In his memoir የዲፕሎማሲ ፋና (Yediplomasi Fana), Teruneh Zenna vividly describes the harrowing experience he spent detained at the Sendafa Police Training School in 1969 after participating in the “Land to the Tiller” demonstration.

“When the police arrived, those of us who decided not to run were arrested and taken through the palace to Sendafa. Upon arriving at Jubilee Palace, we shouted, “Haile Selassie thief!” so the emperor could hear us. It was a daring act of defiance at the time. Consequently, what awaited us at Sendafa was a severe punishment. We were regularly beaten and ill-treated. We had to rise at ten in the morning, then lie on our stomachs on the unforgiving stone floor and crawl. They beat us on the back with clubs. When we got tired, they tossed us into a pit designed for punishing prisoners. For a week, we had no right to receive food from our parents and were given only a loaf of bread.

Even after visits were allowed, there was no one to visit me or bring me food or clothing. Although we were liberated not long after due to pressure from students abroad, especially those in America, our bodies were weakened. For me, the pain was not just physical but also moral. While others were released on bail, I had no one who could post bail for me. Thus, I spent one more night alone in the stable, and when I finally went home, my legs were bruised, and I could not put on my shoes. Since I wore the same clothes day and night, soaked with mud, my friends couldn’t recognize me; they mistook me for a beggar.”

Teruneh, who would later serve his country as an able diplomat with prestigious posts such as Ethiopia’s ambassador to the United Nations in New York, Counsellor at the Embassy of Ethiopia in Brussels, and a human rights campaigner as Chief Commissioner of the Ethiopian Human Rights Commission, vividly recalls the hardships and injustices he endured during his university days—from the initial arrest and bold act of protest at Jubilee Palace to the severe punishment at Sendafa.

Teruneh relates this story with care and wonder, but his point is a larger one. Despite being illiterate, his mother, who lived in the rural Konta district of southwest Ethiopia, had a strong sense of justice and a rebellious streak. “When she learned about the incident at Sendafa prison, she asked who had given the order. “Was it the king?” she asked. When I said yes, she responded, “Is there not another king somewhere else? Why don’t you go there?” It was her way of encouraging me to rebel. She also deeply believed in the promise of education.

The book encompasses his childhood in the rural Konta district southwest of the country and in Jimma town where he did primary and secondary school. It captures the sacrifice of his parents to ensure him a good education, paying tribute to their courage, dignity, and endurance, while also highlighting the thrill of learning and the power of public engagement.

A reflective account of his coming-of-age during the feudal period and the imperial state established after Menelik’s conquest of the southern and western regions of the country, the book provides a capsule lesson in the courage of endurance, inspiring without moralizing or simplifying in hindsight. The memoir is not just a record of Teruneh’s thirty years as a diplomat from a younger and more educated generation, but also an inspiring example to help new generations visualize the possibilities of diplomatic and patriotic engagement.

As we come to learn from the narrative, Teruneh’s father, Zena Tekle Haymanot, was a notable and highly respected noble with great spiritual influence who had several children with four wives. He adopted Amhara names for his family, subscribed to Orthodox Christianity, and financed two Orthodox churches in Konto village. As a local judge and traditional political leader, he played an important role in the village. Unfortunately, he died when Tiruneh was young. After his father’s death, Teruneh’s mother played a significant role in his upbringing, despite her position being reduced from well-off landlord to struggling peasant.

Throughout the memoir, Tiruneh recounts the sacrifices he paid for his education, often far away from his parents. With no school in his village, he was enrolled in a school in the neighboring town of Jimma, where he was taken in by his father’s friend, Aba Simel Aba Jobir, a Muslim elder. Aba Jobir became a father figure to Tiruneh, showing more tolerance for differing opinions and a greater willingness to listen to young people than Tiruneh’s father did.

After completing his primary and secondary education in Jimma, he headed to the capital and joined the Prince Baede Mariam Pilot Project Secondary School of Haile Selassie I University for his 12th-grade education. He then enrolled at the University, where he graduated in Economics and Political Science in 1973.

During his university days, he participated in student activism, advocating for land reform legislation and joining demonstrations demanding that land be given to the tillers and property to the workers. His thesis focused on the tenant system, drawing from his experiences and those of his parents. He explained how the tenure system perpetuated inequality, with a small group of landowners holding significant power over vast tracts of land, while the majority of the rural population worked as tenants with limited rights and security.

“The correct solution to the lot of the tenants lies in the very roots of the tenure system. And the best and long-term solution to this tenancy problem is the redistribution of the land,” he wrote.

He argued that semi-feudal systems are characterized by entrenched power structures where land ownership is concentrated among a small elite resistant to changes that would diminish their control and wealth. “It would indeed be naive to expect a semi-feudal government, such as ours, to willingly redistribute the land. Since rights to the land represent political power, land redistribution would mean undermining the government’s position.”

In the early ’70s, Teruneh Zenna joined the Ethiopian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, just a few years after the 1974 revolution. While the revolution brought changes that eroded some aspects of the ministry, the institution was still led by highly capable individuals, he writes. Among them was Ethiopia’s Foreign Minister, Feleke Gedle Giorgis, a highly skilled diplomat who had studied International Relations in Yugoslavia. Despite being known for his changeable and erratic nature, his background as a police officer made him exceptionally adept at gathering information, Teruneh adds.

However, the person who was truly instrumental in running the ministry was Dawit Wolde-Giorgis, a Columbia graduate who held the position of Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Tiruneh explains. His calm decision-making ability drew everyone close to him. He was an articulate speaker and writer, had a deep understanding of global affairs, and was highly ambitious—so much so that the country’s leader, Colonel Mengistu Haile Mariam, was said to be suspicious of him. “Since I joined the ministry, Dawit often advised me, telling me I had the potential to become a better diplomat.”

He was learning the intricacies of the job and was great at interacting with people. One thing Teruneh remembers fondly about the ministry is the weekly discussions every Monday on policy and global affairs.

His first position was in the Economy and Culture Department, where Wole Chekol served as his supervisor. Wole Chekol, who graduated in Economics from Addis Ababa University and earned a second degree in Economics from the Center for Development Economics in Massachusetts, was known for his dedication and discipline, Tiruneh notes. “Not long after I joined the ministry, Wole Chekol left to assume the role of Minister of Finance”, he recalls.

The young diplomat later took up his first overseas posting as First Secretary in East Germany in 1981, at a time when the military Derg regime was keenly focused on bolstering economic and political ties with the country. East Germany played a pivotal role in Ethiopia’s development, helping to set up a textile factory in Kombolcha and a cement plant in Mugher, west of Addis Ababa, he says.

Berhanu Jembere, the first Ethiopian Ambassador to the GDR, held the position from 1978. Trained at the Harar Military Academy alongside Mengistu Hailemariam, Jembere shared a close relationship with Mengistu, which extended beyond their academy days to a familial connection between their wives, as noted by Tiruneh. Leveraging his ties with Mengistu, Jembere often marginalized and demoted employees he disliked or who disagreed with him.

During this time, Tiruneh realized how emotionally and mentally draining it was to deal with an erratic and tyrannical boss. Later, he discovered that Jembere had escalated the situation by falsely accusing him of defaming military leaders to Mengistu Hailemariam, the head of state. Fortunately, another close associate of Mengistu defended Tiruneh, asserting that he would never make such a claim.

While serving in East Germany, Teruneh enrolled in courses at Boston University’s overseas program in West Berlin, a decision that did not sit well with the East German authorities. They were displeased with his decision to attend an American institution in West Berlin. They reported the matter to Addis Ababa, and he was subsequently told he was being transferred to Bulgaria. He refused the reassignment, threatening to resign if forced to go. Although the transfer was ultimately canceled, he was still compelled to abandon his studies.

Later, when Ambassador Berhanu was recalled and replaced by Ambassador Lemma Gutema—a former navy officer during Haile Selassie’s reign and a high-ranking Derg official—tensions with Tiruneh quickly emerged. When Ambassador Lemma requested that the ceremony for presenting his credentials be filmed and broadcast on Ethiopian television, Tiruneh opposed the idea, explaining that such protocol is determined by the host country. To his frustration, other colleagues familiar with the procedures remained silent, offering no support. Another point of contention arose when Tiruneh resisted the idea of wearing a white shema for the ceremony to represent the country’s culture, arguing that it only reflected a part of the nation, not the whole. This stance drew criticism from all sides, and he began to sense that his time there was nearing its end.

In the book, Teruneh reflects on his personal life, including meeting his former wife, Ifa Langer, at a party while she was an assistant researcher in physical chemistry at Humboldt University. They married in October 1985, with the approval of both her parents, her father being a noted scientist. Eventually, the couple relocated to Addis Ababa, where Teruneh was appointed head of the East European Affairs department in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and Ifa secured a position in the Chemistry Department at Addis Ababa University. That same year, Berhanu Bayeh replaced Colonel Goshu Wolde as Foreign Minister after Goshu’s defection in October 1985, following nearly four years in the role. “As a Politburo member of the Workers’ Party, Berhanu brought significant attention to the ministry,” Teruneh recalls. “With his legal background from Addis Ababa University, he had no difficulty understanding global affairs,” he adds.

However, intrigue soon followed, and Teruneh was transferred to the protocol department. His superiors used his marriage to someone from Eastern Europe as an excuse, deeming it inappropriate for him to remain in his previous post.

(This is the first part of the article; the second part will follow soon.)