By Africa Risk Control (ARC) – It begins with memory. For most people who lived through the late 1990s, the words “Eritrea” and “Ethiopia” still carry the weight of the Badme war — a brutal interstate conflict from 1998 to 2000 that left tens of thousands dead, hundreds of thousands displaced, and an entire border region traumatised.
The Algiers process and later international rulings tried to settle the boundary, but for nearly two decades the two capitals lived in a “no-war, no-peace” limbo that kept armies mobilised and societies uneasy. The scale of that earlier war explains why small incidents now trigger large reactions: the historical ledger is heavy.
So the thaw in 2018 felt, for many, like a miracle. Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s decision to accept the 2000 boundary ruling and reopen relations with Asmara — with embassies and flights restored, trade and dialogue resumed — was framed as an epochal break from the past. It was this decisive diplomatic reset that led the Nobel Committee to award Abiy the Peace Prize in 2019 “for his decisive initiative to resolve the border conflict with neighbouring Eritrea.” For Ethiopians and Eritreans alike, the promise was simple: redirect resources from defence to development, rebuild cross-border commerce, and create breathing room for both societies to recover.
That fragile promise is why the recent uptick in hostile signalling matters so much. In public and on social platforms, officials are now trading warnings and accusations that serve not only as messages to foreign capitals but as domestic performances — signals designed to reassure supporters, deter opponents, and shape international reaction.
Take, for example, a blunt social-media jab from Eritrea’s minister of information: “Yet another vivid illustration of the war-mongering psychosis that has gripped certain political circles in Ethiopia,” he wrote, dismissing critics and placing the blame for escalation on Ethiopian commentators and hardliners. That kind of line is meant to delegitimise the other side’s rhetoric and to portray Asmara as responding to provocation rather than initiating it. In other words: “We are not the aggressors; they are.”
On state television, President Isaias Afwerki has used even sterner language of deterrence: “If he thinks he can overwhelm (Eritrean forces) with human-wave attack, (he is mistaken),” he told Eri-TV. When a head of state speaks that way it is both a threat and a reassurance — a warning to Addis Ababa and a signal to Eritrean audiences that the regime remains ready and resolute. The rhetorical effect is to raise the cost of any miscalculation by emphasising both readiness and resolve.
Ethiopia, for its part, has taken accusations into diplomatic channels. A formal communication to the United Nations has accused Eritrea of collusion with Tigray-based forces, charging that Asmara is supporting elements “actively preparing to wage war” against Ethiopia. Moving the dispute to the UN does two things: it internationalises the allegation (inviting outside scrutiny or pressure) and it places the burden of proof on the accuser — a classic diplomatic escalation intended to frame Eritrea as the destabiliser. That step also invites third-party actors (AU, UN, regional capitals) to intervene, for better or worse.
Read together, these public lines and letters create a combustible mix: historical grievance + military posture + public signalling + social-media amplification. Each element alone can be managed; together they magnify the chance of misreading or misstep. Scholarly observers and analysts who track conflict warn that the likeliest near-term path is not immediate full-scale war but a cascade of localized clashes, proxy engagements and information warfare — a spiral that can prolong instability while staying below the threshold of declared interstate war. That is dangerous because it can become normalized: prolonged, low-intensity conflict exacts economic costs, destroys trust, and produces humanitarian suffering without the clear international mobilization that a full war would trigger.
What would a renewed war do to people who had begun to taste the benefits of peace? First, the humanitarian toll would be immediate and severe. Border communities that had started to trade and rebuild would once again face displacement, food insecurity and disrupted services.
The 1998–2000 war displaced hundreds of thousands; even a more limited conflict now would cause mass internal displacement, refugee flows into neighbouring states, and spikes in civilian casualty rates. Second, economic fallout would be rapid: cross-border trade, port access plans, and investor confidence would all collapse.
Ethiopia’s long-standing need for reliable maritime access — one of the drivers behind 2018 rapprochement — would become a renewed geopolitical vulnerability, and regional trade corridors would be jeopardised. Third, the social and political costs within each country could be profound: militarisation fosters repression, diverts resources from health and education, and hardens nationalist narratives that make later reconciliation harder.
Finally, the regional dimension cannot be overstated. A conflict between Addis Ababa and Asmara sits astride critical maritime routes and a precarious set of neighbouring relationships. It would draw in, directly or indirectly, other Horn actors (Djibouti, Sudan, Somaliland, possibly external naval interests), multiplying the security, economic and humanitarian fallout. That’s why international actors often push quickly for mediation — to prevent a bilateral dispute from becoming a regional conflagration.
If there is a path out of this crisis, it will likely be diplomatic and painstaking: quiet back-channel talks, third-party mediation under the AU or UN, immediate confidence building (hotlines, observer missions) and rapid joint inquiries into any cross-border incidents to prevent reciprocal blame spirals. The 2018 rapprochement shows these steps can work — but it also shows peace is easy to break and hard to rebuild once public rhetoric hardens and security calculations shift.
In short: the rhetoric we see — the tweets, the state TV warnings, the UN letters — are not mere phrases. They are the public face of strategic signalling that raises risks of miscalculation. If leaders and mediators can translate that signalling into verified, transparent measures to reduce tension, the region can avoid the worst. If not, we risk a tragic reversal: lives lost, economies derailed, and a peace many hoped was permanent rendered fragile once again.
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