Former Eritrean high court judge Habteab Yemane shares his journey from provisional justice to seeking refuge in Switzerland.

"These are sound articles. But unfortunately, they bear no relation to reality."
"Criminal law, constitutional law, and human rights are fundamental rights that the government can’t take away from you."
For 16 agonizing years, Habteab Yemane presided over Eritrea’s high court, yet he never once took the oath of office. In a staggering display of state dysfunction, the legal foundation of his career—and his country—simply does not exist in practice. The 1997 constitution, a document Yemane describes as containing "sound articles," remains a ghost document, unimplemented and ignored by the regime.
This is not merely a bureaucratic oversight; it is a systemic failure of the highest order. Yemane, now a refugee in Switzerland, reveals a chilling reality: he served a system that refused to legitimize itself. While he studied law with the conviction that human rights are inalienable, the reality of the courtroom was a farce. "Unfortunately, they bear no relation to reality," Yemane admits, gesturing to the text of a constitution that has gathered dust for nearly three decades. The rule of law in Eritrea isn't just broken; it is a phantom, leaving judges and citizens alike navigating a void where the whims of the dictatorship supersede written law.
The dictatorship of President Isaias Afwerki does not just ignore the law; it actively weaponizes legal instability. Yemane exposes a critical mechanism of control: the "provisional" status of every single judge in the country. By refusing to finalize appointments or enact the constitution, the regime keeps the judiciary in a perpetual state of vulnerability. There is no tenure, no security, and consequently, no independence.
This calculated uncertainty allows the state to exert absolute dominance. If a judge steps out of line, their "provisional" status can be revoked instantly. Yemane's testimony from a church meeting room in Bern sheds light on a terrifyingly effective strategy. The regime maintains a facade of order while ensuring that no institution becomes strong enough to challenge its authority. It is a masterclass in authoritarian survival, where the lack of finalized laws is not a bug, but the system's primary feature. For 16 years, Yemane operated within this trap, dispensing justice in a country where the ultimate verdict always lies with the dictator.
Before the darkness fully descended, there was a brief, blinding flash of hope. In the late 1990s, Yemane co-founded a newspaper that surged to a circulation of 40,000 copies—a massive figure for a nation of only 2 million people at the time. This wasn't just news; it was a lifeline. The publication tackled politics and law, feeding a public hungry for accountability. Yemane even traveled to India, returning with suitcases full of books, including the Guinness Book of Records, hoping to bring levity to his readers.
But in September 2001, the regime crushed this burgeoning civil society with brutal efficiency. Yemane returned to Asmara not to a hero's welcome, but to a city gripped by fear. His entire editorial team had been arrested. The barbershop where friends once gathered was silent. "Everyone was shocked," Yemane recalls. The crackdown was absolute. The internet was non-existent, and the print media was decapitated overnight. The arrest of his colleagues marked the end of the dream of a free press and the beginning of Eritrea's descent into total isolation.
Today, Habteab Yemane fights his battle from Bern, the heart of Swiss democracy. The contrast could not be more stark. While Switzerland thrives on direct democracy and constitutional adherence, Yemane is a refugee from a land where he never cast a single vote. He now advocates for the implementation of the very laws he once tried to uphold in a lawless system.
His presence in Switzerland serves as a powerful reminder of the fragility of justice. While Swiss citizens debate referendums, Yemane scrolls through the digital text of the 1997 constitution on his phone—a blueprint for a nation that could have been. His journey from the high court of Asmara to a church meeting room in Bern underscores the global stakes of democracy. He is not just a refugee; he is a witness to the systematic dismantling of a state. As Eritrea continues to extend its repressive reach abroad, Yemane's voice remains a defiant testament to the enduring desire for the rule of law, even from exile.