Michael Rubin has written about Eritrea for many years, and in a region that often flickers in and out of the world’s attention, that consistency deserves acknowledgment. Whatever disagreements I may have with his conclusions, I do not question the sincerity of his desire to see an Eritrea that is democratic, free, and just. Many of us who lost loved ones in the long struggle for independence share that aspiration. We want an Eritrea worthy of the sacrifices that built it — a nation where dignity is not rationed, where justice is not deferred, and where the promise of liberation is finally fulfilled.
It is precisely because we share that hope that I must part ways with Rubin’s recent argument warning that lifting U.S. sanctions on Eritrea will lead to “strategic defeat.” His intentions are honorable, but the policy he advocates — continued isolation — is one that has failed for nearly three decades. It has not produced reform. It has not moderated the government. It has not strengthened civil society. And it has not advanced U.S. interests in a region where American influence is steadily eroding.
History offers its own testimony.
When the United States cut ties with Eritrea in the early 2000s, many believed pressure would force change. Instead, the opposite occurred. The government tightened its grip, closed its borders, and retreated into a defensive crouch. The same pattern unfolded during the UN sanctions era from 2009 to 2018. Those sanctions were imposed with the hope of altering Eritrea’s regional behavior. Yet by the time they were lifted, Eritrea had not changed course, but it had become more isolated, more suspicious, and more entrenched.
This is not unique to Eritrea. The Horn of Africa is full of cautionary tales. Sudan in the 1990s. Somalia for decades. Ethiopia under the Derg. Isolation in this region rarely produces the outcomes its architects intend.
Modern Eritrea’s political culture was forged in a thirty‑year war for independence—a war fought largely alone, without superpower patronage. That history matters. It produced a state that interprets external pressure not as a call to reform but as confirmation of its deepest fears. When the world closes its doors, Eritrea closes its windows. When the world extends a hand, Eritrea cautiously, slowly responds.
But that hand must never be perceived as undermining what the regime jealously guards: the image, curated since the liberation struggle, of a leadership that is fiercely independent. The EPLF, and later the PFDJ, built its legitimacy on that mythology. And like all authoritarian systems, it has come to value performance over substance—the appearance of strength over the hard, unglamorous work of building institutions; the choreography of sovereignty over the practice of accountable governance.
Rubin’s prescription assumes that Eritrea is a problem to be contained. But containment without engagement is not a strategy. It is an admission of policy exhaustion.
The geopolitical landscape has also shifted. Eritrea sits on one of the world’s most important maritime corridors—the Red Sea and the Bab el‑Mandeb—where global shipping, energy flows, and great‑power competition intersect. In the 19th century, European powers understood the strategic value of this coastline; it shaped their colonial ambitions. In the 20th century, the United States recognized the same value when it operated Kagnew Station in Asmera, one of the most important listening posts of the Cold War. Geography has not changed. What has changed is the number of actors now competing for influence: China, Russia, Turkey, the UAE, and others.
In this volatile neighborhood — bordered by Sudan’s collapse, Ethiopia’s fragmentation, Somalia’s fragility, and Djibouti’s foreign military congestion — Eritrea is, paradoxically, the most stable state in the Horn of Africa. It has no sectarian militias, no civil war, and no foreign bases. Stability is not the enemy of reform; it is the precondition for it.
For the United States, reengaging Eritrea is not a concession. It is a strategic recalibration. Isolation has pushed Eritrea toward actors whose interests diverge sharply from Washington’s. Engagement would pull it back into a more balanced posture, opening channels for dialogue on maritime security, counterterrorism, and regional de‑escalation. It would also give the U.S. something it has lacked for years: leverage.
But there is another dimension Rubin does not consider—one that may be the most important of all.
The Eritreans of the 1980s and 1990s are not the Eritreans of today. Over the past three decades, a flourishing business class has emerged across the diaspora, alongside a professional class that is politically inactive not because it stopped caring but because the political arena has become irrelevant to their daily lives. In response to this irrelevance, Eritreans turned inward—building businesses, raising families, and avoiding politics that had done more harm to personal and family relationships than any external enemy ever could.
These networks of entrepreneurs, professionals, and technocrats represent the most significant potential agents of change in Eritrea’s modern history. They possess capital, skills, global exposure, and a deep desire to see their homeland thrive. But they cannot contribute meaningfully under conditions of isolation. They need an inch — a small opening—to take a democratic mile.
Engagement would create that opening.
The presence of the United States in Eritrea—diplomatically, economically, and culturally—would be a powerful signal to the diaspora. It would encourage return visits, investment, and the kind of people-to-people exchange that has transformed societies from Vietnam to Rwanda. These are the forces that bring gradual, organic reform: not external pressure, but internal evolution driven by citizens who have seen the world and want their country to join it.
Yet my biggest fear is not that the United States will fail to reengage Eritrea. Washington clearly sees its national interest in doing so. My fear is that Eritrea may not reciprocate. As I argued in a previous column, the regime’s decision‑making has long been driven more by regime survival than by national interest. That calculus has shaped Eritrea’s foreign policy for decades.
Still, there are reasons for cautious hope. Based on their recent, if sparse, commentaries, the regime appears open to reengagement. And if history is any guide, they may well declare that their principles have stood firm, that steadfastness has paid off, and embrace the opportunity to normalize relations with the United States. Two factors make this plausible. First, as Rubin correctly notes, President Isaias Afwerki is now in his eighties. Second — and more importantly — there are voices within the ruling elite who are weary of the status quo, frustrated by how thoroughly Isaias has overshadowed and diminished their contributions during the struggle and after independence. These internal dynamics may create an opening that did not exist before.
Sanctions, by contrast, have become a form of collective punishment. They have suffocated Eritrea’s private sector, blocked investment, and pushed the country toward illicit networks. They have not weakened the government, but they have weakened the people — the very constituency Rubin and others hope to empower.
Eritreans inside the country need a crack to breathe. They need access to the world, to ideas, to opportunities. No diaspora movement, no neighboring state, and no external actor can bring change to Eritrea. Only Eritreans inside the country can. And they cannot do it while sealed off from the world. Like most Eritreans, I want to see those responsible for abuses brought to justice—but not at the hands of non‑Eritreans. Eritreans value their sovereignty, and no self‑respecting Eritrean would accept a Venezuela‑style model imposed from outside. The majority of the world still prefers a rules‑based international system, not great‑power adventurism.
Reengagement is not a reward for the government. It is an investment in the Eritrean people — in their capacity, their ingenuity, their longing to reconnect with the world. It is also an acknowledgment of a simple truth: the long U.S.–Eritrea impasse has served neither side. Washington has gained no influence. Eritrea has gained no reform. The region has grown more unstable. And the Eritrean people have borne the cost of a policy that has delivered little beyond stalemate.
Rubin is right about one thing: Eritrea deserves better. But a better Eritrea will not emerge from deeper isolation. It will not be built through punitive measures that have already failed. It will come from engagement — careful, principled, and strategic — that recognizes Eritrea’s sovereignty while encouraging its evolution. Engagement creates openings. Openings create possibilities. And possibilities are the raw material of reform.
The United States now stands at a crossroads. It can continue a policy that has produced no progress, or it can chart a new course that aligns American interests with the aspirations of the Eritrean people. Reengagement is not naïveté. It is realism. It is pragmatism. And it may be the only path left that offers Eritreans the chance to breathe, to participate, and to shape the democratic, free, and just society that both Rubin and I hope to see.
To contact the author: weriz@yahoo.com
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