Habteab Yemane: high court judge in Eritrea, refugee in Switzerland

Habteab Yemane became a lawyer because he believed in a constitutional state, but his journey led him somewhere else entirely. Now living in Switzerland as a refugee, he explains how he became a judge in Eritrea’s high court – and how its dictatorship wields power.

Yemane was a judge in Eritrea’s high court, but he never took the oath of office. No one ever did. Eritrea’s 1997 constitution remains unimplemented. “These are sound articles,” he says as he goes through the constitution’s text. “But unfortunately, they bear no relation to reality.”

Yemane advocates for a democratic future for Eritrea, where he served as a judge for 16 years, though always on a “provisional basis”.

After nearly 30 years, Eritrea’s constitution is still waiting to be enacted – and all judges are considered provisional. According to Yemane, it is this persistent state of legal uncertainty that allows the dictatorship to maintain control. Speaking to SWI swissinfo.ch in a church meeting room in Bern, he explains how the system operates under President Isaias Afwerki – and what Swiss democracy looks like through his eyes.

Yemane was a judge in Eritrea’s high court, but he never took the oath of office. No one ever did. Eritrea’s 1997 constitution remains unimplemented. “These are sound articles,” he says as he goes through the constitution’s text. “But unfortunately, they bear no relation to reality.”

Yemane advocates for a democratic future for Eritrea, where he served as a judge for 16 years, though always on a “provisional basis”.

After nearly 30 years, Eritrea’s constitution is still waiting to be enacted – and all judges are considered provisional. According to Yemane, it is this persistent state of legal uncertainty that allows the dictatorship to maintain control. Speaking to SWI swissinfo.ch in a church meeting room in Bern, he explains how the system operates under President Isaias Afwerki – and what Swiss democracy looks like through his eyes.

High hopes

As a young man, Yemane had high hopes for his country, which gained independence from Ethiopia in 1993.

He was part of the first graduating class of the Faculty of Law at the University of Asmara after independence. He studied law with a dream of building a society based on the rule of law. He recalls learning that “criminal law, constitutional law, and human rights are fundamental rights that the government can’t take away from you”. Some of the lecturers had come from the United States.

But the ideals he had studied never found a place in reality.

“I’ve never voted in an election,” Yemane says. Today, Eritrea is considered one of the most repressive dictatorships in the world, a regime that extends its reach beyond its borders, targeting and intimidating Eritreans all over the world.

After graduating in 1998, Yemane and a group of friends founded a newspaper. They were young and full of ambition. “Big plans, you know,” he says. The paper focused on politics and law. “We used what we had learnt in our studies to inform the public and answer their questions.” The newspaper quickly found an audience, reaching a circulation of 40,000 copies.

Not bad in a country that had just over two million inhabitants at the time. Yemane later went to India to pursue further studies.

In autumn 2001, Yemane returned to Eritrea with suitcases full of books – legal texts about women’s and children’s rights, but also the Guinness Book of Records, which he hoped would provide light-hearted material for the newspaper. At the time, no one in Eritrea had internet accessExternal link.

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‘The president’s prisoners’

On his first morning back in Eritrea, Yemane went to the barbershop in Asmara where he and his friends regularly met. He had always been welcomed with warm embraces. But this time, the mood was sombre. “Everyone was shocked,” he says, and they asked him, “Why have you come back?”

His newspaper’s entire editorial team had been arrested the week before.

Yemane initially believed he could defend his friends in court. He went to the prison with food and books. “But the guard said only food was allowed. I argued with him, because according to the law, prisoners have many rights, including access to books.”

Still clinging to the belief that the rule of law applied, Yemane went to the chief of police. “He told me, ‘These aren’t my prisoners – they’re the president’s. And I don’t want your blood on my hands.’ Then he sent me home.”

After that encounter, Yemane says a deep fear set in. He realised that his dream had ended. He left Asmara and kept quiet.

Then in January 2002, a letter arrived, provisionally appointing him as a judge. There was no real salary. Under the regime’s logic, this was national service.

Yemane never saw or heard from his imprisoned friends again.

Since the early 2000s, every Eritrean has been conscripted for “national service”, an indefinite militarised service that governs everyday life. According to UN reports, this has become the stage for serious human rights violations.

A 2016 report by a UN commission described crimes against humanityExternal link that are “widespread and systematic” in Eritrea’s military training camps and detention centres. The crimes do not take place on the “open streets of Asmara”, which means visitors might not notice them. According to the UN Commission, there is “no real prospect” of holding perpetrators accountable in Eritrea because the judiciary is not independent.

‘Special courts’

When asked whether his role made him a central part of the power structure in Eritrea, Yemane doesn’t hesitate. “No. Because the judicial system had already been stripped of all power.” He explains that decisions are made by the military. “Military officials act with absolute authority.”

The country’s legal system split in two. Cases with social or political implications end up in “special courtsExternal link”.

“We tried to ensure fair trials,” Yemane says. This was possible in cases that held no interest for the government or the military. “But wherever the government had a stake, the court had no power.”

There were times, he recalls, when lawyers simply didn’t turn up. Then you knew what was going on. “If someone had an influential relative, the opposing lawyer was often arrested.” Sometimes, even the person filing the lawsuit would simply disappear.

Not everything Yemane says can be independently verified. A 2009 article on the blog Human Rights Concern EritreaExternal link, recounts the story of the newspaper, Yemane’s involvement and the weeks of brutal repression that followed. “The next generation will know of the sacrifice and the price paid by Eritrean journalists,” it declares.

Meanwhile, a 2011 statement from the Eritrean Ministry of InformationExternal link confirms Yemane’s role as a judge. At a government symposium, he reportedly “addressed the tireless efforts to amend the existing criminal code in order to establish a just system”.

Swiss democracy

After 16 years as a judge, Habteab Yemane fled Eritrea in 2017. He spent the first part of his asylum process in Jegenstorf, a village with just under 6,000 residents in canton Bern.

Even there, small things stood out to him – signs of a functioning democracy. He noticed posters for the local elections, including one with the face of a woman he already knew from the village. But what struck him even more than the election campaign was that every resident had been sent the municipality’s full budget.

“That was a revelation for me,” Yemane says. “In Eritrea, only two people have access to the country’s finances: the president and the economics minister.” There, it would be unthinkable that anyone would know how much money the country has at its disposal, let alone an individual village. “And here, the village sends me – a refugee – its budget, complete with all its income and expenditure.”

Moments like this helped him understand what democracy means, and the sense of security it can offer.

“If you know the budget, you have a basis for public discourse. You can criticise or advocate for change,” he says. “Here, I have witnessed the power of the people, even at the village level. They have their own government, their own mayor, their own budget. And the people have the right to know what is going on.”

By contrast, Yemane says, Eritrea offers no transparency, no public budgets, no legal certainty – not even for judges. To rule fairly, judges need protection. They must have the assurance that any allegations of misconduct will be handled according to a clearly defined legal process. This is the only way to safeguard their independence from political interference. But in a system where judicial appointments are officially considered only provisional, those protections vanish.

‘Dire’ situation in Eritrea

According to Yemane, uncertainty is how the Eritrean dictatorship maintains its grip on power: no one knows where they stand. There is a constant fear of being taken away to prison. It is impossible to speak freely about anything.

Following the 2016 UN Commission Report, the human rights situation in Eritrea attracted a great deal of international attention.

Sheila B. KeetharuthExternal link, the UN Special Rapporteur at the time, told the UN General Assembly in New York how widespread arbitrary detention, enforced disappearances, rampant torture and rape were committed “not only against a significant number of women, but also against men”.

Keetharuth called on the International Criminal Court and all UN member states to take action against those responsible. But little has happened.

According to a 2024 report by the current UN Special Rapporteur on EritreaExternal link, Mohamed Abdelsalam Babiker, the situation remains “dire”. He highlights continued patterns of enforced disappearance, arbitrary detention, and growing concern about transnational repression.

Babiker has also called on states hosting Eritrean refugees to protect them from the regime they fled, warning that Eritrea’s reach extends even into countries such as Switzerland.

The regime’s tactics prevent Eritreans all over the world from exercising their freedom of speech, Babiker says.

Habteab Yemane explains that “when you arrive here, you know that the regime’s agents are here too. So you have to be careful”. For the first few years, he lived in fear of Eritrea’s government. But over time, he let go of that fear and began to exercise his new right to free speech.

Today, Yemane is no longer afraid to speak in public. In fact, he believes that public visibility offers him protection against the regime that he fled.

Edited by David Eugster. Adapted from German by David Kelso Kaufher/ts