I run into this very sad story on some news website and my heart sunk.
.
A few weeks ago, a 37 year old Eritrean mother of two young girls (ages 8 and 10) was attempting to illegally cross the border from Egypt into Israel. According to the news report, when the Egyptian border guards caught up with her, she was struggling to jump over the fence when they shot her dead. Ostensibly, her two daughters witnessed this tragedy.
For a brief moment, I tried to picture her desperation in the final few moments as she tried to frantically grab the barbed wire fence – her young girls screaming in terror and the guards shouting their orders. You can almost feel the desert sand billowing around the poor Eritrean mother and her life flashing before her eyes. If she could only make it to the other side of the fence. She probably cursed the day she decided to take this lethal route. Perhaps she felt it was safer than trekking the Sahara to Libya only to be faced with the mighty Mediterranean Sea. What would happen to her girls? She had to take this last ditch effort to cross the fence and make it into the Promised Land. Sadly, that would be the miserable Gaza Strip but it would get her closer to her destination. They wouldn’t shoot an unarmed lady in the back, would they? Yes they would -and they did.
She died of gun shot wounds to the head and chest according to the reports. Another Eritrean blood spilled unnecessarily in the middle of some God forsaken land…and my heart sunk.
The day I read the story was March 8th – International Women’s Day – an occasion that is also observed in Eritrea to advance the status of women and celebrate their prowess and dignity. On this day, a lot Eritreans who live within Eritrea and throughout the world would pay homage to Eritrean women by reciting stories, songs and patriotic poems. But, hundreds of heartbreaking stories such as this poor mother’s, who was trying to seek a life of hope elsewhere because she couldn’t find it at home, are shoved under the rug.
It seems no one wants to deal with the harsh realities Eritrean citizens find themselves these days. We are witnessing unprecedented level of suffering, loss of dignity and denial of self respect. Too many awful stories have desensitized us. Someone arrested, someone escaped, someone tortured, someone kidnapped and another drowned, disappeared, killed –and hope dies each day. And tomorrow? Just another pathetic continuation of today. So, we escape.
Escape to yesteryear to find something - anything – that would remind us that not so long ago, there was indeed a period where our stories stood for perseverance and yes, even liberty. Escape to the shouting match of pointing fingers at those we blame. Escape to the blissful denial of reality and pretend that everything is going to be alright. But there is no escape, is there? No, not even when we tell ourselves that, there but for the Grace of God, goes I. At least I made it. At least my cousin made it. Yet, no reprieve to be found in escape. How do you outrun your own shadow? Back to reality.
In realityland, our Eritrean identity, which was once a badge of honor, is slowly waning away. Liberators have turned into brutes. Heroes have been labeled cowards. Cowards are preying on the powerless. The brave have been muted, the able muzzled. Intelligence has been overridden by slick maneuvers. The unenlightened are lecturing and lapdogs are the new patriots. What was up, is now down. The result? A nation gripped with fear, witch-hunt, corruption, paranoia and panic. zebene wra wra nebsKa aytEbra. And the minute they get the chance, a lot of people runaway, escape.
They escape away from being locked-up in metal containers; they escape being exposed to torture techniques that are quickly becoming synonymous with the nation. Somali civil war, Ethiopian hunger, Eritrean helicopter torture. They also escape hopelessness, deprivation of dignity and the lack of simple freedoms –like moving about without menqesaqesi. They know that somewhere beyond the horizon, there are places on the face of God’s earth where they can once again live without looking over their shoulders. There are indeed places where individual liberty is not considered unreasonable selfish desire. Life is about living, so they choose to live. Tolerance, endurance, sacrifice and martyrdom. But, how do you ask someone to give, give and give without depleting them in the process? Everything has a limit.
And all that pain and suffering for what?
So that a power drunk dictator could continue his disastrous adventure? So that one can enable a system that has made life unbearable for most of its citizens? So that justice can forever be postponed? Get free or die trying seems to be the new motto. They don’t see themselves as just as some small tentacles of a giant organism. Autonomous organisms as they are, they keep trying and they keep dying. Undignified humiliating death. Playing Russian roulette with one’s one and only life, for a chance to get a little more living.
When the news makes it to our eyes and ears it is usually in the geo political or socio economic context. How this news must be embarrassing to the Eritrean government; whether they were running away from political persecution or toward economic freedom; or who is to blame? “The countries that are granting them asylum”, says the audacious Isaias Afewerki. He recommends a revolving door for those who escape his dungeons. Asmara, Sawa, shipping container, Sudan, Libya, Malta, Asmara... He wants that conveyor belt to play in a loop mode. PFDJ apologists trace the fault line all the way to Addis Ababa. “Look what the demented Weyane made our benevolent Lion of Nakfa do to his own people?” they ask. “It is their fault! werar weyane, border demarcation, CIA conspiracy, economic stagnation, belt tightening, inflation.” And in the midst of this plethora, we forget that yet another one of us, a once living-breathing mother of two, just fell victim to this craze.
The poor soul is now gone, but very likely leaves behind a sorrow stricken family, relatives and friends. But what is the role of the nation whose citizenship the young mother was blessed with? Or is it cursed with the burden of? What is happening to our collective psyche? Seventeen years after the end of a thirty year war the simple sense of normalcy still eludes us. Every time we are dealt with a blow like this, we bow and shake our heads in somber thoughts or even shame. Then the arguments and debates continue but when it comes to discussing the victims we seem to stop at a safe level –lest we turn the subject matter about civil rights and individual liberties to real-life civilians and individuals. This very reluctance to talk about individual cases is greatly contributing to the desensitization. We hear about the victimization of our fellow countrymen and women, but so long as they remain nameless and faceless, we remain less outraged.
But regardless of our reaction to them, they remain individuals. Bleeding, weeping, begging, pleading and praying individually. The excuses, rationalizations and apologetic posturing continue but looking in the mirror is getting harder and harder to do these days. No matter who is doing the looking –victims, enablers, activists, casual observers and even the victimizers themselves. As a victim of the system it must be so disappointing to see your fellow citizens frozen in their track and doing essentially nothing to aid you. For those of you who are still part of or supporting the PFDJ regime, it is hard to imagine how your head manages to win over your heart each and every day. And those of us, who could have and should be doing our utmost to shorten your influence in these miserable times, we are as equally disappointed. So, there you have it –a nation of hapless victims, vicious villains, reluctant heroes and the silent-by-choice majority. We can’t look in the mirror or at each other, so for now the remaining best option is to run, help others run or escape every which way –if you can.
This discussion is not about the cause but the effect of our predicament. We may agree to disagree whether the chicken or the egg came first. But when you are dealing with lost chicken and broken eggs, the issue become a moot point, doesn’t it? As citizens of a small nation with very similar dreams and aspirations for our country, we are all more intertwined than we care to admit to each other.
I do not know the name or identity of the young lady whose life was so tragically taken away, but I can almost bet if we start to ask 3 – 4 questions about her identity we would know her, her parents, her friends, her past and her dreams. May be that is where the reluctance-to-get-to-know-the-victims comes in…Who wants to feel even more anguish than we are feeling now? Our anger might engulf and cause us to take action, heh? But then again, instead of retreating back to the safe camp of empathic observers may be anger is what we all ought to feel. Anger! Outrage! Fury!
Angry at whom you ask? Does it matter, really? I think we are at a point where we all should be shouting “somebody, anybody please do something!” However, it would be more effective if the appeal is directed at those who possess the power to change things. May be it is the PFDJ government. May be it the opposition leaders. May be it is the international community. May be it is you and I.
Granted, several heroic citizens are already doing their part. But where is the public rage? Why is it so easy to holler about an arbitrary and imaginary borderline between two nations but not about your friends’, relatives’ and compatriots’ lives?
Speaking of Egypt…they were rioting a few days ago because the price of bread increased a little bit. What does that say about us Eritreans? There is no bread to be had and our mothers are hauled away and held hostage for ransom money to be blackmailed from their children who’ve escaped –if they’re lucky enough to dodge the bullets of those border guards.
If there is a human misery index somewhere, Eritreans would probably win the contest for being able to endure the most misery without so much as a beep. Is this something we should be proud of or be ashamed about? But outbursts and reactions have their own way of revealing themselves. Don’t get mad, run away! And for Eritreans there are now more inventive ways of escaping PFDJ’s Eritrea than Bubba has shrimp dishes.
Right now, almost the entire nation is gripped with masterminding ways of sneaking out of the country in any manner that is available. Legal, illegal, semi-legal, outrageously dangerous. But the aim is the same. Act before the latest loophole is closed. An act to save thy self, for everybody’s doing the same. Nobody wants to be somebody else’s sucker. Why spend your formative years digging ditches or wait for the next round of a foolish war when you can abandon your post, cross the border and see what fate has in store for you?
It makes you want to pause and ask how we got here in the first place. But no one has time for that circular argument. The human cost of our suffering keeps rising and we seem to be ready to pay it in quest of our exodus.
So the clandestine discussions continue. Whispers over international phone lines, emails with coded messages, chat room strategies, forged documents, bribed officials, Western Union money transfers. Small rewards and tremendous risks. Anything goes –except staying in Eritrea under PFDJ rule and taking your chances. A brave new world brought to us by our unenlightened self proclaimed leaders. All we have to do is do nothing, they say. Let’s tighten our belts and this too shall pass, we are told. Well, no it won’t! Not when you have the belt tied around your people’s neck. Keep tightening it and the only things that will pass are the people’s lives. But only the mentally blind could not have foreseen this disaster.
In the meantime, the escape stories get worse and worse. We heard them all, but some of them just make you cringe. Like that of one guy who managed to place himself in a large shipping box (a TV cardboard box claims the unconfirmed but very probable story), and with the aid of some UN workers crossed the border in a UNMEE van heading to the town of Adi Grat in Ethiopia. Aha! …a freebie line for government supporters. “Corrupt UN soldiers corrupting our naive youth as part of the vilification campaign against our self-reliant government.” Yadda, yadda, yadda... Dishonest lines of arguments from dishonest people. Personally, I can’t seem to get over it. What just happened here? An Eritrean shipping himself in a box to Adi Grat?! If we had free and independent newspapers that would have been a leading front page news. But then again, had we had free and independent media, there would not be a need to ship oneself to Adi Grat, is there? Oh well, may be I will get over it…but not without congratulating our supreme leader, Isaias Afewerki. Congratulations sir, for taking the country to this new low. It is this kind of enviable deeds that continue to earn you a spot in Parade Magazine’s list of “World’s Worst Dictators”. Number 13 out 70 this year. Not bad. Your supporter should be so proud.
In the meantime the exodus continues and until they reach their respective destinations and seek refuge in places of human decency, Eritrean citizens from every walk of life will continue to pay a hefty price along the way.
Today, a Toyota pickup truck will be on its way to Libya from Northwestern Sudan. The drivers will be armed Bedouin human traffickers, the cargo young Eritrean men, women and even children. The poor souls will be suffering from hunger, motion sickness, thirst and the unbearable sun. After several hours a young man is accidentally tipped to the side and falls overboard. With a broken bone or two, he doesn’t manage to get up but screams for help. So do his fellow passengers by heavily knocking on the cabin and begging the driver to stop. But the driver doesn’t stop. Instead, a gun is pointed at them by one of his partners. The stunned passengers must decide between getting shot in the middle of the desert or abandoning their fellow injured Eritrean. With the odds stuck against them, they sit back and pray no one else falls overboard again…
Tonight, a small canoe will be crossing the Coco River on the border separating Nicaragua and Honduras. Contraband goods, illegal drugs and a few Eritrean refugees hoping to migrate to the United State will be among its load. The old man piloting the canoe is said to be very familiar with the area and trustworthy. But as luck would have it, he notices a border patrol boat and starts to panic. He sharply turns his vessel and attempts to escape. The canoe capsizes and dumps everything into the cold, dark river. With nothing to grab on and not knowing how to swim, the poor Eritrean dreamers will drown to the bottom of a river they never heard of and no one will ever know what happened to them…
Thoughts of constitutional governance, rule of law and freedom of expression come to mind. One wonders if we are now paying the human cost of the wanton militarization of an entire population. It makes us ponder if the closing of the only university somehow leads to this catastrophe. But that would require thinking and we have no time for that. We are too busy drowning...
Tomorrow, it will be about a young Eritrean man suffering in a maximum security prison in Thailand. Lured by the possibility of applying for asylum in Britain, he pays for an illegal route. His handlers have arranged for him to travel through Thailand first. His fake passport gives him away and he lands in jail. He tries to tell his story but he is suspected of being a mastermind Nigerian ring leader and illegal diamond trafficker. No passport, no id card and no diplomats to come to his aid. A quick trial and an even quicker sentence. Instead of attending a university in England as he had hoped, he now has to live with murderers and rapists. He contemplates suicide…
Could there have been a better way of pursuing higher education? Or is it each according to his luck?
Unless something is done and soon it just will get worse because the next day, and the day after that, will have their own load of bad news.
The day after tomorrow, just spin your office globe and zoom in into a safe house in Southern Texas. There you will find a scared and desperate young Eritrean woman. The safe house is a hiding place used by Mexican human traffickers. Coyotes, they call them. They use it as a waiting place until they collect their money from relatives of the migrants whom they helped cross the border. The trouble arises when they don’t get their money. The Eritrean lost the phone numbers of her relatives and she could not get in touch with them. After a few days, the Coyotes suspect that it may be a ploy not to give them their money. They up the ante by blindfolding her and driving her into the nearby bushes. There, they point their guns and threaten to blow her head off if she doesn’t make her relatives pay. She begs to be released or even sent back to Mexico. They have to decide whether she is worth the risk…
There is no escape in escape. We can run away but not hide from our problems. It’s time to confront them and those who are perpetuating them. There is a risk in doing so but not as high a risk as we are already willing to take.
In the meantime, to our fellow Eritreans who are in all sorts of limbo, literally roaming the earth, looking for a safe haven –may you reach your destination safe and sound. Bon voyage. megdi selam ygbrelkum.
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