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Branna
Clinging to the past, romantically invoking, whenever faced with real life challenges, a supposedly perfect earlier period in one’s history, is a well-known symptom. Confronted with complex present-day realities and a less-than-certain future, political parties, religious groups, or individuals occasionally resort to past glory as their hoped-for saviour. The past’s alleged virtues are quixotically appealed to as the panacea for today’s ills. Any past can, no doubt, harbour many useful lessons. It can be a source of inspiration and wisdom. However, treating ‘the past’ as one’s indisputable, cure-all solution and guiding light is a malady. It is a malady symptomatic of ailing, hopelessly out of date organisations. “Terminally Archaic PFDJ” The fact that the terminally archaic PFDJ has caught the disease, therefore, would not come as a surprise. It has been some years now since the onset of the illness that continues to afflict PFDJ’s crumbling body and haunt its troubled soul. In the state of delirium triggered by the deadly disorder, all contemporary challenges are conveniently explained as consequences of ‘our deviation from the values of old-day Shaebia’. Our economic woes are a direct result of our compromise on the principle of self-reliance (or the Spartan version of self-reliance, anyway) and our allowing private businesses even the narrowest of margins in the economy; none of the political and diplomatic flops of recent years would have been possible had we not trusted the international community; our military failures are caused by the erosion of discipline and the spirit of selflessness among the young. If only we could stick to the puritan values of The deeper the PFDJ regime sunk into the abyss of its own failure and irrelevance, the more frantic became its attempts to latch on to the glory of the past. That’s how we came to witness, at the age of globalisation and the information superhighway, these hysterical attempts to breathe life into such outdated ideas as a ‘cadre school’ for political indoctrination. That is why people like Ahferom Tewelde are burdened with the unenviable task of lecturing bored young audiences about the heroic exploits of life in Mieda. In the same vein come those most bizarre Independence-day shows and parades put up by Ibrahim Akla, Solomon Drar and their friends in ‘Bahlawi Gudayat’ – shows and parades full of dancing tortoises, bees and wasps, weeping lizards and hyenas, and embellished with North Korean antics. Political Fundamentalism ‘Kbrtatna yteAkeb’ (preserving our values) proclaims the new slogan - masking a deep yearning for regressing to the past. A gasping call that only dying organisations are capable of producing. In the realm of religion, the belief in the absolute and inflexible interpretation of scripture, in the categorical and automatic applicability of every detail of ancient religious law to all times and circumstances, the conviction that one ought to live one’s life strictly according to how one’s religious forefathers lived their lives, is called fundamentalism. Fundamentalism may be quite harmless as long as it is practiced in the confines of the personal life of its adherent. Trying to impose the strict values on society at large is the problem. At a certain metaphysical level, PFDJ’s diehard, backward-looking dogma is not unlike the above-described outlook. Indeed, this is PFDJ’s own version of political fundamentalism. In its extreme form, this mentality manifests itself in the cynically ruthless resolve by PFDJ leaders to reduce Reviving The Formula of “ The decision to revive the ‘cadre school’, therefore, came a couple of years ago amid this retrospective frenzy. The two first sessions of political indoctrination took place in 2004 in Sawa. Nomination to participate in one of these ‘political education’ classes sends mixed signals. Whereas, officially, the selection is supposed to conjure a sense of apparent responsibility, the real (underlying) message, that is communicated only through whispers, is that the candidate was, in fact, being sent for ‘political re-education’, implying the need for firming-up a shaky loyalty to the PFDJ. Kind of ‘Tehadso”. The syllabus is, by now, a well-known routine. Zemehret sets the tone and provides the bulk of ‘theory’ and ‘analysis’: how the EPLF successfully, against all odds, fought ‘internal and external adversaries’, how it dealt with ‘reactionary’ and ‘anarchist’ forces, and so forth. He then uses this wonderfully constructed ‘analytical framework’ to examine current affairs. If only we could have the patience to carefully scrutinise our present-day challenges in the light of our history, then everything should be understandable. All pieces of the puzzle would beautifully and neatly fall in place. If we only have the wisdom to put our trust in our seasoned leadership, it will, as it did in the past, steer us through current troubles to safety and deliver the promised economic prosperity. Others show up, each monotonously reciting familiar discourses, on foreign policy (as if there is one!), our military strategy (do I need to say anything?), our internal unity and, finally, the economic miracles of yesteryears (Kisha). The discussion then touches on issues of the press and how the good intentions of the government were abused by irresponsible journalists. This topic is particularly harped on as an irrefutable evidence of the wisdom of the government’s advocacy for a ‘slow and cautious approach’. Here several hands would be raised from among the audience, in an apparently staged performance, to question the very tents of a pluralistic political system. “Ezi zeben amSe’o flsfnnatat nai beHaqi neAna yTeqmena dyu?” [Do we really need these fashionable philosophies?], snaps one of the actor-participants, to be promptly echoed from the other corner: “kdmi Hji ze’ewetena tewefainetn, sraHn, wennani nSur ra’ey zkhone mkurn meriHnetnan yu. Hji wn ezi Trai yu k’Ewitena zkh’el.” [The secret of our success, in the past, was our dedication, our hard work and our experienced, visionary leadership. This is what we need now more than ever.] And the issue would be conveniently put to rest after taking due note of the ‘resounding wish of the participants’ (read Eritrean people) not to entertain any recourse to multi-party politics or any of the ‘untimely’ and ‘disruptive’ luxuries such as press freedom. The last day of lecturing is always preserved for Issayas. Attendants are always struck by his unsmiling, stern face and his grumpy, irritable mood. As if he had a quarrel with each one in the audience. Dictatorofthemonth.com, which selected Issayas as its December choice, uses charisma, danger, oppression, longevity, economic, notoriety, extremism, progressiveness to make its assessment. Perhaps it should create a scale for long speech addiction, an affliction that Ceausescu, Menghistu and current record holder, Castro, suffered from. Gedab News correctly described the last meeting of Issayas telling his audience: “I don’t want to make lengthy speeches”, but then, nonetheless, rumbling on for over two hours. This is another evidence of his improving score in the scale of Dictators with Extraordinary Ability of Making Long Speeches. Regarding his “Timali Shaebia, lomi Shaebia, tsibah Shaebia!” subject that Gedab News reported, I was told a joke by one participant who mused that, in retrospect, there was no need for Issayas to interrupt his busy schedule and come all the way to Nakfa to deliver his famous line. “He could have simply delegated Khedija Ademmai to entertain the gathering: malë Shaebia, wo yom Shaebia, wefejir Shaebia.” The spirit of the Nakfa political education courses, especially in relation to the economy, is well captured in a recent quote by no one other than Major General Wuchu, who declared that: “Ezom doquatr ye brofssor ye ms meSu yom teremmisu ezi kuTebana!” [Our economy started to suffer when these so-called PhDs and Professors arrived.] Postscript As this edition of Word for Word was bound for the press, one last item arrived on my desk. … Enjoy: In its last meeting (11-14 October), the PFDJ cabinet of Ministers witnessed an interesting verbal scuffle between two of its members. The protagonists were Berhane Abrehe, the Finance Minister, and Ali Abdu, Acting Minister of Information. Mr. Berhane complained about a lack of budgetary discipline in many ministries, but most notably, in the Ministry of Information. He particularly expressed misgivings against Mr. Ali’s regular practice of short-circuiting his (Berhane’s) ministry, making use of his direct access to the President’s Office to secure out-of-the-ordinary budget approvals. This triggered an angry response by Mr. Ali and a heated exchange followed. The chair (unelected president Issayas), who always makes sure that a certain level of mistrust exists between any two of his senior officials, seemed to be amused by the squabble. After listening for a while, he had to intervene and "admonish" them: “bejakhum’ski quoiqi gdefu!” [please refrain from bickering!] |
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