How Eritrea Became a One‑Party State: An Autopsy

I. How Did Eritrea End Up Here?

I have asked myself, for the umpteenth time, how we Eritreans ended up with a one-party system headed by an octogenarian autocrat whose worldview belongs more to the Zemene Mesafint than to the 21st century. Consider this staggering fact: the average life expectancy of an Eritrean in 2026 is 69.4 years, and Isaias Afwerki — the country’s first and only unelected president — has ruled for half of that lifespan. If we include his years as the strongman of the EPLF and its clandestine party structure, he has dominated Eritrea’s political landscape for 56 years, shaping the lives of 3.6 million citizens and influencing another million in the diaspora.

How did a national liberation movement that fought for 30 years in the name of self‑determination and self‑rule mutate into a one‑party, one‑man dictatorship? How did a struggle built on sacrifice, pluralism, and national dignity produce a system defined by fear, uniformity, and political paralysis?

The older I get, the more I realize that there is no single grand theory that explains our predicament—and equally, no single grand solution. What exists instead is a convergence of historical choices, organizational cultures, sociological dynamics, and political pathologies that brought us to this moment. Like all institutions, the EPLF and its successor, the PFDJ, reflect the character of their founder. There is a reason why those who admire the EPLF and PFDJ, without qualification, admire Isaias Afwerki — and why those who reject Isaias Afwerki, without qualification, reject the EPLF and PFDJ. The two are inseparable.

This extreme polarity has left Eritreans with no middle ground on which to meet, deliberate, and build communality. That absence of shared civic space is not merely a political failure; it is a national wound. And it must change.

II. The Liberation Legacy: Seeds of Centralization

Political science teaches that liberation movements often carry within them the DNA of future authoritarianism. Hierarchical command structures, wartime secrecy, ideological rigidity, and the sanctification of leadership create habits that rarely disappear after independence. Eritrea was no exception. I am old enough to remember how Eritreans used to mock other African countries — places where corruption was so endemic that the wealthiest individuals were kleptocratic military officers. Today, Eritrea has become the poster child of that Africa.

We should take seriously—and never forget—the allegations publicly leveled against members of the regime’s military elite for benefiting from “conflict economies” involving forced labor, kidnapping, and trafficking. Two names frequently cited in international reporting and human rights documentation are General Filipos Woldeyohannes and General Teklai Kifle (“Manjus”). These allegations, whether fully proven or still under investigation, reflect a broader pattern: the militarization of economic life and the emergence of networks that profit from human suffering.

There are also persistent rumors across parts of Africa suggesting that some of the capital used by certain Eritreans in large‑scale business ventures may be traced back to military actors. These claims remain unverified, but the fact that they circulate so widely speaks to a deeper truth: when a state becomes opaque, unaccountable, and dominated by security structures, the line between public authority and private enrichment blurs. In such environments, rumor becomes a form of social testimony—a way for ordinary people to describe a reality they cannot safely articulate in official channels.

The EPLF’s wartime discipline — admired by many — became the foundation for post‑independence centralization. The movement’s intolerance for dissent, its suspicion of pluralism, and its obsession with unity were repackaged into state doctrine. What was once a wartime necessity hardened into a governing philosophy.

This is not a moral judgment; it is a sociological pattern observed across post‑liberation states from Algeria to Vietnam to Zimbabwe. Movements forged in war often struggle to transform themselves into institutions capable of sharing power, tolerating disagreement, or embracing diversity. Eritrea followed that familiar trajectory — but with a severity and absolutism that made the pattern unmistakable.

III. The Totalitarian Impulse: Hostility to Diversity

What struck me early after independence was not merely the PFDJ’s desire to control every aspect of life—though they certainly do—but their hostility toward diversity itself. They were obsessed with homogeneity, order, and sameness. Diversity became a performance, confined to the endless festivals run by their own semi‑ministry, led for years by Zemehret Yohannes and now by Zemede Tekle. At times it seemed as if the only qualification for leadership of this post was having a name that begins with “Z.” Their pursuit of uniformity was relentless:

• through subtle bureaucratic engineering,
• and often through crude, in‑your‑face coercion.

Many Eritreans describe Isaias Afwerki and the PFDJ as principled or ideology‑driven. My study and the lived experience of an entire nation show the opposite. Isaias has never cared about ideology. In fact, very few one‑party systems in the modern world genuinely care about ideology. What they care about is power: acquiring it, monopolizing it, and holding onto it indefinitely.

In such systems, ideology is not a compass but a costume.

The PFDJ’s real doctrine is eclectic opportunism—shifting positions, contradictory policies, and sudden reversals, all justified under the banner of “flexibility.” Their only consistent principle is the preservation of power, even if it means burning the country down to ashes.

Isaias lives by an unwritten motto: “If power is for sale, sell your mother to buy it. You can always buy her back again.” But the tragedy is this: even if the mother is bought back, she is never the same. Sometimes the trauma is beyond healing; sometimes the cost of repair is generational.

IV. The Sociology of Control: Fear, Conspiracies, and Manufactured Uniformity

To maintain its grip, the PFDJ manufactures conspiracies — foreign and domestic — calibrated for a population exhausted by war, scarcity, and uncertainty. It ridicules intellectual patriotism and elevates a shallow, performative nationalism that demands obedience rather than participation. In this sense, the PFDJ is not patriotic; it is a scoundrel whose last refuge is nationalism.

All authoritarian and totalitarian regimes rely on division as a governing technology. They deliberately pit one segment of society against another—region against region, religion against religion, generation against generation, diaspora against homeland—not because they believe in these divisions, but because they understand their utility. Polarization blinds people to their shared interests and common destiny. As long as citizens are consumed by peripheral and parochial disputes, they cannot rally behind collective goods or national priorities.

This is the central paradox of authoritarian propaganda: regimes obsessively preach unity and nationalism, yet they are the greatest enemies of both. Their survival depends on preventing genuine unity — the kind that empowers citizens rather than rulers. What they promote instead is a hollow, performative nationalism designed to suppress dissent, not strengthen the nation. Diversity is tolerated only as spectacle: staged festivals, choreographed cultural showcases, and symbolic gestures—never as lived reality, political representation, or equal citizenship.

The system thrives on:

• Narrative monopolization — controlling the story of the nation, its past, and its future.
• Institutional sterilization — preventing the emergence of independent organizations, parties, unions, or civic spaces.
• Fear‑based cohesion — using suspicion and surveillance to replace trust and solidarity.
• Political infantilization — treating citizens as subjects to be managed rather than agents to be empowered.

These are not accidental features; they are the architecture of a totalitarian state.

V. The One‑Party State: A Tool, Not a Philosophy

The one‑party state in Eritrea is not the expression of a coherent ideology. It is a mechanism — a tool for attaining and retaining power. It thrives on falsehoods, conspiracies, and the systematic destruction of alternative centers of authority. It is designed to prevent political competition, intellectual diversity, and civic maturity.

Political science is clear: one‑party systems survive not because they are ideologically superior but because they are structurally insulated. They eliminate rivals, monopolize narratives, and weaponize nationalism.

Eritrea fits this pattern with textbook precision.
VI. The Path Forward: Awareness Before Action

Eritrea’s predicament is not the result of a single cause, nor will it be solved by a single remedy. But one thing is clear: democratic change requires clarity — clarity about the nature of the system, clarity about its methods, and clarity about the illusions it projects.

Our task is to expose the mechanisms of control, challenge the myths that sustain the regime, and cultivate a political culture that values diversity, dignity, and accountability. Only then can we begin to build the critical mass necessary to reclaim the promise of self‑determination that animated the long struggle for independence.

VII. Conclusion: Naming the System Is the First Step to Dismantling It

Eritrea did not arrive at authoritarianism by accident. It arrived here through a combination of historical legacies, organizational habits, sociological vulnerabilities, and political opportunism. Naming these forces is not pessimism; it is the beginning of political maturity.

If we fail to articulate the nature of the system, we will fail to dismantle it. If we fail to understand its logic, we will fail to build a better one.

Awareness is not everything — but without it, nothing else is possible.

To contact the author: weriz@yahoo.com