Smaller U.S. Presence May Be the Answer

Just as the Clinton administration, led by U.N. Ambassador Richard C. Holbrooke, is seeking to expand U.S. involvement in Congo and Sierra Leone, a nasty little border war between Ethiopia and Eritrea is again demonstrating the limits of U.S. power in Africa. Despite supposedly having close relations with the governments in both Addis Ababa and Asmara, whose leadership the administration once praised as a model for Africa, the United States has been unable to stop a war that has cost the lives of more than 100,000 soldiers and displaced as many as 500,000 civilians. Talks now underway in Algiers may produce a cease-fire agreement, but its terms are likely to do nothing more than ratify the results of Ethiopia’ recent military successes.

Before rushing to take on new burdens in Africa, U.S. policymakers should take a closer look at the roots of their failure in the Horn of Africa, which also includes Somalia, Sudan and Djibouti. They may discover, paradoxically, that the best thing the United States can do to foster political stability in Africa is to reduce its traditional diplomatic activity on the continent. The problem is, no matter how well-intentioned, U.S. diplomacy almost invariably ends up strengthening leaders and governments that become the main causes of the continent’s woes. This has long been the case in the Horn.

During the Cold War, the United States and the Soviet Union poured money and arms into the Horn. They supported tyrants in Ethiopia and Somalia who largely destroyed their countries. When the Cold War ended, the superpowers abandoned their clients, and they quickly collapsed. But U.S. diplomatic withdrawal was short-lived.

In the spring of 1991, as rebel forces prepared to capture Addis Ababa, the Bush administration took it upon itself to midwife the birth of a new Ethiopian government. U.S. intervention prevented Ethiopia from disintegrating, as Somalia had done following the overthrow of Mohamed Siad Barre. It smoothed the way for Eritrea to gain its independence from Ethiopia following a referendum in 1993. But, as recent events demonstrate, it hasn’t brought lasting peace to the region.

To achieve its immediate objectives, the Bush administration embraced a government in Addis Ababa that was dominated by Meles Zenawi and the Tigre People’s Liberation Front, a rebel group from the north representing about 17% of Ethiopia’s population. It didn’t have much choice. Meles and the TPLF, which U.S. officials had previously dismissed as Marxist extremists, would have seized power regardless of what the United States did. But Washington could have distanced itself from the new government. Instead, it became its mentor, patron and partner.

The Clinton administration continued this policy with a vengeance: It accepted not only Meles’ government but also that of Isaias Afwerki in Eritrea. It did so, in part, because the administration became convinced, in the wake of the debacle in Somalia and the tragedy in Rwanda, that the best way to manage African conflicts was to work through regional partners with strong armies. Eritrea was also willing to collaborate with U.S. efforts to counter the radical Islamic government in Sudan.

There was a price to be paid for working closely with the two African governments. Neither government was particularly democratic or inclusive, and each was determined to pursue its own national and regional objectives regardless of what Washington said.

The current border war is the result of deep-seated national antagonisms and conflicting economic interests. Eritreans, who fought for their independence from Ethiopia for more than a quarter-century, are resentful of Ethiopian imperial dominance. At the same time, the government in Addis Ababa, like its predecessors, has been extremely protective of Ethiopia’s territorial boundaries and its need for secure access to the sea. Moreover, given the history of the political parties that lead both governments--both are formerly Marxist and both spent long years fighting wars without any substantial foreign support--it’s no surprise that neither sees itself nor acts as a U.S. client.

The experience in Ethiopia and Eritrea is a familiar one: To gain influence, U.S. policymakers supported questionable governments. In some cases, they did so out of a belief that it was the best way to bring about economic and political reforms. But in many other cases, the real concern was to preserve a military or political relationship. But engagement, whatever form it takes, almost always strengthens suspect regimes and eventually erodes U.S. influence.

Rushing to embrace a new government too quickly, as Washington did in Ethiopia and Eritrea, reduces pressure on it to make the kinds of economic and political changes necessary to survive over the long term. Moreover, as the new government becomes more secure, it’s less responsive to external influence.

The two countries that matter most in Africa are South Africa and Nigeria. The governments of Olusegun Obasanjo in Nigeria and Thabo Mbeki in South Africa are very different from those in Ethiopia and Eritrea. Both came to power as a result of democratic elections, and both are generally well-respected around the world. But even in Nigeria and South Africa, the United States may be too eagerly embracing the governments in power.

Although it is politically incorrect to say so, the long-term prospects for both South Africa and Nigeria are uncertain. Obasanjo and Mbeki have done much that deserves to be praised, but their real challenges lie ahead. The question for U.S. policymakers is whether extensive diplomatic engagement is the best way to encourage and enable these leaders to develop and democratize their countries.

Part of the problem is that U.S. policymakers tend to view U.S. relations with African countries as either-or propositions: Either a country is important, in which case, Washington diplomatically engages it, or it is not, in which case, it is ignored. But the alternative to engagement isn’t isolation and ostracism.

Instead, in almost all cases, the best policy would be detached observation, straight talk and skeptical support. Most important, U.S. policymakers should never forget that Washington’s ability to influence the direction of African countries is extremely limited, and that lasting changes will occur in Africa only if and when African leaders democratize their political systems, reform their economies and stop fighting wars. Paradoxically, this kind of hard-headed pragmatism is exactly how Mbeki and Obasanjo--and Meles and Afwerki--view the world. They understand that, as the old cliche goes, countries don’t have permanent friends, they only have permanent interests.

The U.S. message to all African countries should be that, despite the rhetoric of growing U.S. concern for Africa, U.S. interests--and interest--in the continent remain too insubstantial to support a policy that might make a real difference. Therefore, for better and worse, Africa and Africans are basically on their own. Ironically, if the U.S. were more honest about its interests in and role on the continent, it might cause African leaders and their supporters to listen. *