East Africa Journal | Ethiopia | Dec 2023
Days of the Derg: Africa’s forgotten red terror
In contrast to the modern glass skyscrapers and apartment blocks of Addis Ababa’s new skyline, with the same red star that stood over much of the communist world in the latter half of the twentieth century, the Derg Monument is a triumph and a relevant reminder to Ethiopia’s short but brutal communist past.
Inaugurated in 1984 the Derg (or Tiglachin) Monument was erected to commemorate the Ethiopian and Cuban soldiers who fought in the Ogaden war against the Somali invasion under Mohammed Siad Barre. With the North Korean made sculptures depicting Kalashnikovs, hammers, sickles and most importantly the unity of the people most communist artworks showcase, the monument is one of the most well-kept and striking that remains from the former communist world. The Derg themselves were the single party Marxist-Leninist government that ruled Ethiopia after overthrowing the Emperor Hailie Selassie, from 1974 until their collapse in 1991 (transitioning into the People’s Democratic Republic of Ethiopia in 1987). During the time of the Derg, the feudal system was abolished and great strives where made in improving literacy rates and living conditions. However, during this period thousands were tortured, persecuted, and murdered by the state. In modern day Ethiopia, finding those sympathetic to its red decades are few and far compared to Europe or Asia. Given the influence of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and its idolisation of Hailie Selassie, along with the fact the church was suppressed during this time under Marxist ideology, it becomes clear why this stint in Ethiopia’s history is so resented.
Travelling through Ethiopia, you see no remnants of the regime, no art or infrastructure, or concrete apartment blocks like the ones that are the backbone of housing in Eastern Europe. Apart from the few remaining relics from pieces of art or propaganda, the Derg is confined to history books and the memories of those who lived through it. To understand this time, three people from different backgrounds from different parts of the country were interviewed with the brief but direct question: ‘What was your life like during the Derg?’
Sipping away at a beer at midday, Amanuel enjoys the December Addis sun outside the front of a small cafe in Bole, the up-and-coming affluential business district of Addis Ababa. Originally born in Asmara in the late 1940s, now the present-day capital of Eritrea and being raised in Tigray, Amanuel spent most his adult life in Addis Ababa. He had moved with his father to Addis back in the mid-1960s and soon became a merchant, mostly selling all sorts of goods down from the Eritrea and Tigray region, mostly fabrics and locally made goods. Eventually he had bought a property and had married a woman he met shortly after he moved. Amanuel grew in popularity around his community, in his words “the ladies like me because [my] fabric is the best quality” he says with a grin pointing at himself. Amanuel remembers September 1974 with the mass protests and seeing the tanks in the streets of Addis Ababa. Although in the beginning he was optimistic for the change, the next decade followed with paranoia. As he was from the north, the Derg could easily charge him with being part of one of the various rebel groups that opposed and were fighting the Derg, and in addition to this, trying to avoid the various roundups of men to be forcibly conscripted into the military. During this time, he only visited his family in Asmara and Tigray a handful of occasions and recalls the abundance of soldiers and the fighting there. By the late 1980s, Amanuel eventually left Ethiopia, telling me the paranoia got too much, being a merchant and knowing a network of other businessmen in Addis, and hearing of disappearances and arrests. “They could take you away if you made too much money” he says.
IIt was in 1986 that he and his wife settled in northern Kenya, in a community of other Ethiopians who had left during the reign of the Derg. He had very fond memories of his shared house, despite sleeping on the floor with very little money, Amanuel had found the community feeling he had missed since the 70’s. Working on road and pipe repairs and later as a pair of hands in a construction site, and his wife working as a cleaner, they remained in Kenya until the early 2000’s after which he returned to Addis Ababa. It was moving back to Addis he reconnected with various people he had known before he had left fifteen years ago, and the horrors of what they had experienced would come to light. One of his wife’s brothers, who were from Nazreth (now Adama), had been imprisoned shortly after they left and had not been seen since. A few that Amanuel knew from the markets had also been arrested back in the 80’s and had not been seen in years, and many others who had moved abroad and had never returned home. One friend he knew in Addis, Mohammad, who was from the east of the country was supposedly imprisoned and accused of being a Somali sympathiser. He was released unharmed. Amanuel noticed some positive changes in the city, however, with a higher skyline and better roads and infrastructure, he enjoyed the new city he had returned to, and it wasn’t long before he resumed selling in the markets and occasionally visiting the Tigray region.
The most painful aspect for Amanuel happened in 1993 when Eritrea gained independence. Initially this excited him, and he explained how he intended to save to move back to Asmara where some of his family had remained this whole time. But for many Eritreans by late 1994, a year after independence, most hopes had been crushed as it became clear that the independence and democracy that the ‘People’s Front for Democracy and Justice’ under Isaias Afwerki had fought for had resulted in a dictatorship. Amanuel would never go to Asmara or see his family there again. To this day he keeps in contact with one of his sisters there, but it is hard he explains, with no internet there, it was only through a letter he had found out his mother had died in 1988. Amanuel blames the events of the 70’s and 80’s and the Derg for the situation in Eritrea as well as the reason he spent many years in Kenya isolated from his family. He is hopeful for the country and its future however, with Addis becoming a very influential city within the African continent. The last 20 years he has settled back down in Addis and lives with his wife in Bole.
Amanuel outside a café in Bole
The south of Ethiopia is home to some of the most stunning landscapes in Africa. The great rift valley cuts through the country and can be followed down all the way to South Africa. In the south sits the Omo Valley, a remote and ethnically diverse region in the country. The region has gained considerable numbers of tourists over the last few decades, with the culture of various tribes such as the Mursi, Hamar and Karo, drawing people in from afar. The administrative capital of the Omo is Jinka, a humble and green town full of life and the iconic blue Ethiopian tuk-tuks. It is in the lush fertile hills next to Jinka where Abo Akiso lives, in the subsistent farming communities. Jinka, along with all the surrounding villages and settlements, are inhabited by the Aari people, the largest ethnic group in the Omo Valley.
Abo has lived in Jinka his whole life, he was born in 1985 only about 500 meters from where he lives today. He is a farmer just like most of the Aari people, living in a small hut overlooking Jinka with a large plot of land. Primarily he grows corn and sweet potatoes, but has additional plots of sunflowers, lemon trees and sorghum. His wife is a pottery maker like many of the other women in his local area. It is Jinka market where they sell their pottery and some of their crops.
Abo was only a child during the time of the Derg and didn’t have many memories from his childhood specifically, however he had stories from his father and uncles who had been affected by the period. Under the Derg, tens of thousands of hectares of agricultural land were confiscated and redistributed between each person in rural communities. Due to the remoteness of the Omo, the influence and policies of the Derg managed to not hit the southern region too brutally. Most properties outside of Jinka and other towns have their own land in which people grow their own food, usually just for their families or for local markets. Abo’s community was largely untouched by land reforms, and he continues to farm the same land his father did before he died. Although land was mostly untouched, many men were called up for military service, some being forced into conscription. Abo’s uncle was taken into the military shortly after the revolution of 1974, at the time he was 19, and sent up to the Tigray region to fight rebels. He explained how in the military he was barely paid and told he could not leave. His uncle eventually returned home in the 1980’s after years of fighting, during this time his contact with him was almost non-existent. Years after returning home, Abo’s father told him about is uncle’s stories from the Tigray, including the killing of prisoners and civilians, burning and looting of settlements and widespread rape of women by soldiers.
Abo’s view on the Derg isn’t as profound as others, most likely as he was not old enough to realise during the time. Abo’s view of this time however coincides mostly with his view today of politics. “Mengistu started wars, Abiy started wars” he exclaims, Mengistu being the Communist leader during the Derg and Abiy Ahmed being the current president as of 2023. This mostly stems from his cousin being stationed currently as a soldier in Tigray as a peacekeeper after the conflict that started in 2020, like his uncle who was stationed there in the 40 years prior. Abo’s main worry is that his cousin will be sent to the Amhara region where the government is currently fighting the Fano militia and may be caught up again in a violent regional war. His view is that Abiy Ahmed’s corrupt government has caused another conflict, and that he prioritises the Oromo elite (largest Ethnic group in Ethiopia), and that no matter what any government stand for, it’s only in the interest of a few. Abo’s ideas of politics and its history was reciprocated by a few other people around Jinka, with a more disconnected outlook than the rest of the country, the remoteness plays a large part of this and the addition of separate tribal and ethnic cultures, and history having more of an influence and lasting effect on the region.
The increase of tourism to the area has boosted the current government’s interest in the Omo, leading them to build Jinka airport with direct flights from Addis. Many in the Omo feel as if the government is using their area as a cash cow, as much of the money never finds its way to residents, and the ethical implications of tourism in the area is a different conversation altogether. So, whether the Derg or the Federal Government is in power, in a largely tribal and animistic part of the country, which is arguably being exploited currently, the governments are seen as not much different from one other.
(First) Abo’s corn field. (Second) Abo's Neighbor's house
Leaving the Omo, and heading east of the country, it becomes drier, hotter and flatter. It is in the east you find the cities of Dire Dawa, Harar and the border regions to Somalia and Somaliland. This part of the country is where the majority of Ethiopia’s Muslim population lives. It is made up of a number of ethnicities, the largest being Somali. It is also the part of the country where Haile Selassie was born, in a small town called Ejersa Goro, near the ancient city of Harar.
It is in a restaurant in Dire Dawa that Mohammed eats lunch, as he does most days when he is back in the city. Mohammed has a high position in an East African farmers union and spends a considerable amount of time travelling to other locations on business, some in Ethiopia, some around various countries in East Africa and even in Europe. The union focuses on improving working standards, investing in machinery and modernising farming across the east of Ethiopia. He looks the part, dressed in a full suit with a driver and a land cruiser out the front, it is clear that after twenty years working in the union, it has landed him in a good place. Born in Dire Dawa in the 1960’s to a wealthy home, he had been university educated, studying agriculture in Addis Ababa in his early twenties. Mohammed spoke of his devotion to Islam, and how it was the main source of inspiration and strength in his life, and what made him stay in the union for all the years, referring to those he had helped as ‘brothers’. Multiple times throughout the day he would leave to pray and would mumble verses of the Qur’an in the car quietly to himself and whilst waiting. “Never once has a drink [alcohol] touched my tongue” he says, laughing out loud whilst chewing khat (a stimulating plant grown in East Africa) in the backseat of the car. It is in the east of Ethiopia one can feel the culture changing, interactions become more casual, and the hospitality is far greater than that of any other region.
Mohammed’s memories and perception of the time of the Derg differ from those from the rest of the country, he spoke of the period with a relaxed tone and didn’t emphasise the horrors and negative aspects of their rule like others did. Location and religion likely play a role in this. Back when the Derg first took power and abolished the royal family of Ethiopia, they also removed power from the Orthodox church, and established state atheism. Although this was not supported by the vast majority of the Ethiopian population, including Mohammed, many Muslims enjoyed a certain degree of religious autonomy as the church no longer had the emperor. Mohammed explains how he remembered the 1970’s and the start of the Ogaden war with Somalia. He was only in his early teens at the time, living in his parent’s house on the south side of Dire Dawa, seeing the soldiers come to the city in the hundreds in the summer of 1977 “would stick with any child forever” he says. “we first heard it on the local radio, nobody knew what was going on, even they [Somalis] were panicking” he goes on to say. By August of 1977 the Somali forces were close to the city and were occupying a large proportion of the Ethiopian ‘Greater Somalia’, with many ethnic Somalis fleeing into Somalia for refuge. Mohammed also talked of his optimism when word came that the Soviets were going to help Ethiopia with weaponry and had cut off Somalia. Cuba had also sent around 15,000 troops to help fight Barre’s forces. By the time the invasion began to be pushed back, he had been evacuated and was living in a town east of Addis where his family would remain until 1978 when the war had ended. “The face of the Cuba man stayed in my mind, I was a child, and he was not black” he remarks about one of the soldiers. Many children had never seen a non-African before they arrived, “they look like aliens to me” he refers back to. Many middle aged to older people, mostly Muslims, remember the war and Ethiopia’s socialist allies fighting the invaders out, and see Mengistu’s success at ending the war something to be remembered and celebrated, including Mohammed, with many still holding Cuba, and even the Soviets, in a higher regard compared to the rest of the country.
“After the war, came the famine” the conversation turns. The neutral narrative of his memories continues. “I never felt hunger like that, the food trucks came with the food, but it was not enough. Even the food from the other nations” (referring to the aid supplies from other countries). Ethiopia experienced a severe famine in the early to mid-1980’s, and subsequently caused up to an estimated 1 million deaths. One of the main factors of this famine was the poor policies and mismanagement of Mengistu’s government, resulting in the collapse of the state farming system and laws preventing the wholesale of grain along with the movement and forced resettling of agricultural labour. It had an impact on the whole country, but the north and northeast were particularly affected. When asked about the Derg’s role with the famine, Mohammed exclaimed how they were more focused on crushing the Tigrayan and Eritrean rebels in the north and suggested it may have been to starve them out. This was the first time he said something openly negative about the regime but goes on to talk about the current food and water security situation. “It is still not good. There is not a lot of water for us all here [east of Ethiopia]. They are still worries about the north today [referring to Tigrayan and Amhara rebel groups]”. When asked about current food security he shakes his head as if to say it never really got much better. “We eat, we have the food, but it is very fine”. The conversation leads off on a tangent when he starts to talk about the local dishes from Harar and his favourite injera dish.
Later on Mohammed shows off a spot in the ancient city of Harar, a place where he regularly does business and visits some of the many mosques in the old town, and of many Imams he has close relations with, both professionally and through friendship. In the courtyard behind some houses, near a small museum nestled away in the labyrinth of streets that make up Harar’s ancient city, a piece of a plaque lays up against a house, a small piece of Derg propaganda remaining to this day, a very rare sight in Ethiopia. It depicts a hand holding the barrel of a Russian Kalashnikov rifle, a symbol all too common with the ideas of revolution and struggle. He explained how it was from a large concrete display as you enter the city showing a soldier, but this remnant has been hidden away now for the last 30 years. Mohammed’s overall view when asked about the regime and the years of the Derg is that of a transitional period, and one that is not really over yet arguably. He worded his response suggesting that the Derg actually improved the social status of Islam by removing power from the church, and that the Islamic population of Ethiopia is growing to this day. “They are gone [The Derg] but we still have the problems with the fighting and the food. Maybe they will get better. These are Ethiopia problems” suggesting the problems the country faced during the Derg are ingrained in the country itself rather than those who run it. “Inshallah (God Willing) we will make it ok” he ends the conversation with a smile.
Mohammad and the remnant of the plaque.
The short time the Derg were in power in Ethiopia did not have as profound an effect as many other socialist states and governments of the twentieth century. It is however just as fresh and rememberable as other peoples who have lived through similar periods from other countries, and thirty years on with new generations in an increasingly globalised and interconnected world, where even places as remote as the Omo appear on tourist catalogues far away in the west, the scars and memories of this cruel and isolating time will exist as long as those who lived through it continue to do so. Whether the Derg and the communist period was beneficial for the country or was a misery endured for almost two decades is not for this article to decide, or for the reader, but for those who witnessed, lived and were affected by it to decide. Poverty is widespread, living standards for many are poor, food and water security and violent regional conflicts continue to plague Ethiopia to this day, as they do in many African nations, and are not confined to the period of the Derg. Despite this, Ethiopia has a path to be hopeful for, as one can see just as I did sitting with Amanuel in Addis Ababa, the political capital of Africa, the country continues to attract foreign investment and business, ultimately building the economy of the nation. Nowhere else in East Africa can you get out of a huge inter-continental connecting airport and tell a taxi to take you to ‘Pizza Hut’, and as of 2024, with Ethiopia agreeing terms with Somaliland to use the Port of Berbera to boost international trade and the many huge Chinese funded infrastructure projects taking place, many Ethiopians can see the bright path the country has ahead of it. The communist era of many countries acts as a reminder of a time of isolation and a time locked away from the rest of the world. As with much of central and Eastern Europe putting its dictatorial past behind it and using it as a stark reminder not to fall back to totalitarian ways, hopefully Ethiopia follows as such to a prosperous and interconnected future.