What Has Unity Got to Do with Age?
Across Eritrean political discourse—especially within the diaspora—one argument has gathered unmistakable momentum: that leadership of the opposition, and indeed leadership of the Eritrean state itself, where the average age hovers around eighty, must pass to a new generation. At first glance, the demand feels not only reasonable but inevitable. Eritrea is a young nation with a predominantly young population. After decades of political paralysis under rigid, unyielding rule, frustration has become both deep and urgent. People want change, and they want it now.
In such a climate, generational turnover can feel revolutionary.
But is it?
The premise behind the “let the youth lead” argument is that age itself is the primary barrier to unity and effectiveness—that past failures stem from entrenched personalities, outdated thinking, or elders unwilling to step aside. Replace them with younger, energetic, globally exposed leaders, and transformation will follow.
In theory, this is compelling.
In practice, the record tells a different story.
Over the past fifteen years—and especially during the wave of the Arab Spring, when many Eritrean youth believed their own “ኣስመራ በጺሓ ኢሎማ” moment, reminiscent of 1975, had finally arrived—Eritrean opposition politics has witnessed a series of youth-led movements rise with electrifying passion and dissolve with equal speed. They emerged with bold promises: transparency, accountability, and a clean break from the factionalism that had long defined older coalitions. They vowed to transcend the ideological divides inherited from the liberation era, insisting that a new political culture was not only possible but long overdue. They came to the scene with a bang—and faded in a whisper.
This is not to deny their contribution but to underscore that fragmentation persisted. Personal rivalries resurfaced. Distrust deepened. In some cases, divisions became even sharper—amplified by social media, public confrontation, and the accelerating speed of digital outrage. The culture of disunity did not vanish with age; it simply adapted.
This forces a more honest question: Is the problem generational—or structural?
Unity is not a demographic trait.
Unity is a political discipline.
A Tigrinya proverb warns us against romanticizing what we believe will save us: “ተማህሊልካ ተምጽኦ ማይ የጥፍእ፤ ይሙተለይ ትብሎ ወላዲ የድሕን.” The rain you pray for may destroy you; the parent you wish dead may be the one who saves you.
What we idealize is not always what protects us.
The generation we elevate may not automatically deliver salvation.
The generation we dismiss may still hold indispensable wisdom.
This is not an argument against youth leadership. Eritrea’s youth are essential. They bring urgency, digital fluency, global exposure, and a rights‑based civic vocabulary. They reflect the demographic reality of the nation.
But energy without structure cannot sustain a movement.
One of the chronic weaknesses of Eritrean opposition politics—mirroring the Asmera regime itself—is the absence of durable institutions. Too often, movements revolve around personalities rather than processes. Decision‑making frameworks are vague. Mechanisms for resolving disputes are weak. Accountability is inconsistent. When disagreements arise—as they inevitably do—there are few institutional guardrails to manage them constructively.
Under such conditions, generational transfer alone cannot produce unity.
Unity requires architecture.
Diaspora politics adds further complexity. There is no open political space inside Eritrea. Organizing occurs across continents. Trust is fragile, shaped by surveillance, trauma, and historical grievances. Resources are limited. In such an environment, cohesion demands discipline and patience—not just passion.
Youth-led initiatives, propelled by urgency, sometimes prioritize immediacy over institution‑building. Symbolic victories replace sustainable frameworks. Outrage substitutes for long‑term strategy. These patterns do not transcend old mistakes; they risk repeating them.
But clinging to elders indefinitely is equally misguided. Experience without adaptability becomes rigidity. Historical memory without openness becomes stagnation.
Here, we are reminded by our forefathers that: “ምስ ኣረግካ መግድን፣ ምስ መንኮስካ ምላድን ኣይግድን.” It is no good to go on the road when old, nor to have children after becoming a monk.
But such judgments belong at the level of the individual, not the society. I know people—though few in number—who, even in their seventies and eighties, possess boundless energy, unmatched sagacity, and the right temperament for leadership. They should not be denied the opportunity to make their due contribution; more importantly, we need them.
In other words: timing matters. Roles must match seasons. Elders cannot carry every burden forever, and youth cannot assume every responsibility instantly. Leadership must be aligned with readiness, not romanticized by age. People—young or old—must earn the privilege of leadership. Authority works best when it is entrusted to those who have already demonstrated competence, discipline, and character.
“ዝበለጸ ሰብ ንሽመት፣ ዝበለጸ ዕንጨይቲ ንታቦት.” Authority belongs to the most capable, just as the Tabot is carved from the finest wood. Leadership should have only one gatekeeper: qualification.
Leadership, then, is not a reward for age nor a prize for youth. It is a sacred trust—given to those whose character, discipline, and preparedness make them worthy of carrying it.
The deeper issue is not age.
It is political culture.
To borrow and adapt James Carville’s famous quip: It’s the political culture, stupid. (Carville, of course, served as President Clinton’s advisor.)
Decades of centralized rule have cultivated habits that seep even into opposition spaces: suspicion, zero‑sum thinking, personalization of power. Without deliberate effort to model democratic norms internally, even reformist movements risk mirroring the authoritarian tendencies they oppose.
Generational antagonism will not solve this.
Intergenerational alignment might.
Our tradition reminds us: “ሽማግለ ዘይብሉ ዓዲ፣ ነፋስ ዘይብሉ ዓውዲ.” A village without an elder is like a threshing floor without wind.
A threshing floor without wind cannot separate grain from chaff. Elders provide discernment—the wind that tempers impulse with wisdom. But wind alone produces nothing. Without grain, there is no harvest. Youth provide vitality and force.
And our tradition deepens this truth with a blessing that celebrates the energy, can‑do attitude, and boundless optimism of youth: “ንብላዕ ንብላዕ ዝብል ኣብ መኣድኻ፣ ንኺድ ንኺድ ዝብል ኣብ መገድኻ ኣይሰኣን.” May we never lack one who says “let’s eat” at our table, nor one who says “let’s keep going” on our journey.
A community needs both—the nurturer who sustains the present and the trailblazer who pushes toward the future. Wisdom that steadies us, and energy that propels us. Without either, our bellies grow empty and our road grows long. Together, they make progress possible.
And another proverb completes the picture: “ጎቦዝ ካብ ዘለዎ ከብቲ ኣይስረቕ፣ ሽማግለ ካብ ዘለዎ ነገር ኣይጽየቕ.” Where there is youth, no cattle will be stolen; where there is an elder, no affair will go out of hand.
Strength and vigilance from the young; steadiness and judgment from the old.
Neither is sufficient alone. Together, they form a complete defense.
Eritrea does not need generational substitution.
Eritrea needs generational synergy.
Even during the armed struggle, this truth was understood. Unfortunately, unlike the EPLF, the ELF often prioritized “national” unity at the expense of organizational cohesion—and today’s opposition risks repeating that same misprioritization. No organization has the mandate to declare or call for national unity, national conference, or national reconciliation. We must first have a nation—an agreed political center of gravity, a shared institutional home—before anything “national” can be meaningfully invoked. We can start with our own respective organizations.
Nonetheless, an old ELF song reminded us that unity is the mother of victory and the path to liberation:
“ስምረት ኣደ ዓወት ምዃና—
ካብ ሎሚ ነለልያ
ዓወትን ሓርነትን ክንረክብ
ነዓኣ ንግበራ ጽርግያ.”
Unity was not addressed to the young alone or the old alone.
It was addressed to a people.
Victory was never promised through generational change.
It was promised through unity.
Elders carry historical memory—lessons from liberation politics, diplomatic networks, and insight into why previous coalitions fractured. Youth carry innovation, speed, and contemporary tools of organization. A durable opposition requires both.
Unity will not emerge from replacing faces.
Unity will emerge from transforming habits:
- Compromise without abandoning principle.
- Accountability without humiliation.
- Strategic patience over reactive fragmentation.
The rain we pray for must not wash away the house. As our elders warn, “ንሓዋሩ ዝኾነካ መሰረት ኣይትነቕንቕ”—never shake a foundation built to serve you for eternity.
The elder we resent may still steady the foundation.
The threshing floor needs wind—but it also needs grain.
Eritrea’s future unquestionably belongs to its youth.
But political maturity belongs to those—young or old—who choose discipline over ego and institution over personality.
The most important quality we should seek in our leaders is responsibility. Those who understand the wisdom of “ኣፍካስ ድላይካ ደኣ ብልዓሉ፣ ድላይካ ኣይት ዛረበሉ”—the mouth may eat whatever it desires, but it must not say whatever it wants—carry a temperament fit for leadership. And those who live by “ሓቂ ብምሉኡ ኣይዝረብ፣ ገረብ ብምሉኡ ኣይቁረጽ”—never utter a truth in its entirety, just as one never cuts a tree from its roots—possess the restraint, judgment, and long‑view that leadership demands.
We need leaders who understand that unity is the only path to nation‑building, and that the most urgent task before us is bringing ALL Eritreans together—building bridges by focusing on what we share, not what divides us. Unity, like charity, begins at home. The immediate focus of the Eritrean opposition must therefore be the unification of its own factions and organizations. Achieving this would lay the groundwork for a broader national unity—one that ultimately includes Eritreans currently serving within the Isaias regime. For it is the regime that is the adversary, not our kith and kin who find themselves inside its machinery.
And it is also knowing what to prioritize. Sometimes rapprochement—rooted in love, forgiveness, and the willingness to let go—must take precedence. As our elders say, “ኣባ ሩባ ዘሎ ውሕጅ ይሰዶ፣ ኣብ ጎቦ ዘሎ ንፋዝ ይሰዶ”—let the wind take whatever lies on the mountain, and let the stream carry away whatever rests in the waterway. At other times, the arduous work of justice must guide us: “ፍትሕን ምሳርን ለኪዕካ”—justice and fairness require careful, deliberate steps, where every precaution is taken to get it right.
A mature political culture knows when to forgive and when to adjudicate; when to release and when to reckon. Unity is built through this balance—mercy where possible, justice where necessary, and responsibility always.
Unity has little to do with age.
It has everything to do with whether we finally choose to make it our path.
To contact the author: weriz@yahoo.com
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