Trust Over Terror: Unity Built on a Minimum Agenda
Accra, Ghana. The very air here reminds me of what could have been for Eritrea. In the early 1990s, two nations stood at a crossroads. Ghana chose democracy, and today it stands as West Africa’s most stable and consolidated democracy. Eritrea, tragically, chose tyranny and has become a cautionary tale of what is broken in Africa.
The numbers tell the story starkly: Ghana is rated Free with a Freedom House score of 80/100 in 2025, while Eritrea languishes as Not Free with a score of just 3/100.
In the past two days, I witnessed moments that stirred both admiration and sorrow. Passing through a neighborhood, I saw a man with a microphone addressing a crowd from a second-floor balcony—an ordinary yet profound expression of free assembly. Later, at a hotel frequented by ministers, I watched a government official bypass the throng of admirers to greet a man in a wheelchair, bending low to whisper words of respect. The man’s radiant smile revealed the dignity of being seen and the quiet joy of knowing that power here bows to the people.
These gestures, simple yet profound, made me jealous for Eritrea. They reminded me of the wrong turn my homeland took after independence, becoming the fiefdom of Isaias Afwerki. Eritrea now cries out to its children to rescue her, to return her to her rightful owners—the Eritrean people. As one Eritrean proverb wisely teaches, “When spider threads unite, they can tie up a lion.” And as the Ashanti of Ghana remind us, “By coming and going, a bird weaves its nest.”
It is this spirit of unity—woven from trust, respect, and a minimum agenda—that can overcome even the fiercest tyranny and build a nest strong enough to shelter a nation.
It has never been difficult to distinguish a free society from an oppressed one. In a free society, power answers to the people. In an unfree society, the people fear their rulers. When citizens hesitate to speak, organize, question authority, or even inquire about loved ones who have vanished without due process, fear has become the architecture of public life.
In Eritrea, fear has seeped into the most intimate corners of society. Families whisper about relatives detained without trial—if they dare speak at all. This silence is not indifference; it is survival. As institutions have been hollowed out and authority concentrated under Isaias Afwerki, accountability has evaporated. Courts lack independence. The press is extinguished. Political opposition is criminalized. In such a system, fear flows downward and corrodes everything it touches.
But fear alone does not sustain authoritarianism. Distrust does.
Where mistrust festers—where communities are fragmented, suspicious, and easily manipulated—tyranny thrives. When citizens doubt one another more than they question unchecked power, collective action collapses. By contrast, where trust stretches across regions, religions, and social groups, democratic governance can take root. Democracy is not upheld by elections alone; it is upheld by the confidence that one’s neighbor is not an existential threat.
This is why regimes built on fear invest heavily in division. Warnings of chaos, civil war, or the dangers of change are not predictions; they are tactics. By deepening suspicion among citizens, the regime makes repression appear safer than reform.
Inside Eritrea, where freedom of association and movement are suffocated, the space to build civic trust simply does not exist. Independent institutions cannot mediate disputes. Open political dialogue cannot flourish. That reality places a unique responsibility on the Eritrean diaspora. Outside the reach of direct repression, diaspora communities possess the freedom to organize, debate, reconcile, and model the democratic culture they hope to build at home.
The strategy must be clear: unity anchored in a minimum agenda.
Unity does not require uniformity. Eritreans in the diaspora hold diverse political visions and ideological commitments—differences that are natural in any pluralistic society. What is required is agreement on foundational principles that transcend factional divides. A minimum agenda could include constitutional governance, term limits, an independent judiciary, due process protections, the release of political prisoners, national reconciliation, and a structured, peaceful transition. These are not partisan demands; they are the basic pillars of responsible statecraft.
But unity must move from aspiration to action. Trust is not built by declarations; it is built by disciplined, visible steps.
The diaspora can begin immediately by drafting and publicly adopting a concise democratic charter rooted in these shared principles—and inviting organizations to sign it. A representative coordination council can align efforts around that minimum agenda, not to erase differences but to prevent fragmentation. Structured cross‑faction dialogues, with published summaries, can replace rumor with transparency. A code of conduct rejecting personal attacks and disinformation can elevate political culture.
Opposition groups can model accountability by publishing leadership terms and financial practices. Civic education initiatives can help citizens understand constitutional governance and peaceful transition pathways, reducing fear of the unknown. A realistic transition roadmap can demonstrate that change need not mean collapse. Interfaith and inter‑regional coalitions can visibly counter divide‑and‑rule narratives. A diaspora mediation mechanism can show that conflict can be managed democratically rather than destructively. Focused, achievable campaigns—such as advocacy for political prisoners or constitutional literacy—can build cooperation through shared work.
Yet unity is not only a structural project; it is a personal one.
At an individual level, unity begins with choices so small they are often overlooked. Each of us can commit to understanding before judging, to extending empathy rather than suspicion, and to speaking with one another instead of drifting further apart. We can make the deliberate effort to reach out to an Eritrean who does not share our religious, political, ethnic, or regional background. These gestures are not symbolic; they are the building blocks of trust. Most of all, we must begin to act from the conviction that we share a common past and an inseparable future—and that it is in every Eritrean’s interest to work together, shoulder sacrifices together, and ultimately reap the equal benefits of citizenship together. Nations are not rebuilt by institutions alone; they are rebuilt by people who choose to see each other as partners rather than threats.
The opposition must lead—and leadership in this moment must summon the “better angels” within us. It must elevate our expectations of ourselves and restore belief in what collective action can achieve. True leadership does not feed on resentment, fear, or rivalry. It calls forth discipline, dignity, and courage. It reminds a weary people that they are capable of more than survival—they are capable of self‑government.
If the regime governs through intimidation, the opposition must organize through inspiration. If fear narrows imagination, leadership must widen it. A can‑do attitude is not naïveté; it is strategic clarity. It signals confidence that Eritreans can govern themselves responsibly, resolve differences peacefully, and build institutions that protect all citizens equally. It replaces the language of grievance with the language of possibility.
Positive leadership also means modeling the future in the present. Opposition organizations should practice transparency in leadership selection and financial accountability. They should convene cross‑faction dialogue that makes cooperation visible. They should invest in civic education so that debates about constitutional design and transitional justice are informed rather than emotional. They should establish mechanisms to resolve disputes internally without public rupture. Trust grows when democratic culture is demonstrated, not merely declared.
Tone matters as much as structure. The language of liberation must not mirror the language of hostility. For many Eritreans, fear of instability outweighs frustration with repression. The opposition must frame democratic transition as orderly, constitutional, and protective of all communities—including those who currently support or depend on the regime. Responsible change does not seek vengeance; it seeks institutions strong enough to protect everyone.
The task cannot be postponed. Authoritarian systems sustained by fear depend on fragmentation for survival. The more unified and disciplined the pro‑democracy movement becomes, the more credible—and therefore more consequential—it appears. Unity reduces uncertainty. It reassures citizens that change does not mean collapse, but renewal.
Removing fear and building trust is not sentimental idealism. It is a strategic necessity. Freedom thrives where citizens trust one another enough to stand together. Unity grounded in a minimum agenda, elevated by principled and inspiring leadership, is not secondary to liberation. It is its foundation.
Tyranny divides to endure. Trust unites to transform. And leadership—at its best—awakens the courage already alive within a people waiting to believe again.
To contact the author: weriz@yahoo.com
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