TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/071591/0715003.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 7.6 KB | 167 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 34

HORN OF AFRICA

Tough Terms for a Divorce


Ethiopia's new rulers promise Eritrea the right to secede, but on
the ground, the pledge is illusory and the reality is far more
complex

By MARGUERITE MICHAELS/ASMARA


    The requisite niceties aside, it was not the friendliest
audience that Issaias Afewerki faced as he addressed his
partners in Ethiopia's new power elite last week. Many of the
others oppose his plan for Eritrean independence, preferring to
keep the coastal province firmly within Ethiopia. Issaias had
a message for them. "Forget history," he told the conference in
Addis Ababa. "Men make history, and we have made an independent
Eritrea."

    For the moment, his fellow leaders were willing to go
along. Under a charter adopted by the 81 delegates representing
24 different groups, the Eritreans, as well as any of
Ethiopia's dozens of other nationalities, will have the right
to self-determination and even secession. The delegates agreed
that in two years Eritreans would vote on whether to break away
from Ethiopia. Those who oppose the province's departure are
plainly hoping that by then independence will have lost its
allure. Within that time, they anticipate, the Eritrean
leadership will have failed to create a workable state.

    That may be wishful thinking. Ever since 1890, when Italy
officially colonized the province, Eritreans have considered
themselves more advanced than Ethiopians. Eritrean rebels began
fighting for independence in 1961 and since then have done an
impressive job of providing health care, education and other
services to rural areas under their control. Ethiopia's dilemma,
however, is acute: without Eritrea, the nation of 53 million has
no access to the sea.

    Much can happen in two years. In pursuing its separatist
aims, the Eritrean People's Liberation Front, which Issaias
heads, must not antagonize the newly installed government in
Addis Ababa, which replaced Mengistu Haile Mariam, the dictator
who was deposed in May. Nor can the front afford to alienate
the international community on which it depends for famine
relief and economic aid.

    Beyond that, the E.P.L.F. must convert itself from a rebel
army to a civilian government that can resuscitate a region
devastated by 30 years of war, a land where fields are barren
and industries are still. Otherwise the leadership risks a
split in the unity that has brought the independence movement
this far. As an Eritrean civil servant put it, "We have our
independence. That's good. Now, where are the jobs?"

    Despite such worries, the mood in the provincial capital
of Asmara, which was retaken by the front in May, is euphoric.
Colored lights and miniature blue, green and red E.P.L.F. flags
decorate National Avenue, the main thoroughfare. Streets are
filled at all hours with people strolling about, many of them
fighters promenading hand in hand with loved ones they have not
seen in many years. The Italian-style cafes are busy late into
the night. "Before, we lived like prisoners here," says Yohannes
Ande, owner of a small convenience store. "You couldn't say the
word Eritrea. You couldn't walk on the sidewalks because of the
sandbag bunkers the army put up on almost every corner. It was
a dark time. Now it's going to be good."

    That sentiment is not nearly as evident in the port city
of Massawa, which was bombed repeatedly by Mengistu's forces.
Few buildings remain whole. Children play in the rubble with
toys made from tank parts while abandoned Kalashnikovs rust in
the hot, humid air. "What are we free from?" complains Tirhas,
20, a teacher who would not give her full name.

    Already civilian workers are grumbling about Issaias'
decision to keep his 95,000-strong army intact to work in the
fields and factories and on reconstruction projects. "Great,"
says an Eritrean bureaucrat. "The volunteer army goes in, and
the salaried civilians go out."

    Eritrea's relations with the outside world are equally
unsteady. The province is almost completely closed off; no
commercial flights arrive or leave. The only telephone, telex
and radio communications possible are those that are routed
through the front. The group blames the cutoffs on technical
problems, but as time passes and no improvements are made, fewer
Ethiopians believe that. Instead, the isolation appears to be
part of a deliberate effort to assert Eritrea's independence.

    That impression is reinforced by the front's refusal to
allow foreign diplomats based in Addis Ababa to visit the
province. All international aid agencies with representatives
in Asmara have been told to sit tight while their contracts are
renegotiated; their employees are not permitted to travel or to
communicate with the outside world. Two weeks ago, without
explanation, the front threw out the team from the International
Committee of the Red Cross. "There is the feeling," said one aid
worker, "that anyone who worked with Mengistu's government is
the enemy."

    Although the E.P.L.F. has promised to allow the rest of
Ethiopia free access to the Eritrean port of Assab, which
normally handles 70% of Ethiopia's trade, about the only thing
now moving through it is food. A Shell Oil installation, which
is under the front's control, is sending only 10% of the usual
fuel supply to the rest of Ethiopia. Says a Western businessman
at the port: "There is the definite feeling of a squeeze play
here." Wary of the Eritreans, Ethiopian producers of coffee, the
country's biggest export, are not sending their goods to Assab.

    For now, the dependence is mutual. Upon assuming control,
Issaias was shocked to discover that the money he needed to pay
government workers was tied up in Addis Ababa banks; he is
currently negotiating to release it. The Eritreans depend on the
international community even more. "We need a massive aid
transfusion," says Girma Asmeron, chief of protocol for the
front. "If we don't get it, frankly, we're in trouble."

    Of course, Eritrea's new relationship with Addis Ababa and
the rest of the world may need some time to mature. Despite the
tensions between their two camps, Issaias still speaks by phone
every day to his old friend Meles Zenawi, leader of the reb el
group that took control of Addis Ababa and now head of
Ethiopia's provisional government. If a new multiparty
transitional government -- which was agreed upon last week --
approves, ties between Eritrea and the rest of the country will
be defined under an accord that calls for a mutual defense
agreement and joint consultative committees on issues of
security, economic affairs and the movement of people, goods and
services.

    The danger is that one side or the other will renege on
the delicate understanding that has been reached. The Eritreans
could simply declare independence without a plebiscite. Issaias
says he has received many petitions from his people to do so.
"We are free and we are independent," says Tekie Beyene, acting
head of the Eritrean Relief Association. "We don't need a
referendum to tell us that."

    After three decades of civil war, Ethiopians are not eager
to take up arms again, but many consider it an option for the
future. "We don't need more war just now, but perhaps in five
years we will go get Eritrea back," says a woman in Addis Ababa
who has already lost one son in the civil war. That ordinary
people are talking about sending their children off to war so
soon after the killing has stopped is a measure of how
precarious the situation remains.