Betlehem Isaak, Swedish-Eritrean writer, and daughter of journalist Dawit Isaak who has been detained in Eritrean prison without trial for 24 years, addressed the 17th Annual Geneva Summit for Human Rights and Democracy on February 18th, 2025.
Full Remarks:
Eritrea has been called “Africa’s North Korea,” “The Hermit Kingdom,” “An Open-Air Prison,” and “Africa’s Gulag State.” That isn’t far from the truth. Since the day Eritrea gained its independence from Ethiopia in 1993, we have never once had an election. President Afwerki has ruled for 32 years with zero political opposition, making him one of the longest-serving leaders. His Marxist-Fascist authoritarian grip on the country has forced 600,000 Eritreans to flee. That’s 20% of the country gone.
I am one of those, living in Sweden with my mom and my two siblings. My father, Dawit Isaak, is trapped in Eritrea. He’s been in prison for almost 24 years with no end in sight—all for the simple crime of being a journalist.
The day of his arrest was a beautiful Sunday morning. I was a little girl, just 7 years old, living an ordinary middle-class life in the suburbs of Asmara. A happy and carefree life.
Until two civilian men came to our house. I recognized them from the day before; they were following us. I remember they knocked on the door, and I opened it, hoping it would be one of my friends. They asked for an Isaak, and, as normal Eritrean custom, my mother welcomed them in. They made pleasant small talk and ate breakfast with us. Then one of them became authoritative and said, “Dawit nkid.” Dawit, let’s go. Through the keyhole, I could see them handcuff my father and take him away.
As a seven-years-old, I couldn’t describe the feeling. But today, at 31, I’ve realized—that that was the first time I experienced anxiety and distress.
I didn’t understand my father’s journalistic work at such a young age, but now I do. My father was born in the 1960s, the height of Eritrea’s struggle to be free. The Italians used to occupy us, and then passed off to the British at the end of World War II, and then merged with the Ethiopian Kingdom in 1952. The ‘60s marked a decade of fighting back. The Eritrean freedom struggle armed anyone able: old, young, men, and women.
In the ’80s, when the war had escalated, my grandparents sent my father to Sweden. And in Sweden, he saw how it could be: free and fair elections, human rights, freedom of expression—that it could all co-exist. When Eritrea became free and independent in 1993, my father, like many Eritreans, went home, got married, and started a family.
My father was already a recognized playwright and a poet. But when a few of his colleagues started Setit, the first independent newspaper in Eritrea, they said, “Dawit, you’re a great storyteller, we need you!” Soon, the newspaper became the biggest one, covering stories about everyday Eritreans and influencing them to think freely and demand a better life. They interviewed people living with HIV/AIDS and wrote about how stigma fueled its spread.
They wrote about mothers without husbands, people living in poverty, and the hunger crisis in the lowlands affecting mostly a Muslim population. And since the government could seize any land, Setit met and wrote about those who had been affected.
But this—writing about the everyday life of Eritreans—was a dangerous business. Those in power interrogated, kidnapped, and imprisoned journalists, some for days and others for weeks. But Setit stayed true to their readers and their ethics of journalism.
Then, it all escalated in 2001. While most people associate that time with the terror attacks in New York and the Twin Towers collapsing, for me and most Eritreans, it was the death of the free Eritrean nation, the death of freedom of expression, and the imprisonment of our loved ones.
As is always the case with fascism, the government started arresting anyone with a critical voice. My father was one of dozens of journalists arrested. Then, they took the poets, the writers, the musicians, students, and protesters.
It’s been 23 years, and since then, a lifetime has gone by. I’ve graduated, I’ve traveled, and I’ve even become a mother.
To this day, my father and his colleagues has not been accused or prosecuted for any crimes. He’s never faced charges, we haven’t had any contact with him, and he’s not allowed to write or receive letters or visits from diplomats.
Today, my father and his colleagues are the longest-held journalists in the world. It’s urgent, and the situation is only getting worse. There is no independent press in Eritrea. Less than 2% have access to the internet. There’s no mobile data or WiFi. Dial-up is your only option, and the government tightly monitors it too. There’s no Facebook, YouTube, WhatsApp, or any other social media. No foreign news, and Eritreans aged 15 to 50 are considered property of the state and are not allowed to leave. Everyone is forced into indefinite mandatory military service—meaning you’re done when the government says that you’re done. It could be 10 years or 30. Even if you want to escape, it’s nearly impossible to get an exit visa. And if border guards see you trying to cross, their orders are “shoot to kill.”
I was lucky to leave the country when I was 8. But I wish I could tell a different story. My generation was the first who could call ourselves Eritreans without any hesitation, without anyone denying our existence. Every refugee dreams of returning to their home country once more, under better conditions. That is my hope for Eritreans too. We are a small country, but we matter. And the international community has to act.
Thank you.
17th Annual Geneva Summit for Human Rights and Democracy, U.N. Opening, Monday, February 17, 2025
Key Quotes:
“Since the day Eritrea gained its independence from Ethiopia in 1993, we have never once had an election.”
“[Afwerki’s] Marxist-Fascist authoritarian grip on the country has forced 600,000 Eritreans to flee. That’s 20% of the country gone.”
“Writing about the everyday life of Eritreans was a dangerous business. As is always with fascism, the government started by arresting anyone with a critical voice. In 2001, my father was one of dozens of journalists arrested.”
“There is no independent press in Eritrea. Less than 2% of Eritreans have access to the internet. There’s no mobile data or WiFi. Dial-up is your only option, and the government tightly monitors it. There’s no Facebook, YouTube, WhatsApp or any other social media. No foreign news.”
“I was lucky to leave the country when I was 8 years old. But I wish I could tell a different story. Every refugee dreams of returning to their home country once more, under better conditions. That is my hope for Eritreans too. We are a small country, but we matter. And we need your help.”
