Hanna Petros Solomon was ten when security agents took her father from a morning jog in Asmara; her mother vanished two years later after returning from the United States. A quarter of a century on, neither Petros Solomon nor Aster Yohannes has been seen, charged or allowed contact with their families. Their children, now adults living abroad, describe the lingering trauma of growing up without parents who were once celebrated liberation heroes.
The Night the Security Forces Came
In May 2001 Petros Solomon, then fisheries minister, joined fourteen other senior officials in signing an open letter to President Isaias Afewerki demanding the implementation of Eritrea’s ratified constitution and the holding of national elections. The group became known as the G‑15. Months later, while the world’s attention was fixed on the attacks of 11 September, Eritrean forces moved at dawn on 18 September 2001. Agents surrounded the homes of eleven officials in the capital; Petros was apprehended as he left his house in a tracksuit, unaware that his family would never see him again.
Hanna recalls the last image of her father: “He had a towel on his shoulders like a sportsman,” she tells the BBC, adding that he “used to work out every morning.” The sudden disappearance left her and her three siblings in the care of their paternal grandmother, while their mother, Aster Yohannes, was studying abroad.
Growing Up Without Parents
Aster Yohannes returned to Eritrea in December 2003 after two years of reassurances from officials that she would be safe. She never emerged from the arrivals hall at Asmara International Airport; instead, officials asked her to collect her luggage, signalling her detention. She is believed to be held in the notorious Karshelli prison, while Petros is thought to be incarcerated in the remote Ela‑Ero facility in the eastern lowlands. Neither has faced trial, and no reliable information about their condition has been released.
The children were left to navigate adolescence amid rumours and stigma. Hanna says her classmates told her “my father sold out his country,” a comment that made her grasp the gravity of the situation. Ibrahim Sherifo, whose parents were also among the G‑15, was thirteen at the time of the arrests. He now lives in the Netherlands, where he was granted asylum and is pursuing an MA in political science. He reflects, “For me 18 September 2001 is a dark day, but not only for me, it is a dark day for Eritrea and its people, because it is the day when law and democracy was detained.”
Both Hanna and Ibrahim speak of the gratitude they feel toward relatives and friends who sheltered them, despite the risks involved. They also express pride in their parents’ willingness to speak out. Ibrahim adds, “As a family, we should be informed whether they are alive or not,” accusing the authorities of seeking to erase the memory of the political prisoners.
Calls for Accountability Echo Abroad
Human rights organisations, including the United Nations, classify the G‑15 detainees as prisoners of conscience and have repeatedly urged their release. President Isaias Afewerki, now eighty, has still not enacted the 1997 constitution and has never permitted national elections. The Eritrean government, including its embassy in the United Kingdom, has not responded to the BBC’s requests for comment on the fate of the imprisoned officials or the shuttered independent newspapers whose editors are also believed to be held in Ela‑Ero.
Hanna, now thirty‑five, works as a trauma specialist in the United States and is married. She says she often looks at old photographs of her parents, fearing that the happy memories – laughter, birthday parties, her father’s impromptu car‑singing competitions – will fade. She recalls a poignant moment before her father’s disappearance: she tied his legs to hers with string while he slept, begging him not to leave. “Don’t worry about us,” she would later tell him in her mind. “Like you survived the struggle through sheer steadfastness, we hope you can pull through this too and return to us.”
She describes the ensuing years as living in the deep sea: “Sometimes it is calm and you can float, but other times the sorrow comes back to you like a wave and drowns you deep down. Sometimes you lose hope and you are out of breath.”
Why it Matters
The unresolved fate of the G‑15 detainees stands as a stark reminder of how quickly hard‑won freedoms can be reversed when dissent is silenced. For Hanna, Ibrahim and countless other Eritreans in exile, the lack of information prolongs a personal grief that mirrors a national wound – the denial of basic judicial process and the erasure of a generation’s contribution to the country’s independence. Their continued advocacy keeps international attention on Eritrea’s human‑rights record and underscores the urgent need for transparent accountability, lest the hopes of 1993 remain forever buried beneath secrecy.