It was a Sunday. Standing on tiptoes, he chatted through the metal bars with Mekia and me for a while. “When they first brought you in, wearing that rural traditional dress, draped with your Shema, I was startled thinking they had actually brought my relatives from Chilga.” Just as he was going back to his room, he said, “It would have been great if you were pregnant.” When we asked why, he told us “The torture and killing of pregnant women had been officially prohibited since Daro, a labour union management team member of the Brehan ena Selam Printing Press company, died when she was nine months pregnant.” Mekia and I discussed this new information for a moment but did not contemplate it much.
Mesele and Tekola were busy preparing for my torture. Just when they were about to gag me with my dirty socks, I warned, “I’m pregnant! I don’t want to be blamed for not notifying you!” I didn’t want to get into trouble for withholding this information. Although they were shocked and didn’t proceed with their intention to gag me, they kept me hanging upside down from my feet and teased me, “You make it seem like you are carrying a future king!” I understood this was just bravado, and that they would not torture me. They left the room without taking me down. I don’t remember how long I was left like that. I felt like all the blood was flowing towards my throat, and my neck felt swollen. I couldn’t breathe. The door was suddenly flung open and somebody ordered, “Get her down!” “Get her down!” They stood me in front of the head of the investigation unit, Colonel Legesse Belayneh. This is the same person who scolded the foolish soldier who had confusedly harassed me about hijacking a plane on the first day I was brought to Central Prison.
“Tadelech, are you claiming you are pregnant? If so, who is the father?” I didn’t understand what he was implying by the second question, but I answered, “My husband, of course.” Tekola and two armed soldiers escorted me to Bella Haile Selassie Hospital without delay.
I think Tekola told the nurse that I needed a pregnancy test. She led me to a room to take a urine sample. One of the soldiers stood by the door. Afterwards, I stood hunched between the two armed soldiers while waiting for the result. I wondered what would happen to me if the result were negative. “God, please help me out of this situation,” I prayed. The nurse came in our direction waving a piece of paper and shouting, “She is pregnant! She is pregnant!” It seemed like she, too, understood what would happen to me if I actually wasn’t pregnant. I silently thanked God for His mercy, and started to relax. This meant the many interrogations I had to go through from then on did not involve the planned wofe yilala torture.
I was often asked, “Where is Berhane Meskel Reda? You will lead us to him with an army!”
Over the next few days, I showed my unwillingness to comply, making replies like, “They are always mobile. They never spend a day or a night in the same place. How can I possibly lead you to them? I can’t.”
One particular afternoon, an investigator called Captain Kebede summoned me for an interrogation. He looked at me with sadness and said, “I have to tell you Tadelech, please be sensible.” He advised me not to say “no” or “I can’t” all the time, and instead try to answer in a creative way. From then on, I stopped directly saying no and started to softly explain why I couldn’t comply. I started saying, “I would have taken you there if I actually knew how to find them. If I took you to the East they could actually be in the west, or even the north or south. Besides, they stay in deep forests, where we could easily be attacked.” These replies, I noticed, were almost like psychological warfare.
The two types of investigators I had come across made me wonder how people who work in the same institution, receiving similar salaries, turn out to be so different. Why do some turn out to be complete beasts while others remain humane? What kind of conscience would allow them to be such brutes?
How could these two types of people exist in one institution? A person’s belief should remain his or her own. I don’t think a person should let his or her belief get entangled with his work. The investigators get paid to extract information. We should, however, ask why they are not held accountable for their misconduct, irrespective of their beliefs or thoughts.
Unchecked criticism will of course magnify differences and may lead to smear campaigns. In a polarized society, identity, belief and social status can be divisive to the point of destruction. This is precisely what happened to our generation.
Peer denunciation was widely practised by the ruling political leaders at the time. When a government is unable to provide justice for its citizens and instead becomes an actor in injustice, it is a testimony to its failure. This is more or less the kind of situation that festered among all the revolutionary groups. Disparagement eventually led to destruction.
Above all, the government until the end of its rule was witnessed conducting itself in such a manner, instead of nurturing its citizens. That is why we asked in vain, “Where have you gone, Justice?”
Berhane Meskel Reda’s Capture
It was becoming clear that the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party reform movement in Menz was facing daily problems. The challenges the movement faced from the bandit group led by Mengiste Defar were also clear. Nevertheless, the decision from the Addis Ababa branch of the movement was for the armed resistance to continue with reinforcements. They pledged unequivocal support to provide the necessary manpower, materials and money to make this happen. It was obvious to all concerned that the movement had come to a junction. The plan was to separate from Mengiste Defar’s group as much as possible, and head north. A messenger had already been sent to chart a route and relay the message before I was apprehended.
To successfully pass this critical juncture, it was decided that only those who were fit and determined should prepare for this operation. Members who were at danger of exposure in cities were also to join them. The decision for me to operate from abroad was made at the same time. Accordingly, the Addis Ababa group headed to Menz with provisions. However, due to delays in their departure, the representatives in the field were unable to meet them at the appointed time. So the leader, Getachew Seyoum, and two others from the Addis Ababa group, decided to go to a place he knew the Menz group had been stationed in before, and managed to meet Berhane Meskel Reda there. The rest of the group was instructed to stay where they were, so they buried their weapons in Guassa. That evening, a squad went to Guassa and recovered the buried weapons, but the rest of the group was not there, because they had been involved in a car accident. That was when I was summoned back from my preparations to go abroad. I was told instead to navigate and escort these members to where Berhane and the others were. As mentioned earlier, we were intercepted and apprehended en route.
This information made the government focus more on the activities of the EPRP Reform Movement. For two months, they made incessant searches around Menz and reinforced their operations to capture this group. This came to fruition when they finally managed to encircle the group and captured all armed groups within the vicinity.
An informer led the government army to the cave in which the EPRP Reform Movement members were recuperating. When they arrived, a soldier announced via loudspeaker that the group was surrounded by armed forces and that they should give themselves up.
The EPRP policy stipulates: “When overpowered by a huge force, instead of accepting complete annihilation, one should consider sparing the lives of fellow members.” The group in the cave discussed their options. Although a couple of the members opted to fight on, the majority chose to give themselves up. Berhane and Tesfa went out and informed the government army officers that they were willing to surrender and requested to speak to the commander. The commander seized all their weapons and took the leaders in a helicopter back to Addis Ababa.
Berhane Meskel Reda often used to say there is no use in openly facing danger. He chose instead to have a limited armed core group for self-defence. He maintained: “Our goal is not to destroy and die in the process” and thus managed to save the lives of his comrades. I believe the fact that many of his group members survived prison and are alive today testifies to his farsightedness.
Berhane Meskel Reda always knew that, once he was captured, the Derg would not have mercy on him. Nevertheless, he never ceased in his efforts to make his belief in the EPRP Reform Movement known. His regard for democracy and party discipline made him accept his expulsion from the party he co-founded. Through the Reform Movement, he managed to make heard the views that he was prohibited from voicing in the EPRP partisan clique. Thus, he accomplished his desire to leave evidence for those who wished to find out the truth behind the EPRP movement.
The Old Man at Central Prison
Age is an expression. Some live meaningful lives; others may live to eighty or more, but their lives may not have any sense of purpose. Yes, it is true that some may live a brief life and die in their twenties or thirties. However, their words, thoughts, deeds, and dreams live on for generations to come.
One of the many names Berhane was known by is “The Old Man”. When The Old Man died, he had not even lived for four decades. An elderly pharmacist who was in Central Prison with me once asked, “Why did the young man age so?”
On the day the pharmacist noticed that all prisoners were told to go back to their cells, he knew somebody important had been apprehended. He saw a young, fair-skinned man with long curly hair and a full beard being escorted away. Seeing his unlined face with long eyelashes, he asked who he was and found out he was Berhane, the leader of the EPRP.
The next day, when we were allowed to sit out in the hallway to get a breath of fresh air, the pharmacist came and sat next to me. Covering his mouth with his shema, so the guard wouldn’t notice us talking, he said, “Take courage, Tadu. Whatever the season brings, you have to face it. It will pass, although it is trying while it lasts.” “Yes,” I quietly agreed.
“When I heard of Berhane Meskel Reda’s reputation, I assumed he was a wise old man. How is he only a young man, when his name has aged so? It is a wonder, isn’t it? Age is an expression.”
I said, “You know, we also call him ‘the old man’. All those who love and respect him including me—his wife, hardly use his given name.”
“Well, he is indeed aged and mature in his radical visions. Who doesn’t know his reputation? You know, when they brought him in yesterday, they were nervous. Even Shimelis, the head of Central Prison! No wonder, the saying 'the calabash that Providence shines upon breaks a rock' is true.”
Truly enough, the news that Berhane had come to Central Prison and was kept at Block No. 7 travelled among the prisoners very quickly. Every prisoner started sending him gifts of appreciation: cigarettes, food, anything they could offer. That was the same block Mekia and I had been kept in when we first arrived. When we were there, Mekia and I were kept in one room, and the other three men had a room each: Tilahun Kidane, Dr. Kasahun Mekete and Assefa Chabo. So they closed only our door and left the other three doors open. However, the door that connected to prisoners in the other blocks was kept closed. When prisoners in Block No. 7 went to the toilet, the other prisoners who were in the hallway were told to go back to their rooms. Berhane’s room was locked just like Mekia’s and mine. He stayed there only for a week, from 7 July 1979.
During Berhane’s interrogation at the Derg headquarters, before he was brought into Central Prison, he had claimed, “My wife doesn’t know anything.” I was summoned again to be interrogated. I similarly claimed my ignorance. Once our answers matched, they briefly left us together. He was wearing his usual air force jacket and capri shorts. His hair and beard were overgrown. He looked worn out. Noticing my growing bump, he caressed it. “What do I do with you, Tadi? Be courageous!” he said with a desolate look. To comfort him I said, “If I survive, I will give you a son.” For a minute, he surfaced above his depressed state, and said jokingly, “Nooo . . . I have told you before: even if you give birth twelve times, they will all be girls.” Then the soldiers came and took us away separately. I always find solace in that brief talk I had with him that day. At least he got to caress our last daughter while she was in my belly.
13 July 1979 was a special day. As usual, everyone in my block lined up to go to the washroom before lunch. As we were passing Block No. 7, the door to Berhane’s room was, unusually, slightly open. Dr Kasahun was sitting on the floor. Behind him I could see The Old Man. I paused. I couldn’t move. He saw me and asked me if I was all right. I signaled back my wellbeing. Just then, Captain Shimelis came behind me and said, “Hey Tadlech, what is going on?” Without replying, I started walking again. When I got back, his door was still slightly ajar. He smiled at me and, with a certain look, urged me to stay strong.
I wondered if the prison officials deliberately left Berhane’s door ajar that day. It gave me a chance to see his smiling face, which I missed so much. It took me a while to realize that it also gave Berhane a chance to relay his wish for me to stay strong and say his last farewell.
As soon as we finished our lunch, we were told to go back to our rooms. Everybody realized that they were going to take a prisoner away and started looking through the keyholes. We were all very quiet. Then we heard several footsteps. Among them was the distinct sound of flip-flops. Trough the keyholes, I saw a side view of Berhane passing. That is the very last image I have of him.
Every week, about five to seven people were taken away from Central Prison, and they were never seen again. As the saying goes: “Revolution eats her own children”; the Derg did not even hesitate to secretly kill their own cadres.
That day, more than twenty people—including Berhane Meskel Reda and Dr. Haile Fida from Central Prison, Dr. Negist Adane and Konjit Kebede from the 4th Army Division prison, and the religious leaders Abuna Theophilos and Priest Gudina Tumsa from Kerchele Prison—were extrajudicially killed by the Derg.
Months later, I started to wonder, why the Derg mentioned only Berhane Meskel in their public media announcement. “Why did they not mention the great revolutionary leader Haile Fida, or Negist Adane? Was it because at the time the EPRP had operations in Gondar and Assimba? Or was there another agenda?”
When I discussed this with Dr Eshetu Chole many years later, his answer to these questions made sense to me.
He said, “Of all the people I know, Berhane Meskel Reda was one of the very few people that would fit the description ‘larger than life’. He was articulate, wise, graceful, and was never short of ideas. The fact that he was a revolutionary way ahead of his times will be remembered for a long time into the future.” The Derg leader Mengistu knew how dangerous this was, particularly if the EPRP realized their mistakes and accepted reform. I understood then that Brehene’s big personality was a threat to the Derg and hence the specific publicity. Hiowt Tefera described this in her book: “The death of Berhane Meskel Reda seemed like an end of an era.”
Berhane Meskel Reda and many others of his generation who wanted to bring about change organized themselves in different political movements and dedicated their time, even their irreplaceable lives, to this cause. Many of them were under forty years of age. Berhane died two months before his thirty-sixth birthday.
As there are some who understand things ahead of their time, there are many others who are slow to comprehend at all. Our culture has the tendency to hold back and trample over those with bright ideas, instead of trying to understand their views and help bring them to fruition. This is aptly portrayed in our storytelling and literature. One can just take Gudu Kassa of Fikir eske Mekabir as an example.
I was kept at Central Prison without justice for seven months. During the first two months, I was often taken to the Derg headquarters for interrogations. Considering that I was not getting any pregnancy check-ups during these times, Capitain Shimelis thought I would be better off at Kerchele. Thus, my time at Central Prison came to an end.
