Letter from Ethiopia

For Addis Ababa, hydropower is the future. Downriver, there’s a lot to lose.

"It's better to kill us first," says Olikoro, a Mursi tribesman, naked apart from the piece of cloth slung over his shoulder. An AK-47 rests by
his side. He is talking about the Gibe III dam, the latest in a series being built along the Omo River in south-western Ethiopia.

In Addis Ababa, the capital, the dam is considered essential for progress. But in the Omo Valley, far downstream of the dam's planned location, people depend on the river that begins in Ethiopia's emerald highlands, dropping through steep gorges before twisting towards Lake Turkana on the border with Kenya. Fifteen tribal groups depend on the seasonal floods to nourish their crops of maize and sorghum, and to provide grazing for their cattle. Gibe III will affect half a million lives. "If the dam is built, we will die," is how Olikoro puts it.

Yet along the Omo River, many of the people I meet don't even know that a dam is being built. "The government has no interest in these people," says Terri Hathaway, of the environmental organisation International Rivers. "The fact that many wander around wearing few clothes is an embarrassment to officials." When the government began building the dam, environmental impact assessment papers were prepared. However, little mention was made of the people living downstream.

Ethiopia needs electrical power if it is to develop quickly. At a cost of $1.7bn, Gibe III will be the country's biggest-ever infrastructure investment and one of the world's largest dams. Gibe I and II have already been built; IV and V are planned. They will allow expansion of the national grid and should stop the power shortages that have hampered manufacturing output. Ethiopia has few exploitable natural resources, but its river basins and high central mountains have huge potential for hydro­power. Energy can be exported to neighbouring Kenya and Sudan.

“Anyone opposed to the dams should suggest alternative solutions to creating vast amounts of energy to feed the fastest-growing non-oil economy in Africa," says Gail Warden, an official at the Ethiopian embassy in Nairobi.

But, in the short term, the extra power will mostly benefit those in the cities. The communities living along the Omo will still have no electricity. "We know the power is not for us," Olibisini, a Mursi elder, tells me. "We would prefer the river." Yet the government maintains that local communities stand to gain over time. "Electricity is essential for rural transformation, providing the basis for businesses in small towns and mechanised agriculture," says the energy minister, Alemayehu Tegenu. "Children need light for studying. We have identified 6,000 rural towns and villages in an ambitious rural electrification plan, penetrating half the country within five years."

These days, it seems as though everyone wants a piece of the Omo. Missionaries pour in, as do tourists in 4x4s. Recently formed national parks along the river limit the space for crops and grazing, and the area is being explored for oil. The tribes already fight over increasingly scarce water and land - but the dam could plunge them into more serious conflict. Weapons, which continuously flood over the border from Sudan, are worn like handbags.

Gibe III is more than just a problem in Ethiopia: its aftermath will stretch to Kenya. Approximately 300,000 Kenyans rely on Lake Turkana for their livelihood, catching tilapia, Nile perch and catfish. Reduced water flow will cause the lake to shrink and become saltier, destroying its ecosystem.

Wash away

The Ethiopian government has promised an annual ten-day artificial flood to help the farmers. But experts doubt this will fix the problem. "The natural flood builds slowly, rising and falling over several months, depositing nutritious silt all the time and letting the moisture sink in deep," explains David Turton, an anthropologist specialising in Mursi culture. "It's difficult to believe that ten days will be enough. It will act like a flash flood, washing away the silt and causing erosion."

The government insists that big, natural floods are damaging. But Ashote, who belongs to the Dassenech tribe, disagrees. "Big floods are celebrated," he tells me. "We just move to higher land when the floods come."

Last year's flood was not big, and even though my visit is during harvest time, cultivation sites along the river lie empty. Many people are hungry, selling their cows to buy grain or living on blood and milk. "What you see is the result of a low flood, a foretaste of what is to come if the dam is constructed," warns Will Tate, an Addis Ababa-based expert in displacement. "In the future, there will be starvation, economic loss and death."

Irrigation schemes have been proposed, but the idea makes Shoro, of the tiny Kara tribe, laugh. "We have so much experience of the government promising us things but never seeing them," she says. Food aid has also been pledged. "We don't want relief, we want food made with our own hands."

The dam's critics are urging financial institutions not to fund the project. The European Investment and African Development Banks are carrying out studies on its impact. Some still hope that the project can be stopped, but Turton says it is too late. Now, he says: "The crucial thing is for donors to make a condition of real compensation for the people downstream. They should be the main beneficiaries."

This article first appeared in the 21 June 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The age of ideas

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The French millennials marching behind Marine Le Pen

A Front National rally attracts former socialists with manicured beards, and a lesbian couple. 

“In 85 days, Marine will be President of the French Republic!” The 150-strong crowd cheered at the sound of the words. On stage, the speaker, the vice-president of the far-right Front National (FN), Florian Philippot, continued: “We will be told that it’s the apocalypse, by the same banks, media, politicians, who were telling the British that Brexit would be an immediate catastrophe.

"Well, they voted, and it’s not! The British are much better off than we are!” The applause grew louder and louder. 

I was in the medieval city of Metz, in a municipal hall near the banks of the Moselle River, a tributary of the Rhine from which the region takes its name. The German border lies 49km east; Luxembourg City is less than an hour’s drive away. This is the "Country of the Three Borders", equidistant from Strasbourg and Frankfurt, and French, German and French again after various wars. Yet for all that local history is deeply rooted in the wider European history, votes for the Front National rank among the highest nationally, and continue to rise at every poll. 

In rural Moselle, “Marine”, as the Front National leader Marine Le Pen is known, has an envoy. In 2014, the well-spoken, elite-educated Philippot, 35, ran for mayor in Forbach, a former miner’s town near the border. He lost to the Socialist candidate but has visited regularly since. Enough for the locals to call him “Florian".

I grew up in a small town, Saint-Avold, halfway between Metz and Forbach. When my grandfather was working in the then-prosperous coal mines, the Moselle region attracted many foreign workers. Many of my fellow schoolmates bore Italian and Polish surnames. But the last mine closed in 2004, and now, some of the immigrants’ grandchildren are voting for the National Front.

Returning, I can't help but wonder: How did my generation, born with the Maastricht treaty, end up turning to the Eurosceptic, hard right FN?

“We’ve seen what the other political parties do – it’s always the same. We must try something else," said Candice Bertrand, 23, She might not be part of the group asking Philippot for selfies, but she had voted FN at every election, and her family agreed. “My mum was a Communist, then voted for [Nicolas] Sarkozy, and now she votes FN. She’s come a long way.”  The way, it seemed, was political distrust.

Minutes earlier, Philippot had pleaded with the audience to talk to their relatives and neighbours. Bertrand had brought her girlfriend, Lola, whom she was trying to convince to vote FN.  Lola wouldn’t give her surname – her strongly left-wing family would “certainly not” like to know she was there. She herself had never voted.

This infuriated Bertrand. “Women have fought for the right to vote!” she declared. Daily chats with Bertrand and her family had warmed up Lola to voting Le Pen in the first round, although not yet in the second. “I’m scared of a major change,” she confided, looking lost. “It’s a bit too extreme.” Both were too young to remember 2002, when a presidential victory for the then-Front National leader Jean-Marie Le Pen, was only a few percentage points away.

Since then, under the leadership of his daughter, Marine, the FN has broken every record. But in this region, the FN’s success isn’t new. In 2002, when liberal France was shocked to see Le Pen reach the second round of the presidential election, the FN was already sailing in Moselle. Le Pen grabbed 23.7 per cent of the Moselle vote in the first round and 21.9 per cent in the second, compared to 16.9 per cent and 17.8 per cent nationally. 

The far-right vote in Moselle remained higher than the national average before skyrocketing in 2012. By then, the younger, softer-looking Marine had taken over the party. In that year, the FN won an astonishing 24.7 per cent of the Moselle vote, and 17.8 per cent nationwide.

For some people of my generation, the FN has already provided opportunities. With his manicured beard and chic suit, Emilien Noé still looks like the Young Socialist he was between 16 and 18 years old. But looks can be deceiving. “I have been disgusted by the internal politics at the Socialist Party, the lack of respect for the low-ranked campaigners," he told me. So instead, he stood as the FN’s youngest national candidate to become mayor in his village, Gosselming, in 2014. “I entered directly into action," he said. (He lost). Now, at just 21, Noé is the FN’s youth coordinator for Eastern France.

Metz, Creative Commons licence credit Morgaine

Next to him stood Kevin Pfeiffer, 27. He told me he used to believe in the Socialist ideal, too - in 2007, as a 17-year-old, he backed Ségolène Royal against Sarkozy. But he is now a FN local councillor and acts as the party's general co-ordinator in the region. Both Noé and Pfeiffer radiated a quiet self-confidence, the sort that such swift rises induces. They shared a deep respect for the young-achiever-in-chief: Philippot. “We’re young and we know we can have perspectives in this party without being a graduate of l’ENA,” said another activist, Olivier Musci, 24. (The elite school Ecole Nationale d’Administration, or ENA, is considered something of a mandatory finishing school for politicians. It counts Francois Hollande and Jacques Chirac among its alumni. Ironically, Philippot is one, too.)

“Florian” likes to say that the FN scores the highest among the young. “Today’s youth have not grown up in a left-right divide”, he told me when I asked why. “The big topics, for them, were Maastricht, 9/11, the Chinese competition, and now Brexit. They have grown up in a political world structured around two poles: globalism versus patriotism.” Notably, half his speech was dedicated to ridiculing the FN's most probably rival, the maverick centrist Emmanuel Macron. “It is a time of the nations. Macron is the opposite of that," Philippot declared. 

At the rally, the blue, red and white flame, the FN’s historic logo, was nowhere to be seen. Even the words “Front National” had deserted the posters, which were instead plastered with “in the name of the people” slogans beneath Marine’s name and large smile. But everyone wears a blue rose at the buttonhole. “It’s the synthesis between the left’s rose and the right’s blue colour”, Pfeiffer said. “The symbol of the impossible becoming possible.” So, neither left nor right? I ask, echoing Macron’s campaign appeal. “Or both left and right”, Pfeiffer answered with a grin.

This nationwide rebranding follows years of efforts to polish the party’s jackass image, forged by decades of xenophobic, racist and anti-Semitic declarations by Le Pen Sr. His daughter evicted him from the party in 2015.

Still, Le Pen’s main pledges revolve around the same issue her father obsessed over - immigration. The resources spent on "dealing with migrants" will, Le Pen promises, be redirected to address the concerns of "the French people". Unemployment, which has been hovering at 10 per cent for years, is very much one of them. Moselle's damaged job market is a booster for the FN - between 10 and 12 per cent of young people are unemployed.

Yet the two phenomena cannot always rationally be linked. The female FN supporters I met candidly admitted they drove from France to Luxembourg every day for work and, like many locals, often went shopping in Germany. Yet they hoped to see the candidate of “Frexit” enter the Elysee palace in May. “We've never had problems to work in Luxembourg. Why would that change?” asked Bertrand. (Le Pen's “144 campaign pledges” promise frontier workers “special measures” to cross the border once out of the Schengen area, which sounds very much like the concept of the Schengen area itself.)

Grégoire Laloux, 21, studied history at the University of Metz. He didn't believe in the European Union. “Countries have their own interests. There are people, but no European people,” he said. “Marine is different because she defends patriotism, sovereignty, French greatness and French history.” He compared Le Pen to Richelieu, the cardinal who made Louis XIV's absolute monarchy possible:  “She, too, wants to build a modern state.”

French populists are quick to link the country's current problems to immigration, and these FN supporters were no exception. “With 7m poor and unemployed, we can't accept all the world's misery,” Olivier Musci, 24, a grandchild of Polish and Italian immigrants, told me. “Those we welcome must serve the country and be proud to be here.”

Lola echoed this call for more assimilation. “At our shopping centre, everyone speaks Arabic now," she said. "People have spat on us, thrown pebbles at us because we're lesbians. But I'm in my country and I have the right to do what I want.” When I asked if the people who attacked them were migrants, she was not so sure. “Let's say, they weren't white.”

Trump promised to “Make America Great Again”. To where would Le Pen's France return? Would it be sovereign again? White again? French again? Ruled by absolutism again? She has blurred enough lines to seduce voters her father never could – the young, the gay, the left-wingers. At the end of his speech, under the rebranded banners, Philippot invited the audience to sing La Marseillaise with him. And in one voice they did: “To arms citizens! Form your battalions! March, march, let impure blood, water our furrows...” The song is the same as the one I knew growing up. But it seemed to me, this time, a more sinister tune.