The Economist
February 16, 2013
DURING his
two decades running Ethiopia, Meles Zenawi almost single-handedly engineered
its rise from lost cause to model pupil. Even his enemies admit he was both
popular and competent. Often working around the clock, he could make complex
policy choices and then explain them to ordinary people. He planned
meticulously for everything—from road building to oppressing the
opposition—except, that is, for his own demise.
It came six
months ago on August 20th, following illness at the age of 57, and left the
state reeling. Meles, as he is known, had grabbed so much power that many
feared his death would spark political chaos and an economic downturn. He alone
had the trust of the soldiers, the financiers, the Ethiopian people and the
West.
But the
transition to a new prime minister, Hailemariam Desalegn, has gone smoothly.
The streets of Addis Ababa, the capital, have seen no unrest and the ruling
Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) suffered no
defections. A few audible grumbles were swiftly silenced. Rioting Muslims were
beaten back. A minister was fired as were four regional officials in events
that may or may not be related to the leadership change. Jockeying among the
elite has been kept behind firmly closed doors. In public it espouses business
as usual.
Instead of
chaos, an eerie calm now hangs over the country. The old guard that once
surrounded Meles, who hailed from the northern region of Tigray, remains in
power. Winners of a 1980s civil war that toppled the dictator Mengistu Haile
Mariam, the Tigrayans have held on to top security jobs. Meles’s widow, Azeb
Mesfin, who for a few months refused to move out of the prime ministerial palace,
still controls a state-affiliated conglomerate, EFFORT. The number of Tigrayans
in the cabinet has shrunk but key posts remain in the hands of ageing
loyalists, many of whom fought alongside Meles. Talk of “generational change”
over the past few years was seemingly a charade.
One of the
few exceptions is the relatively young prime minister, Mr Desalegn. The
47-year-old is an articulate and experienced administrator as well as a former
water engineer who studied in Finland. But he lacks his predecessor’s charisma
and shrewd policy instincts. Though a former deputy prime minister (and former
foreign minister) he is not an insider. He is a Protestant in a predominantly
Orthodox Christian nation (his first name means “the power of Mary”). He is
also an ethnic Wolaytan in a government dominated by Tigrayans. Meles, his
mentor, may have chosen him for that reason, either to weaken ethnic divisions
or perhaps to guarantee that ultimate power remains with his northern
brothers-in-arms.
As the new
chairman of the EPRDF, Mr Desalegn may eventually attain sufficient control to
reshape the ruling party, but only if he survives long enough. For the moment
he seems to have little room to manoeuvre, lacking his own power base in the
security forces. He has publicly pledged to continue his predecessor’s work
“without any changes”.
Those who
know him say he is more comfortable with capitalism than many of the leftists
around him. He was never a Marxist, but nor does he have an alternative vision
for the country. Few Ethiopians know his name, though he does well
internationally; he was recently elected chairman of the African Union. “We
want him to be a leader not a follower,” says a progressive Ethiopian who
occasionally meets him, but doubts his authority.
In his
first six months in power, the prime minister has announced few new policies.
Reform efforts are frozen. Economic liberalisation has been postponed at least
until after elections in 2015. Party leaders seem unsure how to survive without
Meles. They govern on autopilot, following the blueprints he left behind.
Conformity of thought is common and new ideas are seemingly unwelcome.
Meles was
so central to the Ethiopian state that his followers are trying to keep him
alive with a Mao-style cult of personality. Even months after his death, Addis
Ababa is still plastered with bereavement posters. They cover entire sides of
buildings and run for hundreds of metres along fences. Banners declare “we will
continue your work” and “we will never forget you”. The body of the former
prime minister is buried under a tall granite arch next to Holy Trinity
Cathedral where Haile Selassie, the last Ethiopian emperor, is entombed. New
propaganda tracts depict Meles as a selfless leader who sacrificed his life for
his country. His party is trying to wring as much legitimacy as possible from
his legacy. It may be too early to speak of a post-Meles era—even in death he
is the country’s most visible politician.
The future
could yet be difficult. Without the former prime minister’s zeal, authority and
attention to detail, the system he created could founder. Vested interests once
kept at bay may reassert themselves. Reform projects could not just stall but
break down irreparably. The fight against corruption and for economic progress
will slow. Officialdom is already adrift, unsure of which way to turn. Only
when the grizzled Tigrayan bosses at last step down might a new generation of
leaders return to the ambitious experimentation that was an essential
ingredient in Meles’s success. A move to genuine democracy, which he talked
about but never dared to try, remains far off.
Ethiopia’s
leaders are confused. They hail Meles as their country’s uniquely brilliant
leader but act as if they can govern just as he did.
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