Communism, African-Style

The Soviets consolidate their influence, but at a price

Ethiopia forms part of an arc, which now extends from Afghanistan through North Yemen to Angola, of Soviet influence in the Middle East and Africa. The country's Marxist rulers, who toppled the pro-U.S. government of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974, now only rarely open their doors to Western reporters. One of the few who has managed to catch a glimpse of how Marxism African-style works is TIME Nairobi Bureau Chief John Borrell. His report:

In the three-story rose stucco building that once housed Ethiopia's Parliament and now serves as headquarters for the country's embryonic Communist Party, a red hammer and sickle has been painted over the finely etched imperial crest on each of the green-backed chairs. Prominent red stars dominate the revolutionary posters on the walls, and a large red-lettered slogan in Amharic, Ethiopia's official language, reads FORWARD WITH THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE WORKING CLASS PARTY. Not far away, in a flag-bedecked square, a 16-ft.-high red billboard carries the unsmiling trinity of Marx, Engels and Lenin, the new patron saints of the revolution that extinguished a 2,000-year-old monarchy.

The hammer and sickle and red star are backed by a formidable and growing Soviet presence in Ethiopia. Some 4,000 Soviet advisers, roughly half of whom are attached to Ethiopia's 250,000-strong army, exert a strong influence in both military matters and the running of government ministries. Lieut. Colonel Mengistu Haile-Mariam, 41, the U.S.-trained officer who presides over the ruling Dergue, or council, holds frequent meetings in the old Imperial Palace with Soviet Ambassador Konstantin Fomichenko. Ethiopia buys virtually all its oil from the Soviet Union, and since 1977 the Soviets have supplied the country with arms and military hardware worth $2 billion. In return, the Soviet Union has a drydock and other naval facilities on the Ethiopian-controlled Dahlak Islands in the Red Sea.

Internally, too, the Soviet influence is growing. Throughout the country Mengistu has set up Kabeles, Soviet-style urban neighborhood associations that keep an eye on citizens and conduct regular political indoctrination sessions. The government has established state farms, nationalized industries and expropriated private property. A full-fledged Communist Party will be created next year.

The Soviet presence is more than matched by that of its surrogates. Some 11,000 Cuban troops, flown in initially in 1977 when neighboring Somalia invaded the disputed Ogaden region of Ethiopia, still guard the country's vulnerable eastern flank. East Germans are used to train Ethiopia's secret police. Several hundred more Soviet-bloc advisers are expected to be working in government departments and state-controlled industries by year's end. Says a Western diplomat in Addis Ababa: "Ethiopia represents Moscow's greatest success in Africa in more than a decade. It's a prize that the Soviets aren't going to let slip away."

The escalating Soviet presence puzzles Western experts in only one respect: whether it is born from a genuine Ethiopian desire to be close to Moscow or from sheer necessity. The likely answer: sheer necessity. The Dergue depends on Soviet arms in its smoldering border conflict with Somalia. Moscow has also sent helicopter gunships, artillery and military advisers to supplement Ethiopian troops fighting guerrillas who seek independence for the northern province of Eritrea. Mengistu also needs help against armed rebellions in several other provinces.

The task of maintaining the boundaries of the old empire is taxing Mengistu's government and its Soviet mentors both militarily and economically. More than 30% of Ethiopia's $1.2 billion budget is allotted to the army and air force, and conscription has been introduced to bolster recruitment for what is already the largest army in sub-Saharan Africa. When Mengistu visited Moscow last year, the Soviets asked for repayment of at least part of the $2 billion they had loaned for arms. The Ethiopian leader reportedly just shrugged his shoulders and told his hosts that his country could not pay. Indeed, it cannot. Ethiopia's export earnings in 1981, most of it from coffee, totaled a mere $398 million. Says a Western official: "The Soviets will have to accept the cost of underwriting a Marxist revolution or risk losing their staunchest ally in Africa."

Although there is little doubt that the Soviets will choose to stay, their pervasive role in Ethiopia is far from fully supported. Traders in Addis Ababa's thriving bazaar, the Mercado, resent Soviet browsers, who rarely have enough money to buy their merchandise. "They keep to themselves and won't even employ Ethiopians as cooks or drivers," complains one resident. That undercurrent of hostility perhaps explains why Mengistu has not tried to impose many East-bloc values on a country whose Western links go back to the arrival of Portuguese explorers in the 16th century.

Meantime, most evidence suggests that the first bloom of the revolution is beginning to wilt. Agricultural output, the key to any improvement for Ethiopia's impoverished peasants, has stagnated: state farms set up after the revolution cover 4% of Ethiopia's arable land and consume 76% of available fertilizer, yet 80% are operating at a loss.

Despite such failures, Mengistu remains committed to Communist models of development. Hopes that Mengistu's election as chairman of the 50-member Organization of African Unity during its meeting in Addis Ababa last month might moderate his stance have already been dashed. Less than a week after his designation, Mengistu appeared under a hammer-and-sickle emblem to condemn "Western opposition to socialism" as "the main threat to world peace." It was enough to convince even those who are skeptical of the durability of the Soviet link of exactly where Mengistu intends to steer Ethiopia and, if he can manage it, the rest of the continent. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.