TIME: Almanac 1990s

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<text id=91TT1540> <title> July 15, 1991: Africa:Tough Terms for a Divorce </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991 July 15, 1991 Misleading Labels </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> WORLD, Page 34 HORN OF AFRICA Tough Terms for a Divorce </hdr><body> 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. </body></article> </text>