Wednesday, September 14, 2016

#OromoProtests

Feyisa Lilesa: 'I am not seeking asylum in the US'

Feyisa Lilesa, who won silver for Ethiopia at Olympic Games in Rio, wants "superiority of one ethnic group to end".

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Washington, DC When long-distance runners are in their stride, thoughts weave from pace and distance, to discomfort and the environment.
For Feyisa Lilesa, the Oromo marathoner who won a silver medal for Ethiopia at the Rio Olympics, his thoughts go to friends and family dying and disappearing in anti-government protests.
Lilesa grew up running 7km to school and back in his home state of Oromia, the protest epicentre, and it is hard for him to forget where he came from.
That is why he used his Olympic debut to protest against his government, joining the ranks of athletes like Americans Tommie Smith and John Carlos, who gave a black power salute on the podium of the 1968 Summer Games.
"Even when I practised, personally my legs were running but my mind was also racing, preoccupied by the suffering all around me," he told Al Jazeera's The Stream  on Monday in Washington, DC, where he is contemplating whether he can ever return to Ethiopia.
"All this has been on my mind for a very, very long time."
Oromo youth tired of being Ethiopia's largest ethnic group yet treated like second-class citizens, have been protesting for nearly a year.
‘Ethiopian police killed hundreds of protesters’
They began when the government floated a plan to expand the capital into land worked by Oromo farmers, then continued after security forces used live bullets to tamp down the unrest.
Lilesa says his wife's brother went missing in one of the protests, and his friend died in a suspicious fire at a prison where opposition figures were held.
On track for the Olympics, the 26-year-old knew he could not show support in the streets, but he could bring the Oromo cause to an even bigger stage.
"As soon as I was selected for the Rio Olympic team, I decided if I won and got a good result, I wanted to use that opportunity to raise awareness and the voice of my people."
Lilesa says that he did not share his plans with his family because he did not want to worry them. They would have to find out when the rest of the world did.
As he neared the finish line in the men’s marathon event on August 21 in Rio, Lilesa crossed his wrists in an "X" above his head, a sign of Oromo solidarity.
"I knew this was being live broadcast around the world, and I wanted to show that the protests in Ethiopia were peaceful just like my sign was," he recalls.
"As I was looking to the left and to the right, the place is a stadium with people in the stands, and they thought this was just a sign of celebration, winning the silver and celebrating."
Lilesa says that he does not consider himself a hero, but he understands why some people call him that [Al Jazeera]
Lilesa says Kenyan runner Eliud Kipchoge, who won the gold, asked what he was doing and then said he was sorry Lilesa had been carrying such stress.
The stress has only increased.
After his race, Lilesa told the press that his government would kill him if he returned home, a claim Getachew Reda, Ethiopia's communications minister, laughed off.
"He's making a big fuss out of nothing," Reda told Al Jazeera by telephone from Addis Ababa on Sunday, the Ethiopian New Year.
"I think that wasn't good thinking, but he's entitled to do whatever he wants to do."
Lilesa wants to explore his options in the US.
He stayed in Brazil two and a half weeks after the Olympics ended, waiting for a US visa for people with extraordinary skills or abilities.
It came with unusual speed.
He is now in Washington where he kicked off a media blitz on Monday wearing a slim black suit with white piping, his hair in a medium-length afro.
He is telling the press that he is not seeking asylum, that he will spend the next few months training out West where the altitude is higher, while he figures out what is best for him and his family.
In a sit-down interview with Al Jazeera, he relied on a translator to express the grief he feels being separated from his wife, five-year-old daughter and three-year-old son.
"Every time I call my wife, they want to know when I'm coming. They ask me, 'What are you up to, when are you coming home?' This makes me emotional inside, so even when I call on Skype, I have to fight back tears."
The Oromo, Ethiopia's largest ethnic group, allege systematic persecution [Wolfgang Kumm/ EPA]
His children have a better life than he did growing up because of the comforts that being an elite runner in Ethiopia brings.
The irony, he says, is that growing up poor, working on a farm, living far from school, is what grooms the best runners.
"The kind of living environment that leads people into running is not the kind of comfortable living they have right now."
But the environment still is not what Lilesa wants for his son and daughter, or any other Oromo child growing up in Ethiopia.
He looks to the US, an ally of Ethiopia, as a better example of what his country could be.
"I heard Obama making a statement when there were children being killed in America by gun violence and he cried on the national TV. That’s the kind of government you have. But on the other side in Ethiopia, we have a government that is killing its own people, children as young as nine years old," Lilesa said.
"The freedoms Americans enjoy here, and the kind of government they have, that's what the American government should be pushing Ethiopia to do."
US President Obama got flak last year when he praised Ethiopia for its "democratically elected" government after the ruling party won 100 percent of parliamentary seats.
Ethiopia's largest ethnic group 'marginalised'
Even Getachew Reda, the Ethiopian minister, told Al Jazeera’s The Stream he is "not particularly proud" of that statistic.
Reda considers his government a work in progress and insists "some officials will have to be removed for having failed their people".
The assurance does not impress Lilesa, who says that he does not trust Reda or anyone else in the Ethiopian government.
What it would take to bring him home, he says, is real change.
"I want the superiority of one ethnic group to end. If everyone does not have equal power, their different political, religious views respected, in the future, there will not be sustainable peace in the country."
With a temporary US visa, and an unknown future, little seems sustainable for the runner right now.
But he is an endurance athlete, familiar with the long game.
His hero, after all, is Oromo marathon runner Abebe Bikila, who won the gold medal in the 1960 Summer Olympics while running bare foot.
Lilesa says that he does not consider himself a hero, but he understands why some people call him that.
"They carry around a deep wound, and when a doctor touches a wound, it makes you feel better. I sort of rubbed their wounds."
Inside Story - What is triggering Ethiopia's unrest?
Source: Al Jazeera

#OromoProtests

Olympian Feyisa Lilesa: From Rio to America, I will keep fighting Ethiopia’s oppression

'I will not silence my protest of Ethiopia's injustice.'

 
Play Video2:38
As he crossed the finish line in Rio, Ethiopian marathoner Feyisa Lilesa made a statement of protest, honoring the plight of his people back home. Now fearing retribution for him and his family, Lilesa continues to speak out, despite an uncertain future. (Erin Patrick O'Connor, Adriana Usero/The Washington Post)
 
Feyisa Lilesa is an Ethiopian Olympian and winner of a silver medal in the men’s marathon at the Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro.
On Aug. 21, when I reached the finish line of the men’s marathon at the Olympics in Rio, I crossed my fists above my head. This is sign of peaceful protest used by my people, the Oromo, for the past 10 months. I did it to raise awareness; hundreds of my fellow Ethiopians have been killed by security forces only because they peacefully protested against injustice. I knew there were millions of people watching the Olympics, and I wanted the world to see me. I want to tell the world what is happening in Ethi­o­pia — in Oromia, Amhara, Ogaden, Gambella and elsewhere.
I know if I go back to Ethiopia I will be killed, arrested or put on a list of people never allowed to leave the country again. Ethiopia’s government spokesperson made a comment in the media that I would be safe. But government security forces have killed hundreds for just doing what I did. Crossing my wrists in Rio has already had a great impact on my life; I am now separated from my dear mother, my supportive wife and my precious children in Ethi­o­pia, whom I miss dearly. I am here safely in the United States on a special skills visa for the time being.
As I was preparing for Olympic competition, my thoughts were always preoccupied with the suffering of my people. The Oromo are Ethiopia’s single largest ethnic group. The Ethiopian coffee that Americans drink comes mostly from my region. We are also well known for our long-distance runners. Peaceful protests against the government started in November when the government was forcing Oromo farmers off their land and selling it to foreign investors. Since then, human rights reports say more than 500 people have been gunned down by the security forces, but I believe at least twice as many have been killed. This includes at least 12 people that I know from my home district of Jaldu in Oromia. Tens of thousands have been arrested. Families do not know what happened to their sons and daughters after they were taken by the army and police.
While training for the Olympics, I feared for my security, because of some philanthropic work I was doing to help young Oromo students who I knew had no opportunities. I was afraid that someone could even jump out from the bushes and take my life while I was out running alone. I have not had a day when I could put my mind and body in sync to focus entirely on my training.
Recently while I was in Rio, a huge fire broke out at Qilinto prison outside of Addis Ababa. Ethiopia’s famous political prisoners were there awaiting trial, some for months or years. Others were held without being charged. Local media reported that gunfire could be heard before and during the fire. A week ago, I received the news that my close friend, Kebede Fayissa, was killed during that incident. His charred body was sent back to his family. He was arrested on Aug. 6 for protesting. I suffer knowing that I was preparing to go to the Olympics in Rio while Kebede was being arrested for doing the same thing I did — standing up for our people. Now he is gone.
The Oromo just want their full rights like any other people. They want justice, they want free speech, they want government accountability, they want a free press, they want full participation in the political process and for their constitutional rights to be respected and protected by their government. Yes, we protest, but ours is a peaceful protest.
But things are getting worse in Ethiopia. I fear for what could happen in the future. Our grievances have not been heard in the rest of the world because the government has blocked communication. Here is my question: Can nonviolence succeed if no one hears our voices or sees our protests? We all yearn for peace, but the government continues its attacks. I fear that if the killing does not stop, people could abandon nonviolence in self-defense.
My country is an important ally of the United States. We in Ethiopia and people around the world see America as a beacon of democracy and promoter of human rights. Allies should not let allies commit the abuses that happen in Ethiopia every day. I don’t think that the United States wants Ethiopia to disintegrate. I am asking the U.S. government to demand an explanation from Ethi­o­pia and to condemn the brutal and unfair actions of the government. The United States needs to push hard for democracy in Ethiopia. I think that is the only thing that will keep my country together.
I have no plans to initiate contact with the Ethiopian government, and no one from the government has reached out to me. If the government desires to have contact with me, it should free all political prisoners. It should also free those who have been arrested without even being involved in politics at all. That includes freeing all Oromo, Amhara and those from other nations and nationalities who have been unjustly detained.
I’m a runner, not a scholar or politician. But I know that all people yearn for fairness and justice. I will continue to race and pursue my career, and I will speak out until the Oromo and others in Ethiopia find justice.

Thursday, September 8, 2016

#OromoProtests

Groups Urge UN Human Rights Council Over Ethiopia Protests

More than a dozen rights groups have written to the U.N. Human Rights Council urging an immediate halt to "excessive" use of force by Ethiopian security forces.
The letter dated Thursday also calls for an independent investigation into the reported killings of hundreds of people in Ethiopia's Amhara and Oromia states since November 2015 amid protests.
"Authorities have also arbitrarily arrested thousands of people throughout Oromia and Amhara during and after protests, including journalists and human rights defenders," the letter says.
Groups signing the letter include Human Rights WatchAmnesty International and Reporters Without Borders. The Human Rights Council is expected to convene later this month in Geneva.
This week, the U.S. said it has raised "grave concerns" about the use of force against protesters.
Protests over regional concerns in Ethiopia have turned into broader anti-government protests demanding wider freedoms and the release of detained protesters. Tensions rose over the weekend when more than 20 people were killed during a fire at a prison on the outskirts of the capital, Addis Ababa, which holds many opposition figures and journalists.
The East African country, an ally of the West, is often accused of stifling dissent and cutting off the internet. Thursday's letter says "there are no effective avenues to pursue accountability for abuses given the lack of independence of the judiciary and legislative constraints." The ruling coalition party controls all the 547 seats in the federal parliament.
Ethiopian officials have called the recent protests illegal. The country's prime minister, Haliemariam Desalegn, has ordered security forces to use proportionate measures to control the protests.
As frustration grows, attacks have been reported on some businesses, including foreign ones, with suspected links to the government.
 
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#OromoProtests

Qilinto prison fire reignites one long suppressed in me: My message to inmates’ families

Bekele Dawano
Written by Edao Dawano
On the morning of Sept. 3, eyewitnesses in Addis Ababa reported a flurry of gun shots at Qilinto prison, a remand center on the outskirts of Ethiopia’s capital. That was followed by the expansive compound catching fire, which has reportedly destroyed a large part of the maximum security jail often used as a holding place for political prisoners awaiting trial.

Authorities confirmed 23 deaths but activists say the casualty figure could be as high as 60. The Qilito prison houses up to 3,000 inmates, including prominent Oromo opposition leaders Bekele Gerba, the deputy chairman of the Oromo Federalist Congress (OFC) and his colleagues.  

The loss of life in such a gruesome way is heartbreaking. And the Ethiopian government’s handling of the tragedy is simply revolting–to say the least. Nearly a week after the incident, the whereabouts and status of the detainees remains unknown. After shuttling between several federal prisons hoping to locate their loved ones, on Wednesday distraught mothers staged an  impromptu protest demanding to either be given the body of their dead relatives or be given access to them. To add insult to their injury, some were themselves detained.
Most of the prisoners at Qilinto were locked up on trumped up charges in connection with the 10-month old Oromo protests. I have no doubt that they longed to be free and be reunited with their families. They dreamed and hoped to see injustice lifted from their people. Yet, at least for dozens of those detainees, both their hopes and lives were destroyed by a suspicious fire in a dark jail cell where they’re physically powerless to escape or defend themselves.

I sat thousands of miles away from Qilinto, absorbing the news and trying to imagine what it’s like for the families to be kept in the dark about the fate of their loved ones. Bontu Bekele Gerba is a brave and courageous young woman. In her media appearances, she speaks with so much composure exuding an unnatural strength. I used to envy Bontu that she gets to at least visit the prisons and see and speak to her father. Hers is no enviable position at all but I somehow found myself relating with her situation this week.

My father Bekele Dawano, a fierce advocate of Oromo rights, among the legion of Oromo freedom fighters, disappeared 25 years ago when I was a mere child. I grew up my entire life not knowing whether my beloved father is dead or alive. The blackout of the news of Qilinto and the government’s refusal to inform the families left me paralyzed and filled me with agony. It brought back years of pent up anger and pain.

For years, I thought blessed and lucky were those that knew where their loved ones were–for they could at least go and visit them in prison. Even those whose relatives or family members were killed, could mourn, have some kind of closure and move on with life, as they say. But not having any closure about my father, whose fate and whereabouts remain a mystery a quarter a century later, is akin to living with an unrelenting and insidious pain.  

If I had known my father is in Qilinto, like everyone of the families of the prisoners held there whose fate remains unknown, I would have ran wild  to the site to seek information about his status. I would have been arrested demanding to see my father’s corpse or a proof that he’s alive. But I’m not lucky enough.

I share the agony of awaiting for dreadful bad news that Bontu and the families of the rest of the prisoners might be living through. Not knowing the fate and wellbeing of someone you love kills–piece by piece. Over the years, I found the psychological torment harder than anything else, there are plenty, I had to cope with. Distance does not shield me from feeling their pain as I grew up nursing it having been robbed my father when I needed him the most.  

After 25 long years of uncertainty and searching, I still nurture a faint hope that my father could be in any of Ethiopia’s many jails. So, when a prison is torched, as the case these days, my hope shrinks a bit. I feel as if my father and his fellow prisoners of conscience are smoldering there unattended. I feel suffocated seeing the smoke billowing into the sky. I fear and worry that the Ethiopian government, which snatched my father and robbed me of a normal childhood, may have now burned him alive. I try to assess the moral culpability of those in power and try to imagine the sheer inhumanity of the prison guards shooting down inmates attempting to put out a raging fire. Nevertheless, I find myself drowned in deep thoughts and overcome by a feeling of powerlessness.

It’s late at night, alone in my bed, twisting and turning, I try to write and then stop. I fight back tears and ponder over the possibility of my father being at Qilinto. I wouldn’t have known. He could be one of those shot or burned alive while fighting to douse the inferno with his bare hands. I ponder, since he disappeared more than two decades ago, even if he’s incinerated at Qilinto, he could be rendered unrecognizable or be left there to suffer and slowly meet his death. Having processed all this, I sort of wake up from my hallucinatory state of mind and wish that I would be lucky enough to claim his body and end the decades of sorrow and pain. It is this sort of hope against hope that’s been my secret to ease the burden of memory, as well as profound and chronic agony.

I know I am not alone. There are other families who have similarly been kept in the dark for years. I sometimes wonder how they cope with the sorrow.

My hope and reasons

I spent most of my formative years drifting in thought in search of my lost father and trying to understand what life in prison is like. Having used to them and finding them to be largely uninformed, the rumors that keep flooding me don’t any longer offer much of a hope. Some say my father was killed long time ago. Others claim he’s tortured and he died due to illness and lack of medical care. My father is a man of principle and unshakable political conviction. I was once told that his captors admired his courage and bravery as to not kill him. And instead he’s being held at one of the remote hidden prisons along with other prominent prisoners such as Nadhi Gamada, Yosef Bati, Lamessa Boru and many others who disappeared from the public eye in the last two decades and a half. On a good day, this gives me a sliver of hope–however fleeting.

Sometimes I wish I had the opportunity Bontu Bekele Gerba and other children of Oromo political prisoners had: to visit their fathers in prison. I would have done the same if I had known wherever he was imprisoned. In fact, disregard the visitation, a knowledge that my father is alive would have been enough to calm and steady my yearning and tattered soul. Not knowing that kills. I want to comfort Bontu and others who are being subjected to unspeakable ordeals like this week’s but often I don’t even know how to express my own reality. Sometimes I feel no emotion at all as if my heart has become laminated in pain and everlasting grief.

Through exile and years of uncertainty and high flying rumors about my father’s whereabouts, either he is long dead or still alive, I have chosen to keep him alive — and that slim hope gives me a respite from the chronic pain.

This lived experience, as dismal as it is, gives me a unique understanding of the Oromo struggle for freedom and our progress, as well as shortcomings. My father would be so proud to witness the Qubee generation taking the mantle and defiantly pushing the struggle forward. He would be delighted to know that the Oromo are on the cusp of realizing their long-held aspirations for freedom, justice and equality. It is also why I remain hopeful. My father’s and his likes’ sacrifices were not in vain. The progress we’ve made as a society was borne on the back of a great cost of lives, torture and imprisonments of many. Every kid believes their dad is a giant. But for me this is not just a childish fantasy, my father and those who sacrificed and are sacrificing so that the tens of millions of Oromo suffering from repression, discrimination, and marginalization will someday live normal lives are Giants in our tortured history. 

This is what I want to share with Bontu and all the families of disappeared or dead prisoners at Qilinto or elsewhere. In the midst of all the trauma and anguish, we should not lose sight of the fact that because of our sacrifices — i.e., families of the victims of the Ethiopian state’s gross injustices — the struggle for freedom will triumph and the yoke of oppression will soon be lifted from the necks of our people. The sacrifices of these political prisoners will serve as a torchlight and an inspiration to current and future generations to uproot injustice in all its forms.  

In due times, all lives lost in the fight for the advancement of Oromo rights will be revived–at least in our collective consciousness. They will return for my children, yet to be born, and their children as their collective heroes and heroines to emulate. That is why we must and shall remain committed to sustaining our national struggle and bringing it to its logical conclusion: an end to tyranny and injustice in all its forms. Only by doing so can we keep those brave heroes as well as heroines and their memories alive and celebrate their noble sacrifices.

Aluta continua! Praise and glory to all the brave souls that came before us.