I. The Regime: Incapable of Reform
For more than two decades, our political life has been trapped in a suffocating binary: a regime we hate and an opposition we despise. This exhausted duality has shaped our national psychology, leaving us suspended between fear and frustration, unable to imagine a future beyond survival. The tragedy is not only that both poles have failed us, but that their failures have become mutually reinforcing.
The regime survives because the opposition is dysfunctional; the opposition survives because the regime’s repression grants it just enough necessity to remain nominally relevant. Their relevance is reactive, not generative; they exist because the other persists.
The regime, for its part, is incapable of reform. I would welcome being proven wrong, but nothing in its history or design suggests otherwise. Its foundations are not merely authoritarian but totalitarian in instinct and architecture. Indefinite national service, militarized governance, institutional hollowing, and enforced isolation are not policy errors; they are the very edifice of power. A system built on fear cannot reform without dismantling the mechanisms that sustain it.
Joining such a regime on the logic that “if you can’t beat them, join them” is neither prudent nor wise, and is a sure sign of desperation. The regime of Isaias Afwerki—and before it, the EPLF—has a long record of absorbing and neutralizing those who approached it with that rationale. To wait for internal reform is not strategy; it is surrender dressed as cleverness. As Scripture asks, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots?” Some systems cannot evolve because their survival depends on remaining exactly what they are.
II. The Opposition: Incapable of Leading
The opposition, meanwhile, is incapable of leading. Fragmented into micro-groups, trapped in nostalgia, and addicted to performative activism, it has failed to articulate a credible program for change and transition. It mirrors the very traits it claims to oppose: personalization, opacity, and an intolerance of dissent.
Most Eritreans do not trust the opposition to govern, let alone to bring change and manage a delicate transition—and their fear is not irrational. One who cannot govern oneself cannot govern others. Their record is one of relentless fragmentation, as if they had taken a perverse interpretation of the divine command to “be fruitful and multiply.”
A reckless or vengeful transition could plunge the country into chaos, fragmentation, or external manipulation. Eritreans may be uncertain about what they want, but they know with absolute clarity what they do not want: another Sudan, another Somalia, another Ethiopia.
At one point, I entertained the idea of reviving and reforming the opposition. But I am now more convinced, in the words of Ecclesiastes, that “what is crooked cannot be straightened, and what is lacking cannot be counted.” There comes a moment when persistence becomes self-deception. Sometimes giving up is growing up — and it is time we grow up. It pains me to say this, because I have come to know many of the leaders personally; they are, without question, good people. But their goodness has not translated into effective leadership, and Eritrea’s future cannot depend on goodwill alone. Nearly two decades ago, another Eritrean writer, Seyoum Tesfaye, urged veteran leaders—men who had spent most of their lives in the struggle—to take a sabbatical and step back. Today, that counsel feels even more urgent. Some need to hibernate for a season; others, perhaps, permanently.
III. The People: Exhausted but Clear-Eyed
Caught between these two failures, the Eritrean people have become exhausted and risk-averse. Decades of war, repression, and forced migration have produced a society that fears instability more than it desires change. This is the psychological foundation of the status quo.
Any credible alternative must therefore reduce fear, avoid maximalist rhetoric, and reassure the public that change will be orderly, principled, and protective of the vulnerable. The people must see the proverbial kicha on a mogogo—ተጽግበኒ ቅጫ ኣብ መጎጎኣ ከላ እፈልጣ.
It is for them—those who have carried the heaviest burdens—that we must summon a new political imagination and keep moving forward. ኣድጊ ሞይቱ ኢልካስ መገሻ ነይተርፍ: one does not abandon the journey simply because the donkey has died. Our task is to continue walking, even when the tools we inherited have failed us.
A few days ago, Amanuel Hidrat shared with me an old song by Haile Gebru—one of Eritrea’s greats—that captures our predicament with painful clarity: ይኣኽለና ዝሓለፈ ከይንኽስር ዝተረፈ—let us not lose what remains by clinging to what is already lost. Nostalgia is not a strategy, and grievance is not a vision. We must protect what is left—our dignity, our youth, our social fabric—before it, too, slips away. Let us not be ዓሻስ ምዉት ይናፍቕ—the fool who longs for the dead.
IV. A New Political Imagination
This is where the need for a new political imagination becomes urgent. Eritrea requires an alternative that is morally superior to the regime and strategically wiser than the opposition—an alternative that does not replicate the failures of the past but charts a disciplined, humane, and forward-looking path. It should not be ወጮ እንተገልበጥካያ ወጮ — like the cloth that looks identical inside and out, unchanged no matter how many times you turn it over. A politics that merely flips itself without transformation is not renewal; it is repetition.
Such a vision must begin with a new political ethos:
- the dignity of the person as inviolable,
- pluralism as a national asset,
- power as something to be constrained, not personalized,
- justice as a process that heals rather than inflames,
- and stability as a public good.
Above all, it requires building a system capable of sustaining one Eritrea—an Eritrea grounded in the principle that out of many, one. E pluribus unum, as the Great Seal of the United States affirms, is not merely a motto; it is a political philosophy. It is the only foundation on which a durable, inclusive, and modern Eritrean nation can be built. This is not a call for the elimination of differences—the very essence of diversity—but a call for unity. Just as we differ in our individualities, we are equally bound by our shared humanity. And so it is with our Eritrean identity: diverse in expression, singular in belonging. And yes, ሓደ ህዝቢ ሓደ ልቢ—one people, one heart—but not ሓደ ርእሲ, one head.
These are not abstract ideals; they are the antidote to the culture of fear and the politics of revenge.
V. What Must Be Done
From this ethos must flow a phased, orderly transition—stabilization, institutional reconstruction, and democratic consolidation—the minimum required to prevent collapse, or what brother Abdurahman Sayed (Bohashim) of London called “soft landing” many winters ago.
Ending indefinite national service must be central: capping service at 18–24 months, professionalizing the army, implementing mandatory retirement for military personnel and civil servants below age 65, creating civilian service options, and reintegrating demobilized youth into education and the economy. No political project can claim legitimacy while ignoring the suffering of an entire generation.
Economic renewal must follow—rooted not in extraction but in opportunity. Eritrea needs a mixed, opportunity-driven economy that leverages diaspora capital, revitalizes ports, modernizes agriculture, and invests in vocational training and digital infrastructure. A nation cannot be free if its citizens are economically trapped.
Justice, too, must be reimagined: restorative, not destabilizing; healing, not reopening wounds. And Eritrea’s foreign policy must embrace strategic neutrality—sovereignty without isolation, engagement without subservience.
VI. A Call to Eritrea’s Civic Conscience
In moments like this, clarity is not enough; courage is required. Renewal will not come from those who cling to old certainties or mistake noise for leadership. It will come from citizens—ordinary and extraordinary—willing to think beyond inherited binaries and act with discipline, humility, and purpose.
Awate’s readers have always been more than spectators. You belong to a civic tradition that values reasoned debate, moral accountability, and the stubborn belief that Eritrea can be better than its history. That tradition must now evolve into something deeper: a commitment to building the intellectual, ethical, and institutional foundations of a new political imagination.
I have been writing on Awate since its inception—and before that on Dehai—long enough for readers to know that I never hesitated to criticize the government when criticism was costly. In the aftermath of September 18, 2001, I added my voice to the opposition because silence would have been a betrayal of conscience. But I have also learned from the errors of the past: how easily we become prisoners of our own certainties, how quickly righteous anger hardens into dogma, and how the binaries of regime versus opposition have become both futile and destructive. It is time to move beyond them.
It is a shame that in the 35 years since independence—won after a 30-year war so brutal it pitted brother against brother, with one side even colluding with a foreign force to annihilate the other—we have not had a single national initiative for dialogue or reconciliation. Our wounds run deep, and we need a process of healing. The regime has shown no hesitation in reconciling with its non-Eritrean former enemies and adversaries, yet it has refused to do the same with its own people. That refusal is the core of our national tragedy.
This is not a call for heroics. It is a call for responsibility—for rejecting cynicism, elevating our discourse, and engaging one another with integrity. What I offer here is not novelty but reframing: familiar truths presented with renewed urgency. As I wrote, echoing Scripture: I do not write to abolish the stated missions of the regime or the opposition, but to fulfill them—by calling us back to the higher purpose they both abandoned.
Like Aya Ismail AA, I have moved beyond the binary and reclaimed my individuality. In a society as conformist as ours, that is no small feat. But individuality is not an end; it is a responsibility. It demands that we think freely, write honestly, and imagine boldly. That freedom is what allows us to challenge the stale orthodoxies of our political culture and envision a future beyond grievance and survival.
Eritrea deserves better than the choices it has been offered. The generation that fought for independence did not sacrifice for a nation trapped between fear and futility. The generation that followed did not endure exile, service, and silence to inherit a political desert. We owe them—and ourselves—a new horizon. Let us not forget: ምቕዳም እምበር መልክዕ ጉያ ዶ ኣሎ — winning the race is what matters, not how good one looks while running. We must effect change.
Most Eritreans are not comfortable airing their views in public, and I understand that deeply. That is why I always provide my email. I genuinely appreciate those who reach out—their reflections, disagreements, encouragement, and quiet worries. They remind me that behind every comment, every silence, every hesitation, there is a thinking Eritrean trying to make sense of our shared predicament. Your messages keep me going. They affirm that our people have not given up on themselves or on each other. So please—keep them coming. Our private conversations are part of the public work of imagining a better Eritrea.
To contact the author: weriz@yahoo.com
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