A nation of perpetual sacrifices

First published November 5, 2005 on awate.com
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Clinging to the past, romantically invoking a supposedly perfect bygone era every time one is faced with real-life challenges, is a well-known syndrome. Confronted with complex present-day realities and a less-than-certain future, political parties, religious groups, or individuals occasionally resort to past glory as their hoped-for saviour. The past’s alleged virtues are quixotically appealed to as the panacea for today’s ills.

Our past can no doubt provide many useful lessons. It can be a source of inspiration and wisdom. However, expecting the ‘past’ to be our guiding light and cure-all answer is a malady. It is a malady symptomatic of ailing, hopelessly out of date minds and institutions.

The fact that the terminally archaic PFDJ has caught the disease, therefore, does not come as a surprise. It has been some years now since the onset of the illness that continues to afflict PFDJ’s crumbling body and haunt its troubled soul. In the state of delirium triggered by this deadly disorder, all contemporary challenges are conveniently explained away as consequences of ‘our deviation from the values of old-day Shaebia. Our economic woes are a direct result of our compromise on the principle of self-reliance (or the Spartan version of self-reliance, anyway) and allowing private businesses even the narrowest of margins in the economy; none of the political and diplomatic flops of recent years would have been possible had we not trusted the international community; our military failures are caused by the erosion of discipline and the spirit of selflessness among the young. If only we could stick to the puritan values of Sahel! If only we could reincarnate the discipline, the spirit of sacrifice, the total commitment! If only the good old days would return!

The deeper the PFDJ regime sunk into the abyss of its own failure and irrelevance, the more frantic it has become in its attempt to latch on to the glory of the past. That’s how we came to witness, at the age of globalisation, these hysterical attempts to breathe life into such outdated ideas as a ‘cadre school’ for political indoctrination. That is why people like Ahferom Tewelde are burdened with the unenviable task of lecturing bored young audiences about the heroic exploits of life in Mieda. In the same vein come those most bizarre Independence-day shows and parades put up by Ibrahim Akla, Solomon Drar and their friends in Bahlawi Gudayat – full of dancing tortoises, wasps, bees and giant ants (the good guys), and weeping lizards and hyenas, all embellished with North Korean antics.

‘Kbrtatna yteAkeb’ (let’s preserve our values) proclaims the new slogan - masking a deep yearning for regressing to the past.

In the realm of religion, the belief in the absolute and inflexible interpretation of scripture, in the categorical applicability of every detail of ancient religious law to all times and circumstances, the conviction that one ought to live one’s life strictly according to how one’s religious forefathers lived their lives, is called fundamentalism. Fundamentalism may be quite harmless as long as it is practiced in the confines of the personal life of its adherents. Trying to impose those strict conventions on society at large is the problem.

At a certain metaphysical level, PFDJ’s diehard, backward-looking dogma is not unlike the above-described attitude of religious fundamentalists. Indeed, this is PFDJ’s own version of political fundamentalism. In its extreme form, this mentality manifests itself in the cynically ruthless resolve by PFDJ leaders to reduce Eritrea to a nation of perpetual sacrificial lambs – that each generation should be prepared to sacrifice itself. Indeed, this dogma has become a convenient pretext for justifying the government’s failure to fulfill many a legitimate demand by the population. Today, if you voice even the faintest complaint about the current shortages of basic consumer goods, you can be certain of being silenced with a barrage of admonishments with references to how our gallant fighters endured difficult times by sharing a cup of water among them. As if our gallant fighters did not endure what they endured so that future generations would not have to go through the same suffering! As if the whole Eritrean history is reduced to a series of endless sacrifices; each generation determined to outdo its predecessor in the art of sacrifice and enduring the worst; a vicious circle of pointless, surreal episodes recurring over and over. (And there is a nonstop stream of songs too celebrating this miserable state of existence that Eritreans are supposed to embrace as their own predestined fate. ‘Gidekha arkibu’ – your time has come - shrieks a singer, sadistically heralding it is ‘payback time’ for the new generation. Get ready for the sacrificial altar. The monster in the lake is demanding fresh young blood!)

The decision to revive the ‘cadre school’ came a couple of years ago amid this retrospective frenzy. The two first sessions of political indoctrination took place in 2004 in Sawa. Nomination to participate in one of these ‘political education’ classes sends mixed signals. Whereas, officially, it is supposed to signify some form of privilege, the real (unspoken) message implies ‘political re-education’ or ‘Tehadso’, the need to firm-up the candidate’s shaky loyalty to the PFDJ.

The syllabus is, by now, a well-known routine. Zemehret Yohannes sets the tone and provides the bulk of ‘theory’ and ‘analysis’: how the EPLF successfully, against all odds, fought ‘internal and external adversaries’, how it dealt with ‘reactionary’ and ‘anarchist’ forces, and so forth. He then uses this wonderfully constructed ‘analytic framework’ to examine current affairs: If only we could muster the patience to carefully scrutinize our present-day challenges in light of our history, then everything should be easily understandable. All pieces of the puzzle would beautifully and neatly fall in place. If only we possess the wisdom to put our trust in our seasoned leadership, it will, as it did in the past, steer us through current troubles to safety and deliver the promised economic prosperity.

Other presenters show up, each tediously reciting familiar discourses on ‘our internal unity’, foreign policy (as if there is one!), our military strategy (here, Sebhat Ephrem gives his favorite sermon of “David vs Goliath”); and, finally, it is time for Hagos Kisha to shine enumerating the economic miracles of yesteryear (before our march was maliciously interrupted by Weyane).

The discussion then touches on issues of the free press and how the good intentions of the government were abused by irresponsible journalists. This topic is particularly harped on as irrefutable evidence of the government’s wisdom in pursuing a ‘slow and cautious approach’ to nation building. Here several hands would rise in the audience, in an apparently staged performance, to question the very tents of a pluralistic political system. “Nmkhuanu, ezi zeben amSe’o flsfnnatat nai beHaqi neAna yTeqmena dyu?” [Do we really need these fashionable philosophies?], snaps one of the actor-participants, to be promptly echoed from the other corner: “kdmi Hji ze’ewetena tewefainetn, sraHn, wennani nSur ra’ey zkhone mkur meriHnetnan yu. Hji wn ezi Trai yu k’Ewitena zkh’el.” [The secret of our success, in the past, was our dedication, our hard work and our experienced, visionary leadership. This is what we need now more than ever.]  And the issue would be conveniently put to rest after taking due note of the ‘resounding wish of the participants’ (read Eritrean people) not to entertain any recourse to multi-party politics or any of the ‘untimely’ and ‘disruptive’ luxuries such as press freedom.

The last day of lecturing is always reserved for Issayas. Participants are invariably struck by his stern, unsmiling face and his grumpy, irritable mood, as if he had a quarrel with every single person in the audience.  Dictatorofthemonth.com, which selected Issayas as its December choice, uses charisma, danger, oppression, longevity, economics, notoriety, extremism, progressiveness to make its assessment.  Perhaps it should create a scale for addiction to long speeches, an affliction that Ceausescu, Menghistu and current record holder, Castro, also suffered from.

This time, in the Nakfa episode that is, Issayas told his audience “I don’t want to make lengthy speeches”, but, all the same, kept rambling on for over two hours.  This is another evidence of his improving score in the scale for Dictators with Extraordinary Ability of Making Long Speeches. Usually, the man is not lost for words, but according to participants this was one of the most bizarre speeches they saw Issayas give. The best part was his car analogy in describing the EPLF. Shaebia, he said was like a good old car – reliable, strong, durable. It may need some oiling, changing of a nut here and a bolt there; it may get a dead battery and need a little pushing from time to time.  But,” he declared, “it will never be replaced”. “WE WILL NEVER BUY A NEW CAR. As far as I am concerned, Shaebia is irreplaceable.” He concluded by reiterating a slogan that’s much in fashion these days: “Tmali Shaebia, lomi Shaebia, tsibah Shaebia!" [Shaebia yesterday, shaebia today, shaebia tomorrow]. Later, one participant joked there was no need for Issayas to interrupt his busy schedule and come all the way to Nakfa to deliver his famous line. He could have instead sent Khedija Ademmai to entertain the gathering with her hit number: malë Shaebia, wo yom Shaebia, wefejir Shaebia.