Maharana Hadgu: Testimonies on the so-called Menkae Movement

 

Maharana Hadgu: Testimonies on the so-called Menkae Movement

Interviewed by Aida Kidane 2004

Aida: The word "Menkae" evokes curiosity and intrigue. Although it has become a familiar term in many Eritrean households, its true meaning remains misunderstood by most. For years, the EPLF leadership labelled the Menkae movement as a regionalist faction, relegating it to a forgotten chapter of the Eritrean guerrilla struggle. The sensitive nature of the Menkae issue has often led to its suppression, and their story remained buried until recently, when a resurgence of interest prompted a closer look into the history of these Menkae martyrs. In a 1996 video interview, the President mentioned that the Menkae fighters were not even honoured as martyrs—their legacy was silenced, and their files closed.

Many of these young Menkae members joined the struggle, or meda, shortly after graduating or when they were close to completing their studies. In the 1960s and 1970s, graduating from university was a significant achievement for any Eritrean family, celebrated with relatives and friends. The future was bright for these graduates, who were respected and held in high regard within their communities. Yet, these students consciously chose to give up promising careers and personal comfort, trading a life of certainty for one of constant danger and deprivation.

They endured harsh conditions—sleeping on the ground without proper bedding or food, living in the face of death every day—all for the sole purpose of liberating Eritrea, a country that had suffered tremendously. Their commitment was profound, and many were acutely aware of the personal sacrifices they were making. Students from abroad—whether in Europe, the USA, Arab countries, or the Eastern Bloc—were similarly driven by the cause. In fact, students studying in Eastern Bloc countries even made a pact that those who completed their education would immediately join the armed struggle, whether for the ELF or EPLF.

The emergence of the "Menkae" movement was not the result of a single, unified cause. Rather, it was a mosaic of various grievances and dissatisfactions that coalesced under the name "Menkae." Maharana Hadgou, a war veteran who joined the EPLF in 1974 and served until liberation, witnessed these events firsthand.

The following account captures his reflections from his early years of joining the front. I am grateful for his willingness to share his memories and for his patience in answering my many questions. Stories like Maharana's help us gain insight into the daily lives of the fighters—an aspect that has seldom been discussed in detail. His account paints a vivid picture of the realities of those days. He has also provided a video narration about the Menkae martyrs. Although his story touches on a painful period, it’s important to remember that there were also many good and worthwhile days in meda.

Maharana: The book Destructive Movement, written by Isaias in 1976, was distributed to all fighters three years after the Menkae movement. Everyone read it. Typically, a political commissioner or a cadre of a haili kept the book. As a cadre and member of the party at the time, I remember that anyone who opposed the narrative was taken away—many secretly disappeared.

The Menkae movement began in September 1973 and gradually unfolded until the end of 1976. Then another group, known as the “Yemeen,” meaning ‘Rightists’ emerged and shifted the focus away from the Menkae movement. It was claimed that the Yemeen were acting against the Menkae, and everyone was warned to be wary of them. Isaias accused the Yemeen of being the ones who purged and eliminated Menkae members like Solomon Woldemariam. He asserted that they pretended to oppose the Menkae while pursuing their own regionalist agenda.

During the struggle, food was scarce. Even salt, the cheapest commodity, was not available daily. Sugar became a distant memory—we went years without drinking it. Breakfast was non-existent, and we typically had just one meal a day. The fighters made immense sacrifices for independence, but what we see today is not the reward they envisioned.

After liberation, the fighters wanted to be governed by written laws, sought peace with neighboring countries, and desired for their rights to be respected. But Isaias soon assumed absolute control, behaving like a king who believed only he knew what was best for the country. He undermined anyone with knowledge and centralized all power. He dictated policies on land, the constitution, and multi-party systems. Those governing under him also turned against us. Eventually, even these officials realized that Isaias was driving the country towards ruin. When they demanded changes and reforms, he accused them of treason and losing the vision of the struggle, despite their being experienced leaders.

In brief, as I mentioned in the video, the Menkae movement began publicly in September 1973, although Isaias and Ramadan claimed it had started secretly earlier. At the time, the gedli had no formal program or bylaws and was governed by a set of guerrilla rules. The PLF, or Hizbawi Hailetat (H.H.), had around 22 or 32 military rules governing conduct, such as punishments for breaking a needle, showing suspicious behavior, damaging a weapon, or leaking information to the enemy. These rigid rules did not facilitate good relations with the civilian population.

When educated individuals like Musie and John joined the front, they brought new perspectives. As university students, they had studied various systems and structures of foreign guerrilla movements and began advising the front on how it should be structured. They would write proposals during the day and return to their positions by night. With Isaias’s approval, they were appointed to a committee to draft a structured program for the front.

At that time, the H.H. was divided into three groups: the first led by Ramadan, the second by Isaias, and the third by the Obel group. Together, they numbered fewer than 500 fighters, perhaps as few as 300. The progressive group, later labelled as the Menkae, argued for closer civil relations, separation of civilian and fighter administration, improved medical services, and better weapon storage to avoid damage from the elements. They proposed establishing an intelligence unit to track the enemy’s positions and strengthen the army’s strategic capabilities. They also advocated for providing basic education to civilians in liberated areas and ensuring that all fighters were politically aware. Furthermore, they suggested developing structured foreign relations and maintaining close connections with the Eritrean diaspora to secure necessary resources.

These proposals were drafted in Gereger, Sudan, before I had joined the front. The leaders of PLF1 and PLF2 then met to discuss their current positions and decided that, to strengthen the movement and avoid being vulnerable to the enemy, they should unite. Isaias and Ramadan led the unification effort, while the Obel group decided to stay out until they gained a clearer understanding of the situation. Following the unification, about six to seven Haylitat units, each with 50-60 fighters, were formed.

The progressives, now labeled as Menkae, argued that given the unification of the two fronts and the growing strength of the movement, the drafted structures should be implemented. They believed that rules should reflect the circumstances of the front, regardless of one’s educational background. They also opposed certain practices, such as the policy that if a fighter deserted, not only would he face the death penalty, but his family would also have to compensate for his weapon. The Menkae contended, “Our families did not send us to join the struggle; they expect us to be in Addis, Sudan, or even dead. Why should they be made to pay for our choices? If we desert, we deserve punishment, but our families should not suffer for our decisions.”

Isaias exploited their arguments to accuse them of undermining the unity of the two fronts, claiming they sought to divide and destroy the movement at a time when victory was near. He branded them as opportunists who aimed to disrupt progress. He also manipulated new cadres like Wuchu, who were uneducated, by claiming that the Menkae—labeled as elitists in “bell-bottom pants”—were trying to suppress the less educated and seize power for themselves.

Many of us were new, inexperienced, and still students. We proposed that any confrontations be resolved democratically and that those accused should be given a fair hearing. We also opposed the ongoing violent clashes with the ELF (Jebha), suggesting that, as fellow Eritreans, we should seek a resolution through mediation by respected elders (Shumagelle), instead of prolonging the conflict and losing fighters unnecessarily. Isaias and his group dismissed these suggestions, arguing that, “The ELF tried to wipe us out, and we survived. Now, should we ask for forgiveness for their guilt?” This stance further isolated the Menkae, who were accused of conspiring with the Obel group to stay neutral until the Menkae seized power.

During that time, Ethiopian EPRP fighters like Berhane Meskel were in Sahel for training, and the Menkae were accused of telling the EPRP to wait until they came into power. Within the front, the Menkae were also falsely charged with being regionalists who sought to divide the movement—an accusation fabricated by Isaias (similar to what’s happening today). Those of us who called for a peaceful resolution were imprisoned. We were made to sit under trees during the day, and at night, we were taken away one by one to remote locations, where we were beaten severely to force confessions. Eventually, we had to comply just to end the torture. They then told others that we had recanted because we were unaware of the full situation. Most of us, students, endured these beatings. Some of us are fortunate to have survived, perhaps just to be able to tell our story. Survival was extremely difficult due to constant hunger, thirst, and other harsh conditions.

As prisoners, we could not move even an inch without permission. If a snake approached us, we had to ask the guard for permission to move. We were infested with lice, and even those suffering from diarrhoea had to ask for permission to relieve themselves, often being told to wait until they soiled their pants. When that happened, they were accused of doing it intentionally to create a foul smell and were beaten as punishment. I witnessed many such beatings inflicted on severely dehydrated and weakened prisoners. It’s hard to believe the extent of the cruelty shown towards fellow fighters.

Prisoners were often tied to trees, sitting with their backs against the trunks, each group guarded by three guards. We were completely isolated, forbidden to speak to one another. If someone needed to urinate, he had to ask for permission, and the usual response was, “Wait.” If a fighter in distress asked another prisoner for a blanket without the guard’s permission, he was accused of sending coded messages. Even when the prisoner truthfully explained the situation, he was beaten for not seeking prior approval. These punishments included being tied up by both hands and legs, beaten, and then left out in the sun for the entire day.

There was a plant called Ubel, which grew along riverbanks and twisted like a whip when dried. Being beaten with it caused horrific injuries, turning backs into open wounds. Some prisoners died from such beatings. Those who cried out had their mouths stuffed with cloth, leaving only their eyes to convey their pain. I experienced this myself and saw it happen to others. Despite everything, we continued to serve the front, refusing to flee, knowing that if we did, those left behind would bear even greater punishment.

When prisoners were taken to the "toilet," we were lined up in groups of two or three. The first line had to remove their pants and kneel, facing the guards, while the next line faced the opposite direction. It was a degrading and humiliating process.

I remember seeing four female fighters during my early days in captivity. We lived near the riverside, and these women would come to visit. Later, a fifth woman, Abeba Haile, joined them. Abeba, now living in Europe, is the wife of Stephanos Bruno. Other female fighters, like Dehab Tsafatsion and Aberash Melke, were executed. Werku Zerai and Maasho are still living in Asmara. Abeba, a former airline hostess, was imprisoned even though she had only been in training when the Menkae issue arose. Because Maasho came from a peasant background, she was considered uninvolved and released. Abeba, although initially imprisoned, was treated more leniently due to her background and connections. In 1976, she attempted to write a book about women—a handwritten diary—but it was viewed negatively by the leadership.

 

 

 

 

The torturers were eventually targeted and eliminated, accused of being part of the “Yemeen” faction. We were told, "They beat you, so you should do the same to them," but we refused. This was part of the strategy devised by the leadership—to incite us to seek revenge, thereby making us complicit in their plans. It was a difficult and painful time. Reflecting on these events in the video, I received a call from someone named Kidane, now living in Canada, who said I had shared his story. He didn’t remember me at first, but I reminded him that he was from the Akhria area in Asmara, and during our phone conversation, his memory slowly returned. He was one of those who had been brutally beaten. I reminded him of when we met in Amader, Tsellima after he joined the ELF, and I had asked him what had become of our oath. He recalled the conversation but not me personally.

Many fighters were told they were simply being misled by others in their circles and urged to “come to their senses.” The leadership tried everything to turn fighters against their comrades, but they responded by saying, “We acted innocently, seeking democratic solutions. We didn’t want to hurt anyone. We’re not regionalists. We have nothing to do with these fabricated accusations.”

Most of the people who beat us are no longer alive—they have already been martyred. I remember one of them, Tekie, who died in the battle of Genfelom near Keren. He was a Hayli leader in the Deboloch division and came from a peasant background. Isaias convinced these fighters that the educated members were trying to take control away from the masses. But we were all there to liberate our country, without any thoughts of personal gain or future power.

The sacrifices were immense, and many peasants died quickly, forcing us to recruit new fighters aggressively. Isaias used everyone for his power consolidation, even until the time of liberation. He had carefully planned how to manipulate each group. The PLF1 (Ramadan group) consisted mostly of fighters from the Red Sea areas like Hirgigo. Their leadership included figures such as Ramadan, Ibrahim Affa, Alamin, Shehem Dankalay, and Hilal.

When Musie and others initiated their movement, leaders like Alamin and Ali Said Abdella supported them. However, they later betrayed the movement, allowing Isaias to sway them. He convinced them that the Menkae were using them, with deep-rooted motives to undermine the struggle. He painted the Menkae as opportunists who, just as victory was within reach, sought to reverse all the progress made.

The movement wasn’t motivated by regionalism or religion; it arose from the difficult circumstances and genuine grievances. Recruited fighters first gathered in Durfo, outside Asmara, before traveling through Ginda and Sheeb Gidgid near Hergigo. From there, we moved down to Semhar and traveled north along the coast. After six days, we reached Karora, a border village between Eritrea and Sudan. Since we didn’t know the land well, we relied on the Rashaida tribe as guides, who were paid for their assistance. We did not trust Tigre speakers. The ELF targeted the Rashaida, but Shabia treated them with respect, so they became good spies for us, providing information on Ethiopian positions and helping us evade enemy patrols.

New fighters, particularly those from the cities, were often beaten to keep them moving despite hunger and exhaustion. We questioned why new recruits were being mistreated, arguing that everyone was there to fight for independence and that democratic principles should govern us. Cruelty towards fighters would only alienate the civilians and weaken the struggle. We urged the leadership to provide adequate food and set up stations at water points to strengthen the fighters’ endurance.

During Taalim (training), Isaias was our commissioner, educating us. When we shared our concerns, he responded with pride and arrogance, dismissing us as spoiled city boys accustomed to being pampered by our families. He instructed the guides to bring us to our destination “by any means necessary.” Even within Isaias’s circle, there was favouritism. Some, like Said Idris, were discharged from the front. Our questions about why some were executed as spies without due process made Isaias uncomfortable, fearing future accountability.

Despite having every reason to flee, many of us chose to stay. We were stationed near the Sudanese border, with Ethiopian military bases close by in Karora. Yet, our commitment to the struggle for our people was stronger than the desire to escape. Woldemikael Haile saved many by turning away weak or very young recruits, encouraging them to support the struggle from civilian areas instead. He was accused of rejecting potential fighters, but he stood firm and did not fear Isaias.

Isaias was wary of strong figures like Woldemikael, Ibrahim Affa, and Mesfin Hagos—brave men within the leadership who, despite everything, endured tremendous hardships. The leadership committee, including Mesfin, Isaias, and Ramadan, controlled the fate of those accused and persecuted. Looking back, it’s remarkable that we survived it all. Why did we remain so complacent in the face of such injustice and brutal beatings? Why didn’t we flee when Sudan was not far away?

Now, I see how strong we were to endure so much.

Mesfin fears that he will one day be held accountable for the injustices he was involved in. He once held a prominent position and a respected name, but the past now haunts him.

Musie and the others were initially imprisoned in Gereger Tebeh, like the rest of us. There are two places named Gereger: one in Eritrea and one in Sudan. Later, our base was moved to Bleqat, and the prisoners were transferred there as well. Bleqat is about a three-hour walk from Gereger, both located in the Sahel region. Tebeh is a chain of mountains separated from Bleqat by a river.

We, the army, were later informed that the decision had been made to execute the Menkae members, but we weren’t told how it would be carried out. After we were released, some of those who remained told us that the prisoners were taken away one by one. A friend of mine, now residing in Atlanta, was imprisoned after my release. He explained that the prisoners were taken away in handcuffs—chains known as ganshur, which could be sourced from either Sudan or Ethiopia. After each prisoner was taken away, only the handcuffs were returned, signaling their deaths. Initially, we thought they were taken to a "court" for a trial, as we assumed such a thing existed. We even believed that some might have been reassigned to Haylitat units or discharged. But when we noticed that only the handcuffs were coming back, it became clear that this was a killing practice. Seeing the handcuffs return, one prisoner remarked, "When will it be my turn?"—fully aware of what awaited him. Yet, what could any of them do? They were completely isolated, unable to speak to or even see each other for the entire year.

The executions of the progressives became known because these individuals were long-serving fighters, highly educated, and served as political commissioners. Many others were killed without any mention because we were constantly on the move and caught between battles. When fighters were taken away under various pretexts, we often assumed they were simply being transferred. Some were accused of being spies, and those who knew of their innocence are no longer alive to tell the truth. While there may have been spies among us, they should have been charged and tried democratically—not tortured and beaten to death during interrogations.

I know Memhir Tesfu Zewde, and his account is true because he was also a prisoner. In an audio interview, he mentioned that the Menka members were slaughtered with knives. He himself was once told he was being released, only to be taken away to be killed. Fortunately, the Sudanese intervened and rescued him, even though he had already lost a leg. He was imprisoned, released to fight, and then re-imprisoned multiple times.

In his 1973 document, Destructive Movement, Isaias labeled the progressives as spoiled individuals with class problems. But they were far from spoiled in meda—they endured immense suffering. The female fighters, too, had shed any traces of city upbringing. Even basic necessities like sanitary pads were unavailable to them. They were beaten like the men and subjected to the same cruel punishments. Every month, prisoners were beaten to extract supposed secrets. Many brave fighters cried out in pain during these torturous sessions.

Those like Sebhat and Petros were part of the movement but secretly passed all information to the leadership and were subsequently absorbed into the leadership circle. Sebhat has forgotten comrades he fought alongside for 30 years, let alone those from that time. The beatings were carried out under the supervision of Solomon Woldemariam, who personally inflicted and ordered the violence. Naizgi Kiflu was also involved in carrying out the beatings.

The leadership, including Isaias, never liked Solomon, whom they considered a scoundrel. There was internal disagreement within the leadership, and the Menkae crisis was used as an excuse to settle scores. They accused Solomon of being a regionalist and isolated him. Musie and others defended him, questioning why he was being singled out. He was manipulated into believing that the Menkae were using him to seize power, turning him into their adversary. He was made head of Halewa Sewra (the Security Apparatus) and took charge of ordering and carrying out the killings of the Menkae members. Eventually, he too was eliminated and died a horrible death.

Isaias gave Solomon free rein to commit atrocities, knowing that he would later use Salomon’s actions against him. After Solomon had spilled much innocent blood, Isaias portrayed him as the chief executioner and blamed him for the crimes, distancing himself from the violence. 

Due to these actions, people began to lose faith in the revolution, seeing that Isaias was placing his handpicked individuals in key positions. Solomon, despite seeming composed and agreeable on the surface, was in reality a harsh and ruthless individual. We disliked him because he was responsible for the deaths of so many people and acted as a staunch regionalist. Whatever Isaias initiated, Solomon followed. It was as if they shared a mutual understanding, despite appearing to dislike each other.

Later, Teklai Aden was brought into the Central Committee. His arrival intimidated others, and he even began confronting and beating Solomon. It all seemed like a staged drama. Anyone who sought the truth ended up dead. Teklai was aware of the Menkae movement but was too afraid to join it. Having spent several years in Aden, he spoke Arabic, unlike us who were from Asmara. He was a university student and had read many books. He rose from being a Hayli leader to the Central Committee after the Guba-e, but with little support, as he had not yet matured politically.

Others were also quickly brought into the Central Committee. Eventually, Teklai was made head of Halewa Sewra (Security Apparatus) and began using his authority. He was known to be a drinker and a womanizer. He lived in Dekemhare until he was recalled to Sahel to lead Halewa Sewra. He frequently clashed with other leadership members like Ali Said Abdella and Duru, engaging in heated arguments. It’s unclear what his disagreements with Isaias were, but his true character soon surfaced, and he was accused of corruption. This was during the mizlak(retreat)  period, a time of intense scrutiny and purging.

There were reports that Isaias rebuked him (referred to as "megnahti"), but only they know the details. We only heard rumours of their disputes. Suddenly, we learned that Teklai had defected and revealed many secrets. Although we didn’t see his writings or radio interviews in meda, we assumed the leadership suppressed the information from reaching lower cadres. It might have circulated abroad, but we were discouraged from listening to his words.

Duru was not involved in the Menkae situation—he was imprisoned by the Ethiopians at the time. Haile Menkerios wasn’t in the leadership then either. I can’t recall who was on the charging committee, but it was said that Adhanom boycotted the committee. As a result, he faced retaliation and was marginalized by Shabia.

Solomon clashed with Tewolde Eyob and Asmerom. Isaias criticized Solomon for making negative comments about them. Musie and others defended Solomon, arguing that old criticisms shouldn’t matter now. Musie insisted that Solomon was a democratic person and questioned why he was being isolated, which led to the meeting ending in disarray. Musie called for the front to advance democratically and warned against bringing old feuds into current matters. He urged everyone to observe what was happening.

During another meeting, Musie criticized Tsegai Keshi for walking out, saying that meetings were not like handkerchiefs (mendil) that one could pick up and leave as they wished. Tsegai retaliated by hitting Musie, and the meeting descended into chaos. Musie was sent to the clinic while Tsegai was temporarily detained under military rules. At the time, I was new to the training center where the clinic was located, and three days later, Musie rejoined us.

We were all stationed by the same riverbank. Fighters would often come to speak with us, and that’s when I saw Musie for the first time—his head bandaged. Fighters were sometimes made to dig, told it was for planting trees or building latrines, but once enough trenches were dug, they themselves were executed and buried there. Some were shot by the riverbanks. We were told an “investigation” had been conducted, but we had no evidence. Because we didn’t know all the fighters personally, we sometimes didn’t realize who was taken away from us.

The Menkae case drew attention because they were well-known fighters and political cadres, visible within the military for their activities. When we saw them being taken away, it became known that they were being sent to Halewa Sewra. With no further news, it was understood that they were executed. There was no need to create additional noise to silence the killings. In such isolated areas, a gunshot could be attributed to hunting apes, snakes, or birds, or even testing new weapons. Hearing shots didn’t necessarily raise alarms.

During a fierce battle with Ethiopian forces from late December to mid-January, as the military in Ethiopia revolted against Haile Selassie, Ethiopian troops launched an offensive into Sahel. Five fighters, including Amr and Alem Negassi, who had joined only three months prior, were martyred. The others I remember were Haile and Osman Drei. We were told the outcome: five martyrs, several wounded, and a difficult fight amid food shortages, but that Ethiopia had lost its morale. A short note was read to us to inform us of these losses.

The Menkae were executed in Bleqat. After moving from Gereger to Bleqat, an uninhabited area near Algena, which later became an Ethiopian military base captured by us under Adhanom Gebre Mariam’s command, rumors of their executions began to spread. Some Menkae members managed to escape from the prison. The ELF later claimed that Menkae members were killed and shared this information in seminars and gatherings. On January 23, 1977, during a conference, the ELF announced their executions. Until then, we hadn’t known the full extent of what had happened. While we were engaged in battles, many details were kept from us.

After the Menkae episode, Halewa Sewra became fully operational. I first read Isaias’s document Destructive Movement in 1976, but I don’t know when it was originally released. We learned about it publicly only after being educated as cadres during the 5th Zuria (batch). Each Zuria consisted of 150 to 200 fighters gathered from various Haylitat and Kifletat units for cadre education.

Mesfin Hagos was one of the top leaders at the time, and nothing happened without his approval. Isaias was the chairman, with other members including Mesfin, Solomon, Tewolde Eyob (later killed as part of the Menkae), and Asmerom Gerezghier. From the PLF1 leadership were Ali Said Abdella, Ramadan Hamed Nur, and others whose names are less known. Alamin and others were chosen as committee members to oversee the Menkae executions. If all this comes to light, it will lead to a reckoning and backlash (tewatet, sahabo guteto). The committee consisted of six to seven members, and leaders like Mesfin were at the top, bearing significant responsibility.

Tewelde Eyob, a courageous member of the leadership, was ultimately killed despite never signing off on the executions. He advocated for resolving the situation democratically. When others labeled the Menkae movement as destructive, Tewelde disagreed, saying, "This is a conflict, not a destructive movement. We can guide them back on track; this isn’t a criminal matter." Yet, he was accused of being against Shabia and was eliminated.

The Menkae movement began in September, but Isaias only acknowledged it in January. There was a lost paper written by Tewelde Eyob that stated, "At the Adobha meeting, we condemned the ELF for killing our youth. This will be our eternal condemnation; the situation must be democratically resolved." As a result, Tewelde was accused of being a Menkae sympathizer, secretly removed from his leadership position, imprisoned in June or July of 1974, and executed like the rest of the Menkae. Everyone knew he had been killed—no secret stays hidden forever. Some of these secrets are revealed through whispers among the leaders.

Goitom Bisay, who was initially appointed as a mediator in the first committee to study the conflict, declared that the Menkae had valid points and that the proceedings were flawed. He was consequently labeled as a Menkae supporter, stripped of his responsibilities, and disappeared. It was rumored that he was writing a book for the front and translating documents before his disappearance.

Wedi Fenkil was a well-known fighter, and Dr. Bemnet, a Menkae suspect, was from Addis and attended the cadre school. He had asked about the Menkae situation, which raised suspicion. Though I never met him, it was said that he detonated a bomb, killing himself. He had attended the same school as Yohannes and Musie and sought clarification on the movement. This led to him being closely monitored and then disappearing. Often, when someone tried to escape, it was later reported that they "killed themselves" or "died while attempting to flee," even if they were well-liked.

After 1973, we were discouraged from asking questions about our comrades or ourselves. When a fellow fighter was taken away, we remained silent. New recruits were told about the Menkae as a cautionary tale. Anyone seen reading Marx, Lenin, or Mao was immediately viewed with suspicion and assumed to be a Menkae sympathizer. Consequently, many stopped reading out of fear. Unlike us, the ELF embraced both the weapon and the book. Many fighters pretended to be uneducated to avoid the fate of those who were targeted for their intellectual curiosity.

During the struggle, it was not safe to write or speak out against Shabia. While the ELF published much against Shabia, we dismissed their writings, believing them to be full of lies. As Shabia accused ELF of being a feudal group incapable of liberating Eritrea, we too belittled them. Some of the ELF’s claims were exposed as fabrications, leading us to distrust everything else they said.

Haile Selassie Gebremedhin, a highly educated leader of the Menkae, was arrested by the Ethiopians in Ala in 1970. His family managed to secure his release by bribing officials and claiming that he had planned to surrender. He questioned why the Menkae movement was being treated so negatively and suggested that it should be analysed and understood, sharing his thoughts with Isaias. Many fighters who initially supported the movement switched sides when the imprisonments began. Alongside Haile were John, Afwerki, Tareke, Russom Amma, Dehab Aberash, Werku, and Debesai G. Mikel—Debesai was taken from the frontlines later than the others.

Some managed to escape from prison. I recall one fighter named Wedi Blatta, also known as Mayila Tsenadegle, who joined the ELF after escaping and was martyred in battle. It was said he revealed many secrets, which might be documented in the ELF archives. Abraham Tewelde died three years before the Derg came to power. I had heard he was a brave man. Haile Jebha, one of the Menkae torturers, was later killed for his brutality. Teklai Aden joined after the Menkae period had ended.

As prisoners, we weren’t kept together in a typical cell. Instead, we were ordered to build a fenced enclosure, similar to one used for livestock, and were held there. I can’t remember all the names of those involved—only the leadership and a few familiar faces remain in my memory. Fighters were taken away from the frontlines and never seen again. When fighters from Addis or abroad arrived, having heard about the Menkae executions, and inquired about it, they were viewed suspiciously and often made to disappear as well.

Petros Yohannes began raising questions from the United States, asking why fighters were being imprisoned for demanding democracy and what made the Menkae different from ELF. He questioned why Shabia split from the ELF if democratic principles were a problem. Though I never met him, he was said to be a brilliant person. Word spread that Petros Yohannes had entered meda from the U.S. and was killed. It was rumoured that he was detained under the guise of being invited for work in meda. Another example is Meriam Hagos, who was invited to meda to see the progress of the struggle but was forced to stay until the end. No one knows what happened to people like them.

Although we never saw them, we heard rumors. The truth has a way of coming out, with people saying, "So-and-so was taken away and killed," just as it happened to those who came from the U.S. Even now, the situation remains the same. Those who disappeared are never spoken of openly; they are simply erased from history, and their stories remain untold.

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 In 1986, a major fighters' movement emerged, sparked by poor living conditions and growing disparities between the fighters and the leadership. I heard that some of those who initiated this movement were taken away and either killed or made to disappear. Others, realizing they were at risk of being executed, fled to Sudan. Some of these imprisoned fighters are still being held to this day.

After liberation, Bitweded was initially appointed as the administrator of Assab. Later, he was arrested, and although everyone knew about his imprisonment, no one has ever officially questioned his case. Some claim he was accused of theft, while others say it was because he refused Isaias’s orders to send goods to Ethiopia, insisting that they belonged to Eritrea and demanding written orders as proof. It’s said that Bitweded dared to challenge Isaias. Another rumour suggests he was accused of smuggling goods to Ethiopia, and when the fighters involved were caught, they blamed him, saying it was on his orders. As a result, they were released, and he was detained in their place. To this day, no one knows the true reason why Bitweded has been imprisoned for 13 long years.

It’s understandable that people inside Eritrea are afraid to ask questions, but what about those abroad? They have also been systematically silenced. The message was clear: “You can’t enter Eritrea—Shabia’s reach is long, and it will find you.” When I first came here and started speaking out against Shabia, people began to avoid me, even those I had known for many years. They told me I was already considered a condemned man by the government, and they feared being associated with me.

People are afraid of being imprisoned in Eritrea simply for being seen in my company. It’s obvious at gatherings like funerals—they stare at me, and when I look back, they avert their eyes, even those loyal to Higdef. False reports and rumors are spread about us, especially in a democratic country like the USA. What does democracy mean if we can’t ask questions? What does it mean to have fought for so many years, to see comrades martyred or to become disabled, only to be treated this way?

I fought for my country to see a free and democratic government, a country where everyone can live freely. That’s why I chose to speak out. Who should be the truly free person? It should be all the people, with equal rights. Those who fought for their country should not be regarded as enemies.