK 85, 124-5

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Index Pharmacists Association 65-6 Plato 25-6 Plaut, Martin 19, 125, 165 Plekhanov, G.V. 382, 383 pluralism 3, 46, 51, 55, 56, 124, 146, 1869, 201, 204, 205, 256, 315, 347, 349, 359 police 275, 365 politics 146, 186-9, 198-208, 225, 306-9, 324-34, 347-8; organisations 316-28, 333; parties 4, 33-5, 47, 55, 198-202, 230, 238, 240, 257, 308, 359 Pool, D. 151, 353, 385 poverty 18, 19, 54-5, 78; PRSP 158, 181 Prendergast, J. 67, 69, 70, 105, 106, 122, 163 President 4, 16-19, 31-43 passim, 47, 223 press, freedom of 4, 10, 12, 13, 42, 89, 125, 190, 193, 275, 297, 340 prices 249-51, 253-4, 395 private sector 3, 4, 9, 17, 38, 54, 65-6, 168, 184, 188, 223-64, 269, 273-7, 280-94, 297, 353, 354, 358, 363 Proclamation 37/1993 29, 31, 33, 35, 38; 73/1995 88-90; 58/1994 336; 145/2005 135- 7 PROFERI 59-60 promises 3, 10, 11, 16, 21, 46-52, 70, 77, 199, 224, 356-65 Putnam, R. 309, 311-12, 314, 316, 319, 324, 327, 348, 375 Ranger, T. 148, 353, 356, 358-9 Rawls, J. 366 Reid, R. 125 Red Sea Afar Democratic Organisation 318, 320-2 passim, 345 Red Sea Trading Corporation 224, 255, 266, 273, 277, 283-5 passim, 289, 292-3 referendum 2, 28-9, 71, 73, 93, 120, 160, 163 refugees 59-60, 107, 117, 139, 165, 210-11, 355, 369-70 registration 61-4 passim, 84, 94-5, 160 religion 208, 214, 311; freedom of 4, 89, 316, 354; organisations 62, 88-96, 1056, 164 see also faith-based remittances 184, 236, 252, 284 rents 247 repatriation 355, 370 Reporters without Borders 43 residence, freedom of 286, 297, 364, 365 rights 3, 16, 28, 57, 64, 305-9, 315, 316, 327-8, 343 see also human rights Robinson, M. 55 Ronnback, I. 172 Ross, M. 326 Rubin, B. 321 Rueschemeyer, D. 296

rule of law xvi, 16, 17, 26, 28, 29, 51, 59, 257, 273, 364-7 passim Ruthven, M. 321 Rwanda 148, 202 Saad-Gurayeb, A. 321 Sabe, Osman Saleh 67 Said, Al-Amin Mohamad xiv Saleh, Dr Jelaliden 96-7 Salman, Abu Bera’a Hassan 320-1 Sambar, Samir 29 Samson, Gen. Abraham (Afan) 277-9 passim SAPs 54, 55, 159 Sartre, J.-P. 21 Save the Children 122 Schmelzle, B. 326 Schultze, C. 39 Scott, James 205 sectarianism 209, 210, 311, 317-23 passim security/securitisation 38-46, 147, 189-203, 295-9 passim, 340, 354; Department of 385 Segen Construction 289 Selbourne, David 306, 307, 309, 319 self-determination 2, 57, 120, 163, 164 self-reliance/sufficiency 19, 69, 107, 115, 127, 136, 139, 171-86 Sen, A. 155, 341, 342 separation of powers 28, 29, 33, 38, 369 severance payments 83-4 see also BANA Seyoum, Gen. Estifanos 37, 291 Shengeb, Mohammad Taher 322 Sheridan, A. 210 Sherifo, Mahmoud Ahmed 34, 37, 51, 85, 192, 269, 272, 274, 291, 375, 390 Sherman, J. 326 Sherman, R. 151 Showa Dabo 85 Sidahmed, A.S. 91, 321 Skinner, Q. 324 Smith, Adam 245, 289 social networks 50, 312-16, 333 Solomon, Petros 18, 35, 37, 38, 51, 72, 79, 192, 203, 269, 272, 274, 291, 335, 355, 365, 375, 377, 378, 390, 391 Somalia 189, 197 South Africa 333, 373 sovereignty 158-67, 172, 173, 230 Soviet Union 120, 257, 379, 381 speech, freedom of 10, 12, 28, 89, 125, 275, 329 Steinbeck, John 19 Stern, J. 308 students 8, 11, 18, 62, 64, 99-105, 149-51, 353 Sudan 2, 29, 68, 91, 98, 107, 111, 117, 139, 177, 210-11, 236, 241, 256, 317, 344, 355, 364, 370, 380; Council of Churches 105; National Islamic Front

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Index 91, 344, 380 Sultan, Ibrahim 208 Swedish Church Relief 105 Tash, A. 215 taxation 168, 229, 230, 268, 287, 289-91, 297, 363 Taylor, P. 161, 164 Technical Task Force 171 Tekle, A. 73 Tesfagiorgis, Paulos xix, 15, 68-73, 106-10 passim, 117 Tesfai, Alemseged 7, 56-8 passim, 127, 148, 325, 326, 328 Tesfamichael, Mussie 99 Tesfay, Antonio 325 Tessenei hospital 173 Thomas, P. 74 Tigray 30; TPLF 30, 126, 197 torture 18, 61, 150, 190, 361, 363, 384 Totil, Ibrahim 67 trade 224, 225, 241, 284, 363, 380 Trade and Industry, Minister/Ministry 230, 233-4, 236, 242-3, 250, 252-4, 288 transportation 109-10, 240, 243 Tronvoll, K. 125, 165 Trotsky, Leon 257-8 Tsesgai, A. 208 Turki, Hamid 322 Uganda 227, 256 Uggla, F. 55, 348, 374 UN 2, 14, 16, 28-9, 67, 106, 120, 133, 15660, 163-71 passim, 186, 193-7 passim, 206, 331, 341, 354, 364, 381; CAP 169, 171; Charter 2, 161, 163; UNMEE 11, 18, 156, 165-7, 174, 193, 205, 354, 364; UNOVER 2, 28-9 UNDP 56, 85, 93, 123, 163 UNHCR 131, 165, 370 UNICEF 153, 174, 394 uqub 312-16 US 2, 31, 32, 41, 137, 157, 186, 193, 194, 333, 335, 364, 381; Department of State 32, 93, 95, 240, 365-6; USAID 137, 162, 168, 206, 363, 364 Van Beurden, Jos 121, 156, 169 Van Rooy, A. 56 Vaughan, O. 353, 356 Veyne, Paul 16-18 Vision Eritrea 62 Waever, O. 39, 190, 198 wages/salaries 168-9, 233-4, 236-7

Wahhabism 91-2 war 176, 242; border 7, 26, 30-8, 41-3 passim, 60, 62 103, 122, 125-31, 165, 169, 176, 178, 180, 183-4, 197, 202, 228, 234, 235, 241, 245, 332, 339-40, 354, 380-1; Cold 120, 160, 161, 163; independence xiii, xiv, 11, 14, 18, 26-8, 37, 57, 59, 62, 65, 68, 70, 80, 105-20, 151, 174, 203, 224, 226-8 passim, 231, 245, 313, 315, 317, 319, 329, 331-2, 338, 366, 372, 387-90 passim; proxy 194, 197, 264 War on Want 109-10 Weber, Max 337-8, 369 WFP 131 Williams, M. 365 Wilson, A. 80 Wilson-Heathcote, J. 371 Wina technical school 114-15 Woldeab, Isaac 99-103 passim Woldehaimanot, Abeba 83-6 passim Woldehans, Gen. Filipos 276, 278, 279 Woldemariam, Woldeab 71, 208 Woldemichael, Ato Asfaha 371, 372 Woldensae, Haile (Durué) 37, 41-2, 51, 99, 149, 190-2 passim, 198, 203, 355, 359, 375, 376, 378, 387, 390, 391 Woldeselassie, M. 126, 196 Wolde Selassie, W. 80 women 60-1, 74, 80-8, 113-14, 118, 235-6 see also NCEW World Bank 54-6 passim, 122-3, 133, 157, 158, 160, 180, 184-6 passim, 227, 232, 234-43 passim, 251, 265, 276, 284-8 passim, 333, 336, 394 World Fact Book 183 WYDC 11, 19, 60-1, 94, 171, 175, 185, 235-6, 246-8, 255, 257, 272, 276-8, 287, 288, 297, 330, 333, 353, 363, 366, 369 Yemane, Berhane 321-3 passim Yemen 67, 380 Yohannes, Aster 18 Yohannes, O. 91, 194, 215, 336, 342, 363, 373, 379 Yohannes, Zemhret 5, 7, 31, 198, 199, 206, 269, 273, 358, 359 Younis, S. 215 ZANLA 116 Zenawi, Meles 195 Zero school 111-16 passim Zimbabwe 148, 358-9

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EAS_Kibreab_34mmPPC:EAS_Lewis_Papbk8727.qxd

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Gaim Kibreab is Professor of Research & Director of Refugee Studies, Department of Social & Policy Studies, London South Bank University Contents: Preface: ‘washing dirty linen in public’? – Introduction – The broken promises, demand for change & violation of human rights – Associational life in independent Eritrea – Towards an explanation – The demise of the private sector – PFDJ’s dominance of the economy & the consequences – Freedom of association, political stability & institutions – Shattered promises: in lieu of a conclusion – Postscript: the impending famine? Cover: Villagers in Shiketi village queueing to cast their vote in the April 1993 referendum (Photo © Ragnhild Ek)

An imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF www.boydell.co.uk and 668 Mt Hope Ave, Rochester, New York 14620, USA www.boydellandbrewer.com

EASTERN AFRICA SERIES

Gaim Kibreab

A DREAM DEFERRED

In this well-researched first account of post-independence Eritrea, Gaim Kibreab gives a detailed and critical analysis of how things went woefully wrong and how the former ‘liberators’ turned into oppressors with no respect for the rule of law, human rights and religious freedom.

KIBREAB

The PFDJ government dismantled existing formal and informal institutions, crippled the private sector, banned private newspapers, civil and political society organisations, expelled international NGOs and aid agencies when over two-thirds of the population were dependent on food aid, detained without trial journalists, thousands of dissidents, and former leaders of the liberation struggle, and turned national service from an instrument of nation building and national integration into an instrument of open-ended forced labour.

Eritrea

A DREAM DEFERRED

Eritrea

Eritrean independence under the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (now the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice) became an international cause celebre during the 1980s. Eritrea was the first African nation to gain independence in the post-colonial period and appeared to be opening a new and progressive path in African politics. But the promise of the revolution was soon betrayed by the outbreak of war with Ethiopia, the PFDJ’s increasingly repressive domestic policies, its mismanagement of the country’s economy, and its hostile relations with its neighbours.

EASTERN AFRICA SERIES