admin
Brief intervention at the Eritrean Afar National Congress
By Dr. Tedros Amanuel
July 6, 2026
Dear sisters and brothers of the Eritrean Afar National Congress, and its President, my dear friend Ahmed Yosuf Mohammed,
It is an honour and a privilege to address you today.
As a member of the Swedish association The Friends of Afar, I have followed the Afar movement closely since early 2002. I still remember the historic meeting held in Sweden where Afar scholars and community leaders agreed upon the alphabet that remains the foundation of the written Afar language today. That milestone symbolized not only the preservation of a language but also the affirmation of a people’s identity and dignity.
Over the years, I have also followed the development of the Eritrean Afar National Congress with great interest. I commend your steadfast commitment to promoting a peaceful political alternative founded on democratic principles, federalism, and respect for the rich diversity of Eritrea. Your unwavering belief that justice, equality, and coexistence are compatible—and indeed essential for one another—is both courageous and inspiring.
I firmly believe that the interests of the peoples of the Horn of Africa are fundamentally shared rather than mutually exclusive. Sustainable peace cannot be built through military victory or domination. It can only emerge through dialogue, negotiation, cooperation, compromise, and a genuine commitment to addressing the underlying causes of conflict: injustice, poverty, exclusion, and ignorance.
Allow me to speak briefly from my own professional perspective.
I am a physician who has spent most of my professional life abroad. Today, I would like to raise two questions. I do not intend to answer them here; rather, I hope they will encourage reflection and discussion.
The history of the Horn of Africa over the past several centuries has been a history of repeated wars, armed conflicts, and political violence. Almost every generation, roughly every twenty-five years, has lived through one or more major conflicts. Consequently, nearly every family in our region has, directly or indirectly, become a victim of war.
As physicians know, exposure to war and violence leaves more than physical scars. A substantial proportion of survivors develop symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), often carrying invisible wounds for decades. Trauma is transmitted not only through memory but also through families, communities, and institutions.
This brings me to my first question:
What has been the cumulative impact of centuries of recurring wars and collective trauma on our societies?
Have we sufficiently considered how widespread psychological trauma influences political culture, leadership, trust, and our capacity to resolve conflicts peacefully?
Could our recurring inability to settle disagreements through dialogue—and our repeated tendency to embrace politics driven by fear, mistrust, and hostility towards those who are different—be, at least in part, a consequence of unresolved trauma? Have we, without fully realizing it, become societies where collective PTSD shapes not only individual behaviour but also our political institutions and national narratives?
Everything has a beginning, a continuation, and eventually an end. The current regime in Eritrea will also come to an end, just as the regimes of Emperor Haile Selassie, the Derg, and the TPLF-led government eventually came to an end.
Yet history teaches us a sobering lesson: the fall of a regime does not automatically bring peace.
One government may disappear, but unless the deeper wounds of society are healed, conflict simply changes its form.
The fundamental issues of truth, accountability, justice, forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing have too often been postponed or ignored. Without confronting these questions honestly, no society can build lasting peace.
True reconciliation requires more than political agreements. It demands acknowledgement of suffering, accountability for injustice, and restorative justice for all victims—particularly those belonging to Eritrea’s marginalized and historically neglected communities. The objective should be not only to restore the dignity of those who have suffered, but also to create conditions in which those who committed abuses can accept responsibility, be rehabilitated, and become participants in building a peaceful society.
This leads me to my second question:
To what extent is unresolved trauma—manifested as PTSD at both the individual and societal levels—preventing our societies from breaking free from the cycle of violence and finding a sustainable path towards peace, democracy, and reconciliation?
As a physician, I have learned that no wound heals simply because time passes. Healing begins only when the wound is recognized, cleaned, treated, and allowed to recover. I believe the same is true for nations.
If Eritrea is to become a country where all its peoples live together in dignity, equality, and mutual respect, political change alone will not be enough. We must also heal the psychological and moral wounds left by decades of war, repression, and mistrust.
Perhaps our greatest challenge is not only to change governments, but to transform the way we relate to one another as fellow citizens.
Only then can we replace fear with trust, hatred with understanding, and conflict with peaceful coexistence.
