When Eritrea appeared before the United Nations Human Rights Council for its first Universal Periodic Review (UPR) in November 2009, the atmosphere in Geneva carried a charged mixture of anticipation, unease, and unmistakable excitement. For many of us in the Eritrean civil society delegation—supported by the Norwegian Human Rights House Foundation (HRHF)—it was the first time that independent Eritrean voices, long silenced at home, were present in an international forum.
I represented the U.S.-based Awate Foundation; Abdelrazaq Kerrar came from Australia; Amaha Domenico from Europe; and Yassen Mohammed Abdela from Sudan. I would be remiss not to acknowledge two individuals who did the heavy lifting behind the scenes: Saleh Gadi Johar and Dr. Mohammed Omer Khier. It was also the first time I met the tireless human rights advocate Elsa Chyrum—without question the most important Eritrean voice of her generation, a woman who devoted her life to defending the dignity and rights of Eritreans.
Several Eritrean activists in Geneva welcomed us warmly and hosted us for dinner, underscoring the significance of the moment. I still remember the fresh-from-the-oven injera I ate with tibsi and room-temperature San Pellegrino—so vividly, in fact, that years later, when my wife, daughter, and I drove from Paris to Milan and spent the night not far from Geneva, I almost succumbed to the temptation of returning to that restaurant.
The Norwegian Permanent Representative’s office to the United Nations also hosted us for dinner, a gesture that spoke to the seriousness with which they regarded our presence and testimony. None of it would have been possible without the care, professionalism, and steadfast support of the HRHF staff—particularly Florian Irminger and Niels Jacob Harbitz—to whom I remain deeply grateful.
The First UPR: A Rare Opening in a Silenced Landscape
By 2001, the regime in Asmera had dismantled every vestige of independent civil society. The UPR had become one among the few remaining platforms where Eritreans could speak freely about the realities their people faced. Inside the country, every avenue for public expression had been shuttered; outside, only a handful of diaspora‑based platforms—most notably Awate and Asmarino—carried the burden of sustaining a national conversation the regime had worked tirelessly to extinguish. I still wish someone would resuscitate Asmarino and continue the work that the late Tesfaldet Meharena had begun, a labor of love and courage that gave voice to a silenced nation.
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In that sense, the 2009 UPR was not merely a diplomatic exercise; it was a rare moment when the silenced could speak, when the world could hear directly from Eritreans whose testimonies had been erased at home.
Across the aisle sat a government‑aligned delegation led by Dr. Girmai Abraham and the lawyer Eden Fasil, accompanied by a gracious lady whose name now escapes me. Their presence reflected a strategy that would become familiar in the years ahead: deploying official delegations supplemented by state‑approved diaspora figures to counter independent testimony and sanitize the regime’s record. The contrast between the two delegations—one grounded in lived experience, the other in state-crafted narratives—captured the essence of Eritrea’s human-rights crisis.
The outcome was predictable. Eritrea received more than a hundred recommendations addressing the same structural abuses that still define the country today: indefinite national service, arbitrary detention, enforced disappearances, the absence of rule of law, and the suffocation of basic freedoms. The government rejected the overwhelming majority of them.
A Human Moment in a Politicized Arena
When we arrived that morning, walking in single file without any forethought—Amaha in front and I behind him—the Eritrean delegation was already seated in the waiting hallway, not far from the café where we had stopped to get coffee. Amaha passed by without saying a word, though I later learned that he and Eden Fasil had been classmates at the then Haile Selassie I University. I couldn’t bring myself to walk past without acknowledging them, so I offered a simple “Good morning” and was met with a warm smile from the late Dr. Girmai Abraham. I had known him years earlier, when he was a professor at Grambling State University and frequently traveled to Dallas for Constitutional Commission meetings. We embraced, and he introduced me to the rest of his delegation—each of them cordial, warm, and unmistakably familial.
That moment taught me something enduring: Eritreans are more than capable of holding deep political differences while remaining civil, respectful, and connected as one people. It is this hope—this belief in our shared humanity—that continues to sustain me.
The day before, as I was exiting the airport, I ran into two young Sudanese diplomats. After the familiar nod, we stopped to greet each other. Once they learned I was heading to the UN office, they immediately offered me a ride. As we made our way through the city, we chatted about Sudan and the wider Horn of Africa. One remark from one of the diplomats stayed with me. Unlike the rest of us, he was not a great admirer of Swar al‑Dahab. Curious, I asked him why. He replied, almost apologetically, “Don’t get me wrong—I agree he was a good man. But he didn’t do a good job, and many of the problems we are dealing with today can be traced back to him.”
His comment reminded me of something Socrates observed more than two and a half millennia ago: things must be judged by their purpose and by their effect—and when the effect reveals both, only then can we speak of a good outcome. It was a reminder that goodness of intention, while admirable, is never enough; leadership is ultimately measured by the consequences it leaves behind.
Sophia Tesfamariam and the Descent of Eritrean Diplomacy
Ambassador Sophia Tesfamariam represented Eritrea at the most recent Human Rights Council session, but her defense—if one could call it that—was scarcely different from the one delivered in 2009. The excuses have become so predictable, so threadbare, that the mediocrity and lack of substance are surpassed only by the arrogance and shamelessness with which they are presented.
She has perfected the art of manufacturing explanations for matters she seems neither to understand nor has the historical grounding to address. It is perhaps one reason Isaias elevated her to the position of permanent representative to the UN—a post once held by Eritrea’s premier diplomat, Haile Menkerios, who rose to become UN undersecretary-general for political affairs and was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2011 for his role in mediating the Comprehensive Peace Agreement and facilitating the independence of South Sudan.
Yet, in fairness, when I met Sophia Tesfamariam in September 2016 during the congressional hearing on Eritrea—held in the halls of Capitol Hill and organized by a group of Eritreans and me under the umbrella of Medrekh—she was cordial, gracious, and entirely civil. She is, undeniably, an excellent writer; I cannot take that away from her. That encounter reminded me once again that Eritreans, even when standing on opposite sides of profound political divides, are capable of warmth, dignity, and human connection.
The Birth of the Special Rapporteur: A Turning Point (2012)
Three years after the first UPR, the Human Rights Council concluded that Eritrea had made no meaningful progress and refused to cooperate with UN mechanisms. It established the mandate of the Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights in Eritrea. This was not a symbolic gesture; it was a recognition that Eritrea’s human rights crisis was systemic, entrenched, and worsening.
Sheila B. Keetharuth, the first mandate holder, laid the foundation for one of the most detailed bodies of documentation on human rights violations in contemporary Africa. Her work contributed to the establishment of the 2016 Commission of Inquiry (COI), which concluded that there were reasonable grounds to believe that crimes against humanity had been committed since 1991.
From Documentation to Accountability
The mandate evolved under Daniela Kravetz and later Professor Mohamed Abdelsalam Babiker, who expanded the scope to include transnational repression, Eritrea’s role in regional conflicts, the absence of constitutional governance, and the systematic nature of arbitrary detention and torture.
His findings have been unequivocal: the human rights situation in Eritrea remains dire and, in some respects, has deteriorated.
The Latest Chapter: Eritrea Before the Council Again
At the 62nd session of the Human Rights Council in 2026, Babiker presented his latest report. Eritrea, represented again by Ambassador Sophia Tesfamariam, repeated its familiar refrain: the mandate is politically motivated; Eritrea is making progress; external scrutiny is unwarranted. The Council was not persuaded. The mandate was renewed once again.
The renewal coincided with Eritrea’s fourth UPR cycle in May 2024, where the same concerns raised in 2009 resurfaced with striking continuity.
Seventeen Years of Unbroken Continuity
From 2009 to 2026, the arc of international scrutiny reveals a story of continuity rather than change. The mechanisms have evolved—from UPR recommendations to successive special rapporteurs to a full commission of inquiry—but the underlying reality inside Eritrea has remained stubbornly unchanged and, in some areas, has deteriorated even further.
For those of us who stood in Geneva in 2009, the evolution of these mechanisms is both a vindication and a reminder: a vindication because the world has recognized the gravity of Eritrea’s human‑rights crisis; a reminder because the struggle for justice, dignity, and accountability remains unfinished. A luta continua!
The Institutional Deficit: Eritrea’s Core Challenge
The initiatives undertaken by different Eritrean groups to advocate for human rights are commendable, but they have lacked institutional continuity. The pattern of ad hoc mobilization—brief surges of energy followed by long periods of inactivity—cannot substitute for a sustained, structured, and strategic approach.
Eritrea’s struggle—whether in governance or in civil society—is fundamentally an institutional struggle. Nations are not transformed by passion alone; they are transformed by institutions that outlast individuals, factions, and political cycles. For Eritrea to move forward, the government, the diaspora‑based opposition, and civil society alike must embrace institutionalization as the foundation of any long‑term strategy for justice, reform, and national renewal.
I am often reminded of a moment in a graduate seminar years ago, when a retired international development expert was asked what single factor most reliably separates success from failure. He did not hesitate: the presence of a highly skilled and disciplined cadre of managers who can execute is crucial. Ideas, he said, are abundant; execution is rare. One may have the best idea in the world, but without competent implementation, it amounts to nothing. That insight has stayed with me because it captures, with brutal clarity, the heart of Eritrea’s predicament.
The irony is that Eritrea once possessed such a cadre. The EPLF—unlike its successor, the PFDJ—was, for all its faults and flaws, remarkably competent in execution. No one embodied this more than Petros Solomon, whose organizational discipline, strategic clarity, and managerial rigor were central to the movement’s wartime effectiveness. The tragedy is not only that such talent was later sidelined and imprisoned but also that the culture of disciplined execution he represented was never institutionalized. It remained tied to individuals rather than embedded in systems. Today, the Eritrean state operates with a level of dysfunction that reflects this institutional vacuum. The governing apparatus has become increasingly erratic, reactive, and detached from contemporary realities—led by a head of state whose worldview remains anchored in the ideological and geopolitical anxieties of a bygone era, unable to evolve beyond the formative prejudices and rigid orientations of his youth. The result is a regime defined not by strategic governance but by chronic mismanagement, institutional paralysis, and a profound incapacity to meet the demands of a modern nation.
The dysfunction has trickled down to the masses, including those in the opposition and the diaspora‑based civil society. This failure became painfully evident in the aftermath of Eritrea’s first participation in the Universal Periodic Review. The letter sent to the Eritrean government and other relevant entities—endorsed by almost all diaspora‑based Eritrean civil society organizations—was a rare moment of unity and strategic clarity. It should have been the foundation for a permanent, coordinated institutional mechanism. Instead, it dissipated. The call for institutionalization and continuity, articulated at the time by Merachew Berhe of NECS‑Europe, never saw the light of day. Like so many Eritrean initiatives, it flared brightly and then vanished. A grand opening followed by an equally grand closing—an all‑too‑familiar Eritrean pattern.
It is yet another reminder that our core problem has never been a shortage of ideas, but rather the chronic failure to operationalize them. What we lack are the systems, structures, and professional capacities—people trained in organizational change, implementation, and sustainability, the kind of expertise embodied by MBAs, MPAs, MAs, JDs, and other practitioners—to translate vision into durable practices.
To contact the author: weriz@yahoo.com
Eritreans Attending UPR Session In Geneva – Awate.com
Eritrean diaspora coalition advocates UPR report at the UN—Human Rights House Foundation
Haile Menkerios ’70 | Brandeis Magazine
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