The Resurgence of Religious and Ethnic Identities among Eritrean Refugees: A Response to the Government’s Nationalist Ideology

Abstract

This article explores processes of identity formation in Eritrean diaspora communities that have reverted to subnational patterns of identification grounded in the historical-political crises of their homeland. Refugees from Eritrea’s open-ended national service have ambivalent feelings towards their national identity: on the surface, they stress the cohesiveness of the Eritrean people, but in their daily lives they embrace ethnic or religious communities. I elaborate the dilemmas of identity formation in the transnational space between religious and ethnic affiliations and Eritrean nationalism. I analyse the expansion of ethnolinguistic and regional associations among diaspora communities and discuss their impact on identity formation. I link cleavages along ethnic and religious lines to collective memories and the government’s attempts to eradicate subnational identities. The study is based on long-term participant observation and semi-structured interviews with Eritreans in exile, and engages with relevant bodies of literature discussing identity formation in African and diaspora contexts.

Introduction

This article explores the interplay of identity formation and political resistance within the Eritrean diaspora in a highly authoritarian transnational setting. Eritrea is a diasporic state with about half of its population living in exile. ¹ The diaspora communities from the time of the independence struggle from 1961 to 1991 have been joined by growing numbers of refugees in recent years, with Eritrean communities abroad characterised by cleavages, political disagreements, and mutual mistrust. I seek to answer the question of why grassroots, subnational civic and cultural associations are becoming stronger among Eritrean diaspora communities compared to the transnational organisations established by the Eritrean government itself, and why they are specifically attracting newly arriving refugees.

My aim is to narrow the research gap concerning the question of how refugees adapt their identities to their new environments and avoid being appropriated by the transnational institutions of the Eritrean regime, which promote a common national identity (Anderson, 2006) through cultural events and political education so as to exert transnational control over diaspora and refugee communities (Al-Ali et al., 2001; Hirt and Mohammad, 2018). In order to understand identity formation in the Eritrean context, I engage with the existing literature discussing the emergence of nationalism in the Horn of Africa and specifically in Eritrea (Conrad, 2006; Mohammad, 2014; Rich Dorman, 2005). I also revisit the literature exploring conflict-generated transnational diaspora communities and their search for ethnic-based identities in the Horn (Arnone, 2008; Belloni, 2019; Campbell and Afework, 2015; Conrad, 2005; Redeker Hepner, 2003, 2014, 2015; Lyons, 2009; Redeker Hepner, 2008; Thompson, 2018) and elsewhere (Calhoun, 2014; Jacobson, 1997). I take into consideration that ethnic- and religious-based identities are strengthened using social media as a public sphere that facilitates the exchange of ideas and the maintenance of transnational networks (Afeworki, 2018; Bernal, 2006).

Furthermore, this article seeks to analyse how ethnic and religious identities are reflected in the formation of civic associations and networks among Eritrean diaspora and refugee communities in Norway, Sweden, and Germany, focusing on three non-political and non-profit associations: namely, the Eritrean Lowland League (ELL), a charity organisation, the Jeberti Family Association, and the Saho Language and Cultural Association. The aim of these associations is to preserve their members’ ethnic, religious, and cultural identities in their respective host countries – which provide a hospitable environment for civic organisations, unlike the Eritrean homeland. They stand for fostering family values, for preserving their mother tongues and cultural heritage, and they strive to safeguard their members’ cultural identities in Europe. Accordingly, these solidarity associations provide social spaces for their members to express their commonness and to transmit narratives of their cultural history. In addition, they maintain global networks and raise funds for their kinfolk who are living in poor conditions in refugee camps in Sudan, Ethiopia, and Yemen.

My research is informed by long-term participant observation and is based on an empirical study in Norway, Sweden, and Germany – three countries that host large Eritrean diaspora and refugee communities. ² Between March and December 2018, I conducted in-depth interviews with forty-five key informants and individuals selected through snowball sampling with different ethnic backgrounds – but mostly of the Muslim faith. The interviews were conducted in German, English, Arabic, and three local Eritrean languages (Tigre, Tigrinya, and Saho). The age span of the respondents from diaspora communities varied between sixty and sixty-eight years; the refugees were between twenty-four and thirty-five years of age. Unfortunately, females were reluctant to participate and make up only nine persons within the sample. Most of the diaspora members are retired or work in the service sector. Similarly, most of the refugees are employed in restaurants, the nursing sector, or as taxi drivers; only a few of them attend higher education institutions or vocational training programmes.

The article is divided into four sections (and a conclusion). The following section deals with the historical background of religious- and ethnic-based identities and cleavages, and explains how they have shaped the political map of Eritrean society. The article then elaborates on the ruling party’s suppression of religious and subnational identities as its post-independence nation-building strategy. It further analyses the rise of ethnic- and religious-based identities among Eritrean communities across Europe, reflecting developments prevalent across the entire Horn of Africa and among all its respective diasporas. “The Formation of Ethnic Associations Among the Eritrean Diaspora” section discusses the importance of ethnic-based associations for Eritrean diaspora and refugee communities, and points out how they challenge the government’s top-down, nationalist mobilisation strategies. Next, the article outlines the role of religion as a social frame of reference within the transnational space. I conclude by noting that religious and subnational identities in the diaspora are on the rise, a fact that may impact homeland policies in the aftermath of any potential political change in Eritrea.

Religion and Ethnicity as Markers of Identity and Sources of Conflict in Eritrea’s Troubled History

Eritrea is a multi-ethnic country in the Horn of Africa, divided about equally between Christians and Muslims. It gained independence from Ethiopia in 1991 after a thirty-year liberation struggle that forced about one million people to flee abroad. Eriksen (2010: 2–3) has argued that subnational ethnic identities grew in importance after World War II, and have since maintained their political and social significance. Accordingly, violent conflicts in the Horn of Africa have been based on ethnic and religious cleavages that occurred at the governmental, regional, and local levels. Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia, Sudan, and South Sudan are among the top refugee-producing countries both in Africa and indeed worldwide (Bariagaber, 1999) due to war, displacement, and exclusion from political power and economic resources. Many conflicts in Eritrea have been related to the country’s ethnic and religious diversity. Both the Christian and Muslim communities regard their respective faiths as part and parcel of their cultural heritage and identity (Miran, 2005: 208–209; Mohammad, 2017b: 66–67). Linguistic affiliation and geographical location are additional traits contributing to subnational identity formation (Jacobson, 1997).

Eritrea per its present boundaries was created by Italian colonisation in 1890. In the aftermath of World War II, an interim British military administration took power and introduced a liberal policy – including the right to establish political parties (Trevaskis, 1977). The Ethiopian Empire claimed that Eritrea was part of the Abyssinian-Axumite Empire (Abbay, 1998: 2; Trevaskis, 1977: 60–61), and the Eritrean Orthodox Church mobilised ethnic Tigrinya Christians in support of unification with Ethiopia (Mohammad, 2017b: 65–66). Most Eritrean Muslims rejected this claim and opted for a sovereign Eritrea (Markakis, 1987: 64–65; Miran, 2005: 207–210). Finally, the United Nations federated Eritrea with Ethiopia in 1952. Haile Selassie harassed and subjugated Muslims, who had opposed his claim on Eritrea, which led to their treatment as second-class citizens (Miran, 2005: 208–209; Mohammad, 2013: 230–232). In 1974, the Marxist military regime (the Dergue) overthrew Haile Selassie and threatened the population with its “Red Terror Campaign.”

In 1961, the Muslim-dominated Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) started an armed struggle for liberation. In 1975, today’s President Isaias Afewerki, then a guerrilla fighter, established the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) and tried to attract Christian Tigrinya fighters (Markakis, 1988: 60; Mohammad, 2015: 4–5; Pool, 2001: 68). Contrary to the EPLF’s official narrative of national unity, the ethnic and religious cleavages of the 1940s persisted throughout the time of the armed struggle. “Although both fronts drew from all regions, ethnic groups, and religious backgrounds, the ELF has been associated in the nationalist imaginary with Islam and the EPLF with Christianity” (Redeker Hepner, 2015: 194). Eritrea gained independence in 1993, and the EPLF became the dominant force in the country.

Nationalist Ideology in Post-Independence Eritrea and the Rise of Ethnic and Religious Identities within the Diaspora

The armed struggle demanded sacrifices from all Eritrean ethnolinguistic groups, which led to a strong feeling of commonness as the foundation of nationalism – defined as an ideology whose raison d’être is creating a link between different cultural groups and the state in order to generate an “imagined community” (Anderson, 2006: 46; Eriksen, 2010: 119–120). This occurred in spite of lingering ethnic and religious frictions. After independence, the EPLF formed a transitional government and promised to respect the cultural diversity of the population and to establish a democratic political system. The ratified – yet unimplemented – constitution of 1997 recognises “freedom of belief” as a fundamental right (Article 19) and “the equality of all nine Eritrean languages” (Article 4 [3]). However, this alleged cultural diversity was reduced to folkloristic presentations at national holidays, as a tool to cover up the existing cleavages (Rich Dorman, 2005: 209).

The EPLF – renamed the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ) in 1994 – soon withdrew from its promises and developed a new perception of nationalism based on forced social cohesion grounded in the heroic independence struggle, while beginning to suppress religious, subnational, and regional identities. This experiment of social engineering came under the motto Hade-Hizbi, Hade-Libi (“One People, One Heart”), a strategy of superimposed homogenisation based on the institutionalised suppression of ethnic, religious, and regional identities – which were replaced by the demand for “servitude for the common good” (Kibreab, 2017), claiming that the people of Eritrea and their leadership shared a common goal (Conrad, 2005: 228). Rich Dorman (2005: 217) argues that in order to cement its doctrine, the regime institutionalised the ethos of the liberation war in different state projects – including in the army, in local government structures, and in the educational system. For the transnational space, Al-Ali et al. (2001: 625) have demonstrated how the Eritrean government mobilised the diaspora through its embassies, doing so by organising regular cultural festivities. Yet one’s region of origin still plays an important role in Eritrean identity formation, to the great dissatisfaction of the government.

The regime has strictly controlled all religious affairs, and since 2002 has banned all unregistered religious institutions – including evangelical denominations and the activities of Wahhabi Muslims. Heightened expression of Islamic identity and the desire for autonomy was labelled “jihadist” and rigorously repressed (Redeker Hepner, 2014). Thousands were arrested and held under harsh conditions (Mekonnen and Van Reisen, 2014; Mohammad, 2017b: 68–70), but some members of these groups managed to escape and join the diaspora – which led to a rising number of asylum applications being filed by Eritreans based on their fear of religious persecution (Redeker Hepner, 2014: 154).

After a disastrous border war with Ethiopia from 1998 to 2000 (Negash and Tronvoll, 2000; Reid, 2003) and a crackdown on political reformers in 2001 (Hirt and Mohammad, 2018; Ogbazghi, 2011), the regime declared the mandatory national service introduced in 1995 to be open-ended. In present-day Eritrea, national service is used as an “instrument for socialising Eritrean youth into the values of the EPLF” (Kibreab, 2009: 44) through a system of forced labour. This has led to the militarisation of large segments of society, and to the continued mass exodus of the younger generation (Hirt and Mohammad, 2013: 2–3).

While subnational identities have been supressed in Eritrea, their influence is on the rise in the rest of the Horn of Africa – where ethnic and religious frictions are challenging political stability. These developments are mirrored in Ethiopian, Sudanese, and Somali diaspora communities that are strongly engaged in homeland politics. The Ethiopian diaspora was involved in organising protests at home, which resulted in a change of government and a political-reform course (Lyons, 2009). Among Somali diaspora communities, hybrid identities seem to be on the rise as well (Thompson, 2018: 26). For instance, Besteman (2016) observed the rise of a collective Somali Bantu identity in refugee camps and after relocation to the United States. Similarly, diaspora engagement in homeland politics by communities from Sudan and South Sudan is organised along ethnic-based identities (Assal, 2009; Madibbo, 2012; Zambarki, 2014).

According to my own personal observation, the emotional power of ethnic and religious identities has intensified in Eritrea during the last two decades as well. I argue that this is a silent form of protest against the government’s policy of forced unification, which is closely associated with Tigrinya ethnonationalist dominance – since other ethnic groups have suffered most from the PFDJ’s systematic discrediting of the country’s cultural diversity (Mohammad, 2013: 304–306; Tronvoll, 1998: 474). These developments have a direct impact on the diaspora: Eritrean transnational communities, which the EPLF praised as loyal and unified Eritrean nationalists during the armed struggle (Markakis, 1988; Pool, 2001; Sorenson, 1991), have become increasingly fragmented along ethnic, religious, and regional lines during the past few decades, and at present many of them lack a strong national identity. I argue that both the failure of nation-building in Eritrea and the challenges of integration in host countries have spurred Eritreans in exile to join subnational associations.

Several scholars have engaged in discussions about identity formation among Eritrean diasporic and refugee communities and their political attachment or contrariwise opposition to the ruling PFDJ party (Afeworki, 2018; Arnone, 2008; Conrad, 2005, 2006; Redeker Hepner, 2003, Redeker Hepner, 2015; Hirt, 2015a; Redeker Hepner, 2008). “Like Generation Nationalism, Generation Asylum is internally differentiated not only by politics but also by class, education, ethno-regionalism, religion, and experiences associated with migration and resettlement” (Redeker Hepner, 2015: 193). ³ Yet only a few studies have discussed the resurgence of ethnic-, religious-, and region-based associations within the Eritrean diasporic and refugee communities. Woldemikael (2005) describes the failure of the Eritrean Student Relief Organization in the United States in the 1990s, which aimed at bridging the divide between Christians and Muslims, due to the dominance of EPLF supporters. Redeker Hepner (2003: 284–287 and 2008) elaborates how the Eritrean government controls diaspora communities through its own transnational organisations and furthermore explains how religious identities have shaped local communities in the Eritrean diaspora living in the United States.

My research among first-generation diaspora communities and refugees of the current regime in Norway, Sweden, and Germany confirms a rise in religious and subnational identity formation processes. One-third of my informants stated that their religious identity had become more important for them than their national one, and another third stressed the importance of their ethnic identity. Only 20 per cent said that their national identity comes first, while the rest had no preferences. I argue that the rise of religious and ethnic identities is challenging Eritrean national identity as it is promoted by the government. The expression of religious sentiment is a form of passive resistance against the government’s secularism, while the articulation of ethnic identities can be seen as a protest against marginalisation. This affects both the older and younger generations that have been alienated from the dream of Eritrean nationalism, but is most prevalent among the refugees – being victimised by the government before leaving the country.

Interestingly, the active search of exiled Eritreans for identities beyond the government’s nationalist narrative differs from the findings of Turner (2016), who observed that Burundian refugees prefer living in a state of mental displacement – being “neither here nor there” and not ones to attempt to create hybrid, diasporic identities. They rather put “their present life ‘on hold’ in order to achieve fullness of identity [once displacement ends]” Turner (2016). This difference may be due to the fact that the overwhelming majority of Eritrean refugees do not see their return home in the near future as a possibility, according to my own research findings.

Eritreans abroad facilitate their search for alternative identities by maintaining distance from the government’s transnational institutions: some thirty out of forty-five of my interviewees stated that they avoid any political affiliation with the Young PFDJ (YPFDJ). Nevertheless, more than 90 per cent pay the diaspora tax and/or send remittances to their relatives – and thus indirectly do support the home government. Most of them avoid involvement in anti-PFDJ activities due to fear of oppressive measures against their families back home and steer clear of opposition parties, which they describe as lacking clear agendas and being preoccupied with their personal vendettas. Belloni’s (2019: 9) research among Eritrean refugees found similar ambivalent political attitudes. Her informants seem to have internalised the government’s ideology but hate the practical consequences for their personal lives, while deeply mistrusting Eritrean opposition groups.

The Formation of Ethnic Associations among the Eritrean Diaspora

In recent years, Eritreans in exile have established ethnic-based associations and networks in their respective democratic host countries. Some of these associations were established earlier on, but they have all come to prominence in recent years as a consequence of the failure of the Eritrean government’s nationalistic policies and due to rising numbers of newly arriving refugees. The latter are now seeking protection and social integration in increasingly hostile host-society environments, amid growing xenophobia. Most of these individuals prefer to join the non-political ethnic- and religious-based associations, wherein respected diaspora elders mediate conflicts and settle family problems. These forms of social organisation provide them with a depoliticised way of expressing their Eritrean-ness beyond the hegemonic narrative of the PFDJ.

The aforementioned ELL was founded in 2014 in the United Kingdom, with the aim of bringing together lowlanders residing in different European and Middle Eastern countries. This was done in anticipation of a transitional period following the fall of the current Eritrean regime (Mohammad and Tronvoll, 2015: 4). However, the activities of the League have since shifted to those of a charity organisation and to the purposes of preserving their regional cultural heritage and fostering the Tigre language spoken by most of the lowlanders.

The Jeberti are an urbanised, Tigrinya-speaking Muslim population group living in the highlands of Eritrea as merchants and artisans. The Eritrean government does not recognise their claim to be an independent ethnic group (Negash, 2015; Tesfagiorigis, 2010: 138). The first Jeberti associations were founded in the mid-1960s in certain Middle Eastern countries to support students and family members in need; today, their activities cover Europe, the United States, Canada, and Australia.

The Saho are a semi-pastoral and predominantly Muslim ethnic group living in the Eritrean highlands and the eastern lowlands. The first local diaspora Saho Community Association was established in London in 1994 (Campbell and Afework, 2015: 106), and the global Saaho-Makaado (Saho Association) was founded in 2016 in the United Kingdom. It has branches in most European countries, in the United States, in the Middle East, and in Australia. Its aim is to preserve the Saho language and cultural heritage, to develop community-based charity organisations, and to support students and refugee families in need living in Sudan, Ethiopia, and elsewhere.

These ethnic-based organisations support their members emotionally and financially, and help newcomers during the transition period encountered while they lack local language proficiency. From numerous conversations with refugees who had arrived recently in Norway, Sweden, and Germany I assume that they rely on their ethnic identity to overcome the traumas they suffered in the course of involuntary national service and during flight, as a result of forced separation from their families, and because of their insecure status in the host country. In a situation where the government decries them as “traitors,” they find solace among the subnational social networks that are increasingly replacing the institutions of a failing state – retaining their identities as a reaction to the host countries’ lack of coherent policies vis-à-vis social integration.

Jacobson observed similar developments in her work on the connection between the religious and ethnic identities of second-generation immigrants of Pakistani origin in the United Kingdom, finding that their religious identity grew in importance: “Certainly, in many societies ethnic and religious cleavages coincide, such that religion is one of various sources of distinctiveness which may be regarded as the defining traits of a given ethnic group” (1997: 238). Many Eritrean refugees oppose being assimilated into the ethnic Tigrinya mainstream linguistically and culturally, as promoted by the government’s youth organisation in exile, the YPFDJ. This body seeks to create a new generation of Eritrean patriots in a social environment wherein the diaspora youth feel part of a great national movement (Hirt and Mohammad, 2018: 238; Mohammad, 2017a: 235–236).

I interviewed active members of Eritrean cultural associations, which have evolved in recent years as a countermovement to the fiercely nationalistic policies of the PFDJ in Norway, Sweden, and Germany – policies based on the surveillance, regulation, and coercion of diaspora communities (Redeker Hepner, 2008: 479). Character assassinations of government opponents and the coercive collection of a diaspora tax as well as various “donations” also feature herein. Members of these cultural associations approach the refugees and offer their support so as to bring them in as members at a time when many of them are suffering from the hardships of migration and exile. The refugees desire to join a group where they can find a home, but some are irritated by the mutual mistrust among the different ethnic associations and their demand that their members opt for either their religious or their ethnic identity – an insistence made even though both are important for most diaspora Eritreans and refugees, as my fieldwork has shown.

The current situation marks a significant ideological shift compared to the early times of transnational organisation among the diaspora during the independence struggle. The refugees of the liberation war were nationalists and socialist-oriented. They struggled to foster social cohesion among Eritreans abroad, focusing on fundraising activities and on lobbying international civic organisations to support the armed struggle back home (Hirt, 2015b: 117). The liberation fronts countered the establishment of ethnic-, religious-, and region-based associations abroad, helping maintain unity among diaspora members – who were supposed to stand together behind the national cause.

In the aftermath of the border war with Ethiopia, the discontent among the diaspora intensified and the PFDJ’s narrative of “unity in diversity,” equality, and social cohesion would lose credibility. The developments inside Eritrea had their repercussions within the diaspora and among the refugees, which made the ethnic-based charity associations flourish. The Internet provides an important transnational channel of communication for these shattered communities by bridging the distance between them and making physical location irrelevant, allowing links to be maintained with fellow Eritreans across the globe (Bernal, 2006: 168). Nowadays, the growth of transnational networks has been facilitated by social media platforms such as Facebook and WhatsApp, according to this author’s own observations. Afeworki (2018: 20–24), a US-born diaspora Eritrean, asserts that second-generation Ethiopian and Eritrean diasporas maintain Twitter networks to express their identity as “Habesha,” which refers to Christian Amhara and Tigrinya speakers. In contrast, Turner and Berkmoes (2020: 5) found in their fieldwork among diaspora Burundians that transnationally circulated media information brings emotional strain and psychological distress in times of violent political crisis. Accordingly, they try to protect their families from the constant flow of potentially traumatic texts and images.

Integration challenges are an additional factor that contributes to the attractiveness of the aforementioned cultural associations: many diaspora Eritreans still face difficulties in their respective host countries, even though many of them have been naturalised. As (Calhoun, 2014: 73) notes in the case of Sweden: “Diaspora communities are closed in the sense that it is hard to become a cultural member of the host society” (Redeker Hepner, 2003). Similarly, twelve out of my seventeen informants in Norway affirmed that they have difficulties integrating into local society. Even the first diaspora generation, having lived for more than thirty-five years now in Norway, feel that ethnic Norwegians are reluctant to accept them as fellow Norwegian citizens. One informant explained that he experienced prejudice in the workplace, where his Norwegian colleagues admired his language skills but continued to ask about his place of origin in Africa, while they never put such questions to labour migrants from Eastern Europe (Interview, Oslo, 20 April 2018). Accordingly, diaspora communities tend to socialise within their own networks and community associations.

The following are narratives of individuals who either rediscovered their ethnic identity in the diaspora, developing strong social networks in exile due to their alienation from the Eritrean regime and its suppressive measures against subnational identities, or who joined cultural associations due to challenging conditions in the host country regarding their professional development and social integration. A diaspora Eritrean who is now a member of the ELL explained how political requirements forced him to develop and then abandon several identities over time:

I arrived in Norway in 1973, previously I got my higher education in Egypt and I was active in the General Union of Eritrean Students. Later I was a committed member of the ELF in the Scandinavian countries. We conducted political campaigns and fundraising events, and we mobilised the diverse Eritreans in Norway. Our focus was the liberation of Eritrea, and we were dreaming to return home after the end of Ethiopian domination. We did not pay attention to our ethnic, religious, and regional backgrounds and we maintained our Eritrean national identity.

Unexpectedly, during the Eritrean referendum campaign in 1991 I was asked by the EPLF referendum committee in Oslo to specify my ethnolinguistic background and to indicate my family’s place of origin instead of my own one of birth. I was annoyed about this request because the EPLF had always stressed that the ethnic background of a person does not matter. I was born in Massawa, but I was raised in Sudanese refugee camps. I speak Arabic and the Tigre language, but I was not aware of my exact ethnic background. I just identified myself as an Eritrean Muslim living in the diaspora. After consulting my relatives, they told me that my grandfather’s families were of mixed origin: Tigre, Saho, and Afar, and that my family’s place of origin was Foro. Yet, I selected the ethnic Tigre option due to my Tigre-language skills.

After independence, the diaspora communities started to split across ethnic, religious, and regional affiliations, and religious sentiments gained importance. We established our own Muslim association as a countermovement to the PFDJ’s transnational organisations in the diaspora, which are controlled and indoctrinated by the government’s embassies and consulates. Our association was supported by the Norwegian authorities as a Muslim-minority cultural centre like other immigrant organisations. However, our association did not survive long because our members joined ethnic- and regional-based associations, since they feared being labelled Islamic fundamentalists by the Eritrean authorities. Eventually, we managed to reorganise ourselves as the Lowland League, an ethnic-based cultural association in Oslo, similar to other sister organisations across the globe. (Interview, Oslo, 25 April 2018)

This informant disassociated from his national identity, with which he had been struggling in the diaspora for decades due to the Eritrean government’s marginalisation of minorities. With no memory of his family’s ethnic background, he firmly believed in the EPLF’s promise of it recognising the equality of all Eritrean nationals. This belief was shattered by the categorisation of the population according to ethnicity during the 1993 referendum. He then deferred to his identity as an Eritrean Muslim, but the growing defamation of adherents to the Islamic faith as potential radicals caused him and his peers to shift their identity once more so as to appear more socially acceptable.

A member of the Saho ethnic association from the older diaspora generation in Germany elaborated on the importance of ethnic networks for mutual support in the absence of solidarity among the mainstream Eritrean diaspora that excludes minorities:

My ethnic identity as a Saho is a mirror of my origins, and it has survived for thousands of years. Ethnic affiliation is very important in our Eritrean society as well as in our neighbouring countries: for example when we arrived in Sudan as refugees in the mid-1960s, those there who had relatives from the same ethnic group – such as the Tigre and Beja – were taken from the refugee camp and sheltered by their co-ethnic networks, and accordingly I recognised the importance of ethnic affiliations in exile. I remained in the camp, and I began to remember the time when I was a child living in an Eritrean town and relatives used to visit us regularly, bringing with them small goats, butter, and honey, and I received them happily because of the gifts they brought with them.

When I came to Germany in the mid-1970s, I lived in a small city in the north; at that time the number of Eritrean refugees was very small. They lived scattered across Germany, and many of them were Tigrinya speakers, including my next-door Eritrean neighbours. They socialised with me superficially as a fellow Eritrean, but they did not consider me a member of their own community. They declined to invite me to their regular meetings and their yearly Christmas and Easter celebrations. I was frustrated and discouraged, and I felt loneliness, especially during the weekends and the official holidays because my German was poor.

Accordingly, I started to search for my ethnic fellows in other cities and finally managed to find and contact them. Eventually, they facilitated my movement to their place in the south of Germany. It was a big relief for me, and they welcomed me and helped me to find accommodation and a job immediately. Now the number of Eritrean refugees in Germany has increased, including the members of our ethnic community. Generally, the number of ethnic- and region-based associations has increased; consequently we established our own ethnic-based association, following in the footsteps of those founded earlier and that have survived for years. (Skype interview with informant in Nuremberg, 15 March 2018)

This informant’s attachment to his ethnic origins became deeply embedded during the socialisation of his childhood years, and he perceived his ethnic group as a cohesive community of solidarity – one that he missed during his long exile abroad. He recalled his origins with fondness when he felt alienated by the lack of inclusion within Tigrinya-dominated networks, and by the inability to integrate into the host country’s social community. This encouraged him to search further afield and to rediscover his ethnic community as a major trait of his identity. My informant’s ambivalence between identifying as an Eritrean national and an ethnic Saho, which intensified after being excluded by Tigrinya communities in exile, corresponds to the findings of Belloni, who states that the ambivalence she found among many Eritreans in Italy “is a result of being part of two moral and social worlds” (2018: 14). However, such discrepancies can be found not only between home and host societies, but also among the different diaspora and refugee communities themselves.

In other cases, self-perception and that from outside by other Eritreans can vary significantly. One respondent of Saho origin who grew up in a Jeberti-dominated social environment pointed out how his own identity perception as a Jeberti differed from that of him by his peer groups. He explained how he had to go through a challenging process of identity formation during his years in exile:

I was born and grew up in a Tigrinya-dominated environment, and I spoke Tigrinya at home and with my schoolmates. During my university education in Asmara I socialised mostly with Tigrinya-speaking Jeberti students from my hometown, but our attachment was not as strong as it had been in our place of origin. When the Jeberti students socialised, they deliberately did not invite me due to my ethnic background as a Saho, of which I was not aware. Yet in the campus I met students from different ethnic groups such as Bilen, Saho, and Tigre, but I was not interested in socialising with them even though I belong to one of those.

Once I arrived in Norway and settled as a refugee, I was looking after the Jeberti association and individual Jeberti fellows so as to socialise with them. In the beginning I thought it was not that difficult, but I discovered that they received me very reluctantly. Over time, I discovered my real ethnic identity as a Saho here in Norway, but initially it was not easy for me to establish direct relationships with my ethnic fellows due to my lack of Saho-language skills. Later I became one of the founders of the Saho Association in Norway, and now I feel proud of my ethnic identity; I overcame my isolation and the hardships of exile. (Interview, Oslo, 6 May 2018)

During childhood, the informant identified with the Tigrinya-speaking environment in which he was socialised. Yet during his time abroad, he found himself alienated from the Jeberti, his imagined peer group, due to his ethnic background as a Saho; accordingly, he strived to reimagine his “real” ethnic identity in the diaspora. Besteman (2016) found similar patterns of behaviour among the minority of Somali Bantus, who reconnected with their collective identity in the diaspora in order to articulate their historical grievances.

Religion as a Frame of Reference among the Eritrean Diaspora

There has been a rise in religious sentiment among Eritrean refugees and diaspora members due to the discrimination against the Muslim population inside Eritrea, coming as a consequence of their critical stance towards the government. The latter has detained large numbers of Muslim schoolteachers, sheikhs, and religious leaders (Redeker Hepner, 2014; Kibreab, 2008; Mohammad, 2017b). According to Redeker Hepner (2003), practising Eritrean identity through the medium of religion challenges the hegemonic power of the Eritrean state in the transnational sphere. In the same vein, one of my respondents articulated how religious identity plays a decisive role as a politically unifying factor for most of the Muslims at home, in the diaspora, and particularly among the refugee communities. He linked the focus on his religious identity to the fact of him being a member of a discriminated-against ethnic group, the Tigre:

In Eritrea’s current political context, religion is very important both at the individual and the societal levels, as it had been during the 1940s and the 1950s – when Eritrean Muslims were united in their struggle for national independence. On the contrary, Orthodox Christians preferred unconditional unity with Ethiopia as a Christian kingdom. Therefore, religious identity has the capacity to unite and mobilise the scattered Muslim ethnic groups in the diaspora under one umbrella, as our grandfathers did before. I belong to the Tigre-speaking ethnic group and we make up almost 40 per cent of the total population. Therefore we are not a minority, but still we are suppressed, and our lands have been occupied by Tigrinya settlers. Consequently, we must join other Eritrean Muslims to strengthen our unity. We are struggling to preserve our traditional culture and values in the diaspora, and I practise my Islamic faith more in my host country than I did at home […]. The Islamic faith also allows us to cooperate with other Muslim communities in our neighbourhood so as to organise Quran schools for our children, family meetings, and religious and cultural ceremonies. (Interview, Oslo, 4 May 2018)

Arnone (2008: 335) found similar patterns of identification among Christian refugees in Milan, who emphasised that their religious belief facilitated integration within the Orthodox Church community.

Remarkably, most of my respondents who grew up in countries of Arab culture such as Sudan and Saudi Arabia have no strong bonds to their respective ethnic backgrounds, and Islam is their major identity marker. One told me: “I feel annoyed talking about ethnic and regional identities in Eritrea because I am a global citizen and I am impressed by the Islamic faith as a unifying factor” (Interview, Hamburg, 16 March 2018). There is also prejudice among Christian Tigrinya regarding Muslim refugees, rooted in the historical stereotype that Eritrean Muslims have a close affiliation to the Arab world. A Muslim informant who had recently arrived in Sweden told me:

Our Tigrinya diaspora fellows are not happy with our arrival as asylum seekers here in Europe. They are completely convinced that we Eritrean Muslims should stay in the neighbouring Arab countries, where we can be easily integrated. They are not aware that Eritreans are more discriminated against in Saudi Arabia and other Gulf States than Christian and Hindu migrant workers from Asia are. Therefore, I was determined to leave Saudi Arabia, with its worsening economic situation, and to settle in a Western democratic country to secure the future of my children. (Interview, Stockholm, 19 November 2018)

He refers to the fact that Eritrean Muslim migrant workers in the Gulf States are particularly vulnerable because their resident status depends on the goodwill of their employers, who can terminate their contracts at any time. The Eritrean government does not defend the rights of its citizens abroad, only charges them additional taxes. Accordingly, families who can migrate onwards try to resettle in safer countries elsewhere.

On the other hand, some of the Christian Eritrean refugees who grew up in Ethiopia and have now fled to Europe feel strongly attached to the Ethiopian Habesha (Abyssinian) culture (Campbell and Afework, 2015). Many of them were among the estimated 100,000 Eritreans who were deported to Eritrea during the border war (Negash and Tronvoll, 2000: 46–51); however during the time they spent there, they felt ill at ease, even though the Eritrean government welcomed them and helped them financially. These refugees prefer to restore an Eritrean federation with Ethiopia, a sentiment especially strong since the Ethiopian–Eritrean peace agreement of July 2018. Two informants told me they believed that Eritrea cannot survive alone economically, and therefore Eritreans should accept the federation option and transform the country into an autonomous state within the Federal Republic of Ethiopia. This group maintains a hybrid identity as simultaneously Abyssinian and Eritrean. Thompson (2018: 26–27) found similar hybrid-identity traits among Ethiopian Somalis in the United States regarding their heritage as ethnic Somalis and Ethiopian nationals, respectively. The following statement by one young Eritrean refugee reflects the ideology underpinning a rapidly growing movement that ultimately wants to revoke Eritrea’s independence:

The people of Tigray and we Kebessa (Tigrinya highlander) people share the same origins and the same Agazian language, religion, and cultural history. Historically, the people of Eritrea and Tigray are one people. Here in the diaspora we have joined the same associations, and we share the same ceremonies and festivities as the Orthodox Church. Only small groups that belong to the YPFDJ, who are indoctrinated by the Eritrean government, stand against our strategy of establishing joint organisations. These YPFDJ members are trying to mobilise all Tigrinya-speaking groups for pro-government campaigns in the diaspora in order to confront the various ethnic-, religious- and region-based associations. (Interview, Oslo, 8 July 2018)

He refers to the emergence of the far-right Orthodox Christian Tigrinya nationalist movement in the diaspora, which is known as “Agazian” (the term refers to the speakers of the ancient Ge’ez language, from which today’s Tigrinya tongue derives); this movement is having a growing impact on many diaspora associations. The Agazian Tigray–Tigrinya nationalistic movement emerged during the British administration (1941–1952) with the aim of establishing an Orthodox Christian Tigrinya nation state by merging the highlands of Eritrea with the Tigray region of Ethiopia. The Eritrean Liberal Progressive Party at that time promoted the establishment of a “Tigray–Tigrinya” nation, arguing that before the advent of Italian colonialism, Tigray and Eritrea belonged to the “Land of Agazi” (Abbay, 1998: 38). In recent times, an Eritrean residing in the United Kingdom who changed his name from Eyob Ghebre Selassie to “Tesfazion” (literally: “the hope of Zion”) has attracted tens of thousands of Tigrinya-speaking listeners to his social media messages, in which he aggressively demands the establishment of a Tigray–Tigrinya (Agazian) nation, wherein Muslims have no right to exist. ⁴

The Agazian movement emerged from within the Tigrinya Orthodox opposition in the diaspora, and it is actively trying to gain new members in Europe, Israel, Ethiopia, the United States, and Australia – particularly by using social media in the Tigrinya language. The movement contributes to the radicalisation of the political discourse among Eritrean refugees and diaspora communities:

The movement also devotes considerable attention to Jews, Zionism, and Israel. The Agazians emphasize the Jewish elements of their religion and stress the similarity between the Zionist vision of establishing the State of Israel and their own vision of establishing an Agazian (Tigrinya Orthodox Christian) state. They consider the establishment of an Agazian state as a historic right, denied to them by their enemies. The movement is also attempting to enlist help from Israel and Jewish groups to achieve their goals. (Yehuda, 2018: 3)

These diaspora-based Agazian organisations have contributed to the polarisation of religious- and ethnic-based identities among diaspora Eritreans and refugees since 2014, and have provoked counter-reactions by Muslim communities due to their anti-Islamic stance – including threats of ethnic cleansing against the Muslim population in Eritrea. At the same time, the Eritrean government is currently trying to infiltrate Eritrean Orthodox communities by sending government agents as “clergy” – possibly in an attempt to control the Agazian movement. ⁵

Conclusion

This article has analysed the dilemma of identity formation among Eritrean diaspora and refugee communities after decades of forced migration from the country. I have demonstrated that militarisation of the population has caused a mass exodus of the youth to neighbouring countries and to Europe. It contributes to the academic debate on identity formation among Eritreans abroad as complex processes of adjustment to challenging new environments. It highlights the agency of forced migrants in engaging with a whole range of social and political demands from their own peer groups and from the transnational institutions of their home governments, all while facing problems to integrate in their respective host countries.

Due to the hardships of migration and exile, Eritrean refugees try to find shelter among the settled diaspora communities, but many of them discovered that the homeland imagined by diaspora Eritreans differs substantially from their own actual experiences of life back home. They also feel repelled by the established opposition organisations, which are preoccupied with egocentric personal conflicts. Accordingly, most of the refugees prefer to join the ethnic-, religious-, and region-based voluntary associations established by diaspora members that are now flourishing in the host countries as an alternative to the government-controlled organisations and to the political-opposition parties. My empirical data disclose the strong attachment of the refugees to various, and often altering, subnational and religious identities as a way of actively adapting to their challenging environments. Their narratives are full of the traumas that they experienced at home in their years of national service as well as during their long journeys along different routes towards their current localities. My fieldwork showed that most of the refugees rely on either ethnic- or religious-based associations to overcome the hardships suffered and to support each other.

Another reason for joining these associations is to preserve their language and cultural identities in the face of the PFDJ’s efforts to nurture a nationalist Eritrean identity among the diaspora by indoctrinating the youth through its transnational organisations. My research findings disclose that the diversity of voluntary associations and networks reflects the volatility of identities and the ambivalence towards the notion of Eritrean-ness existing among the diaspora and refugee communities. Those who do not heed the government’s call to abandon all sentiment except the nationalistic often develop multiple different identities, depending on the gains they are promised regarding emotional and material support.

My research also revealed that there is deep mutual mistrust among the various diaspora and refugee communities, which are split along not only political but also ethnic, religious, and regional lines. A variety of either ethnic-, region-, or religious-oriented associations attempt to organise the refugees by focusing on one of these diverse identities. Many refugees and even diaspora members feel lost in the existing patchwork of groups, networks, and organisations claiming to represent the interests and needs of Eritrean minorities abroad and serving as a tool to resist the Eritrean government from afar. However, these ethnic- and religious-based organisations do not share a collective strategy to challenge the Eritrean regime’s transnational network, the YPFDJ included, which belittles their members as mere narrow regionalists. It can only be concluded that the PFDJ government’s experiment of nation-building through self-sacrifice via national service and through the elimination of subnational identities has failed. What remains is a people dispersed throughout the world striving to find identities that can restore the dignity and positive self-perceptions they have lost along their way.