History is often written by those who survive it, but it is truly understood by those who lived it from within. In this edition, The Reporter Magazine’s Bewket Abebe spoke with a veteran diplomat whose career bridged three different eras.
Ambassador Tefera Shawl served his country across the globe—from Khartoum and Prague to Bonn and Berlin—navigating the refined diplomacy of the Imperial era and the radical, often violent, shifts of the revolutionary years.
Ambassador Tefera’s experience extends far beyond embassy walls. He served in various humanitarian capacities, witnessing firsthand the aftermath of the Rwandan Genocide in Kigali and contributing to South Africa’s transition to a post-apartheid era.
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He also witnessed the brutal displacement of Ethiopians expelled from Asmara—a crisis he points out was largely ignored by the government back home.
From attending the trial of Saddam Hussein in Baghdad to his own imprisonment in the ‘palace prison’ alongside Ethiopia’s greatest minds, Tefera’s remarkable journey offers an unparalleled vantage point affording an inside look at the events and relationships that have shaped modern Ethiopian politics.
In his book, ‘Ethiopia’s Survival: Pain and Gain’, he looks back at the geopolitical chess matches and the lived history of the people caught in the middle. EXCERPTS:
The Reporter Magazine: The Eritrean issue is one of the key topics in your book. You suggest that its separation from Ethiopia was primarily the result of external intrusion, attributing this largely to the influence of the Arab League—specifically Egypt, Syria, and Iraq. While external support from the Arab world was evident (as seen in your account of an Iraqi diplomat admitting his country had invested hundreds of millions of US Dollars in the secessionist movement), how do you explain this view to the many Eritreans who believe their struggle was a legitimate, self-determined cause rather than the product of external interference?
Ambassador Teferra Shawl: Let’s begin with the body politic that used to be Ethiopia prior to the coming of the EPRDF, which included the northern maritime province of Eritrea. Eritreans, since time immemorial, have been part and parcel of the body politic of the Abyssinia; their religion, language, and culture are intertwined and inseparable from that of the Ethiopian body politic.
The Eritrean people had, of course, legitimate concerns like all other Ethiopians—the Gambella, the Ogaden, the Oromo, the Afars, the Amhara in Gojam etc. After the Second World War, there were several uprisings in every Ethiopian region. The people living there had legitimate concerns that could have been addressed in a united front, which they tried to a certain degree. It is when they are united that the resources and bounties of Ethiopia could be shared. Knowing these concerns, those powers since the Berlin Congress that wanted to parcel Africa and Ethiopia thought that unless they weakened Ethiopia—a symbol of resistance and fight against fascism—it should be fractured so as not to be a problem to colonial powers.
Egypt’s adversarial relationship with Ethiopia dates back to the pharaohs. Egyptians harbor a persistent fear that an Ethiopian ruler in the highlands might one day block the river—an anxiety that remains deeply embedded in their national consciousness.
What was the specific geopolitical goal that drove nations like Syria and Iraq to invest so heavily in the dismemberment of Ethiopia?
At the time, Iraq and Syria were fueled by Arab revolutionary fervor. Furthermore, the friction between Israel and the Arab world played a central role. In their support for the Palestinian cause, these so-called revolutionaries united against any nation perceived as pro-Israeli—including Ethiopia—even though Ethiopia remained steadfastly pro-peace and pro-neighborly. This geopolitical reality escaped the Arab leaders; they invested heavily because of expansionist views and a desire to claim the Red Sea as part of the ‘Arab world.’
Boutros Boutros-Ghali was a primary architect of these hostile policies toward Ethiopia. He cultivated the minds of figures like Isaias Afwerki to destabilize Ethiopian leadership, despite our shared heritage. They employed Arab propaganda, framing the referendum as a choice between ‘slavery or independence,’ even though Eritreans were never slaves; they were our family, intermarried and inseparable from us.
Many Eritreans fought for ‘Unity or Death.’ What has independence truly brought them? Today, one sees donkeys pulling carts in the heart of Eritrea. No one can erase the deep, positive sentiments that Ethiopians and Eritreans still share.
You were a member of the technical advisory group formed in May 1975 by General Teferi Benti, the chair of the Dergue, and headed by—as you call him—the ‘respected cartographer’ Taye Retta, to deal with the Eritrean question. What were the group’s key focus areas, and what strategies did you develop to handle the crisis at such a critical time?
In the policy papers we prepared, we elaborated on why Ethiopia’s historical unity was being challenged and how to address those issues. Our aim was to create an atmosphere conducive to democratic development—one free of doctrinaire politics and instead rooted in the traditions of both Ethiopians and Eritreans.
Kiflie Wodajo, a distinguished diplomat and international lawyer, led the technical advisors. He possessed a clear vision. In fact, Kiflie’s father, Grazmach Ali, had served as Consul General in Eritrea, so Kiflie understood the Eritrean case deeply.
Unfortunately, hot-headed revolutionaries from socialist groups pushed for the right to secession based on outdated Marxist-Leninist thinking. Today, looking back, many of them regret it. Our policy suggested regional and cultural autonomy within a united Ethiopia, but Stalinist figures rejected it. History is now coming full circle; people realize Assab was illegally swindled out of Ethiopia’s possession.
To understand the complex history of these two nations, one might think of Ethiopia and Eritrea as two branches of the same ancient tree. Though they have been bent in different directions by the heavy winds of external politics and internal mismanagement, their roots remain inextricably tangled in the same soil.
In one section of your book, you mention obtaining a classified document from German contacts detailing a strategy by young Libyan revolutionaries against Imperial Ethiopia. You personally delivered this document to the Emperor and explained the details. However, the Emperor seemed to show little interest or curiosity, simply remarking, ‘Leave them; they cannot exceed their limits.’ Looking back now, do you believe the Emperor’s assessment was pragmatic?
Gaddafi considered himself a great revolutionary. Having failed to find the influence he sought in the Arab world, he began luring African nations to his side. He paid the annual African Union (AU) dues for several small states and hosted numerous AU meetings in Tripoli. He even proposed moving the capital of Africa to his birthplace in Libya, where he built 700 homes to accommodate staff.
Despite these efforts, Ethiopia had secured the honor of hosting the continental headquarters during the Emperor’s reign. Although Senegal and various former French and English colonies attempted to attract the headquarters, Gaddafi initially hesitated due to the Emperor’s international prestige. As a revolutionary, he faced formidable opposition from great Ethiopian diplomats like Aklilu Habte-Woldie, who defied the arguments put forth by Libya, Egypt, and others seeking to undermine Addis Ababa.
During one session, Minasse Haile(PhD) famously stated that no leader in that hall was there to take dictation from Libya; it was a community of equals, not a platform for one man to portray himself as the leader of Africa. Ethiopia remained consistently pro-African, struggling for continental independence and providing training and equipment to liberation movements, including Nelson Mandela’s. Even earlier, at the League of Nations, Ethiopia was the sole daring voice to take the white rulers of South Africa to international court to demand independence for Namibia. This has long been our tradition. We eventually learned that there was a clear conspiracy to use any means necessary to transplant the African Union headquarters to Libya.
That was what the document you received from the Germans was all about?
That was it. The Germans, of course, have great respect for an independent-minded country like Ethiopia; they understand the struggle for sovereignty firsthand. To reclaim the lost territory of East Germany, they had to perform a great deal of ‘political gymnastics,’ but they eventually succeeded. We share that spirit of self-respect and independence with them.
Because of this shared understanding, we were alerted to the Libyan Foreign Ministry’s activities. We were prepared. Dr. Minasse was ready, and he gave them ‘value for their money.’ The Emperor knew exactly how he had tightened the screws on the situation; that is why he confidently remarked, ‘They cannot exceed their limits.’
You were a member of the delegation that accompanied Emperor Haile Selassie on his final visit to Germany in the summer of 1973. At the time, news reports claimed the Emperor’s airplane had been hijacked. Tell us a bit more about the particular incident? What actually happened, and how did the Emperor react when he learned that a ‘hijacking’ of his plane was being broadcast to the world?
The pilot likely touched the wrong button, sending a signal to European towers. We flew smoothly and arrived in Addis Ababa safely, only to find the BBC still reporting the “hijacking” while we were already home. It was just European media dramatizing the waning days of the Emperor’s rule. They needed some propaganda. It was simply a total bluff. They did not even correct themselves and report our safe arrival.
While imprisoned alongside Ethiopia’s top officials, you also met influential religious leaders like Patriarch Abune Tewophilos—the first Ethiopian patriarch of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church—and the fascinating figure, Liqe Siltanat Abba Habtemariam. Please tell us more about that experience. You mentioned a striking incident where prison supervisors demanded the large golden crosses both men carried. Looking back, why do you think the supervisors wanted those crosses, and how did Liqe Siltanat Abba Habtemariam—who later became Abune Melketsedek—manage to survive despite his refusal?
To me, Liqe Siltanat Abba Habtemariam was a true patriot. In the palace prison, a machine gun was always trained on us. At the time, it was common practice for the authorities to seize gold—even women’s earrings—to fund the war effort against Somalia. They intended to melt it down for hard currency. The supervisors even went so far as to confiscate the Patriarch’s large golden cross.
However, when they ordered Liqe Siltanat Abba Habtemariam to hand over his, he simply walked to the corner of his bed and grabbed a ribbon. Wearing his priestly robes, he tied his golden cross with the ribbon—the colors of the national flag. Standing directly in front of the heavy gun and looking the supervisor in the eye, he said: ‘You can shoot. I will never hand over my cross while I am alive. You must kill me first.’ We were all stunned, as were the supervisors. They never asked for his cross again.
His courage to defend his faith was patriotic, touching, and moving! That meant a great deal to all of us who were in that prison.
Indeed, he survived those trials with the Grace of God and led a devoted life. Following his later ordination as Bishop Melketsedeq, he continued his lifelong service until he eventually entered his eternal rest at an advanced age.
One notable change at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs while career diplomats were imprisoned was the appointment of a police cadet, Colonel Feleke Gedle-Giorgis, as Foreign Minister. Ethiopia has seen similar appointments across different eras—a trend that continues to this day. In your view, how effective can high-ranking officials be when appointed to lead institutions in fields they are entirely unfamiliar with? What is your personal belief on this matter?
In fact, Feleke had studied politics and international relations in Yugoslavia, but in the professional world, he was simply a cadet police officer. While he spoke good English, his knowledge of the history of Ethiopian diplomacy was lacking. He had to learn while working. This made things very difficult for him in the beginning. Fortunately, he was surrounded and guided by sharp diplomats like Berhanu Dinka and Yilma Tadesse.
In time, Feleke began to excel. A British ambassador once came to his office with a message from the Queen intended for delivery directly to President Mengistu. Feleke instructed the ambassador to hand the letter to him instead. He likely intended to discard it, as he already understood the general subject from the ambassador’s explanation.
When the ambassador noted, ‘Her Majesty says her government is highly concerned about the types of weapons the Ethiopian army is using in Eritrea,’ Feleke calmly responded: ‘Well, please tell Her Majesty that our government is highly concerned about the types of weapons the British Army is using in Ireland.’
But what about the costs to the nation’s diplomacy while such ministers took time to learn the ropes before finally excelling, if they managed to do so at all?
Yes, there is a cost, and that cost is long-lasting. One example is, the same minister at the UN General Assembly condemned the Americans, claiming they had used poison gas on Cubans—a claim even the Cubans themselves would not make. To this day, he remains banned from entering the United States.
On one occasion, Chester Crocker—then U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs—attempted to visit Ethiopia for diplomatic talks. However, Berhanu Bayeh canceled the visit on the pretext that no officials were available to receive him in Addis Ababa. This snub caused considerable diplomatic friction; indeed, Berhanu’s misconduct so offended the Americans that they ultimately ushered the TPLF into the capital. In this field, one must be sharp. Diplomacy is the art of the impossible—the conduct of war by means other than weapons or rudeness.
There is a growing perception that diplomatic prestige has deteriorated significantly from the heights reached during the ‘Golden Age’ of Ethiopian diplomacy. As someone who has seen the evolution of our foreign policy firsthand, how do you view Ethiopia’s current diplomatic performance and its international reputation? To start, do you agree with the idea that there was a ‘golden era’ in the history of Ethiopian diplomacy? And if so, what specific qualities or strategies are missing from Ethiopia’s current diplomatic engagements?
You know, one could say diplomacy had its golden days when Ethiopia succeeded in bringing Africa together—when it convinced neighbors near and far that its territorial integrity was sacred. When Ethiopia sent its elite army and bodyguards to help liberate South Korea, that was a golden era. No other African country shone as Ethiopia did then.
Then you look at the United Nations, when the Emperor addressed the General Assembly, or when he visited America, Russia, and China. He was received with equal greatness everywhere. His time was an era of immense diplomatic opportunity because he could interact as a peer with leaders like Marshal Tito, Nehru, Nasser, Eisenhower, and Kennedy.
That was a time when Ethiopia truly meant something and made a difference in regional politics. Whether with Saudi Arabia or the Emirates, the Emperor impressed their leaders; they were our friends. Non-alignment and mutual respect were paramount.
What went wrong was the extreme, doctrinaire approach of the Dergue, where they chose a side. Later came the ‘street-smart’ approach of Meles Zenawi—it was street-smart, nothing more. Today, while Abiy is doing well with the Emirates, I am less certain of our standing with the Americans or the British. Ethiopian leaders seem shy today. Perhaps our constitution is framed such that the President has no power, but even so, the Prime Minister should be bold enough to visit the White House or Buckingham Palace. I want to see that presence again.
You witnessed firsthand several historical atrocities, especially the mass expulsion of Ethiopians following Eritrea’s secession. Between your UNDP consultancy and your work with the GTZ on reintegration, you have seen the toll of displacement up close, even comparing the plight of Ethiopians then to the Jewish experience before WWII. Similarly, you saw the horrific aftermath of the Rwanda Genocide up close during your time with African Humanitarian Action. Given that Ethiopia currently faces massive internal displacement and risks that international assessors have flagged as potential for genocide, what is your message to the government and other stakeholders?
Goodwill is the foundation for everything. We must start with positive thinking and the principle that all human beings—regardless of race, tribe, or nationality—are equal; no one is above another. Furthermore, one must be able to forgive. This is what Kagame successfully achieved in Rwanda by establishing courts where people confessed their crimes and sought forgiveness.
In South Africa, I was a member of the UN team, sitting and listening alongside Mandela and Bishop Tutu. I saw people confess and then embrace each other. Let the past be forgotten; from now on, we must start with a clean slate. That is the mentality we need here during this transition. If you dwell on past injustices, the cycle never ends. When will we stop? Unless we are prepared to accept forgiveness, the killing and revenge will continue. That is the central point I stressed in my book.
I want to see a day when an Ethiopian can travel as freely as I did as a young man. I once drove from Addis to Assab, then back to Dessie, then on to Asmara, through Mekele, and finally to Gondar. Not a single shot was fired. Along the way, people would offer me milk, water, or tella to show their hospitality. That was Ethiopia. I want those days to return—a time when everyone has goodwill. I want my grandchildren to live in peace, yet we have denied this to our own generation because of the struggle for power among revolutionaries.
