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. 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.

Despite his initial misgivings, Teruneh soon recognized the protocol department’s crucial role in welcoming diplomats, managing their privileges and immunities, and introducing them to the country while gathering information about their nations. Realizing that everything was being done haphazardly, he prepared the first-ever protocol guide in the ministry’s history, after studying practices in other countries.

In 1987, Ethiopia adopted a new constitution, establishing the People’s Democratic Republic of Ethiopia (PDRE) and signaling a shift from military to civilian rule, though the military still held significant power. The launch was marked by a major event attended by international dignitaries to showcase the regime’s legitimacy. However, Mengistu was already facing armed rebellions in Tigray and Eritrea, devastating droughts and famines, a collapsed economy due to forced collectivization, internal coup attempts, and the loss of Soviet support. “As the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) advanced and reached Ambo, foreigners began leaving the country. Their departure required official clearance, and I was responsible for signing off on their exit,” Teruneh wrote. He grew increasingly worried about his wife, though he kept the situation from her, not revealing the unfolding dangers. As the EPRDF advanced from Ambo toward Addis Ababa, he had no choice but to tell her that she and their daughter needed to leave for Germany immediately. “But the fact that I had hidden everything from her and only informed her at the last minute, I didn’t grasp how much her trust in me had already crumbled,” he wrote.

On May 21, 1991, with the capital virtually encircled by the EPRDF army, Mengistu fled to Zimbabwe. Many junior diplomats and Western nationals left the country, fearing the city might descend into anarchy, looting, and devastation. To Teruenh’s amazement, many ambassadors stayed, negotiating their citizens’ departures until the last minute. As heavy cannon fire raged between rebel and government soldiers at the presidential palace, the Italian ambassador was in Teruneh’s office, he recalls. “The explosions were so loud and close that they shook the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building. While I scrambled to hide under my desk, the ambassador stayed calm. I felt embarrassed,” he said.

Being the head of protocol positioned him to work closely with the newly formed transitional government of Ethiopia, while Ambassador Fisseha Yimer, who had been serving as the acting head of the Ministry, was briefly detained by the former rebel leaders. One of his first tasks was organizing a briefing by the newly appointed president of the transitional government, Meles Zenawi, and the future foreign minister, Seyoum Mesfin, for diplomats at the Ghion Hotel. Meles informed them that his forces lacked enough troops to immediately control the entire country. “Meles’ speech was short and well received by the diplomats,” Teruneh recalled.

Teruneh’s story, which walks a fine line between memoir and political essay, recounts his uphill battle to safeguard the principles, integrity, and sovereignty of his country in its dealings with other nations. He details his run-ins with powerful officials within his government, who often turned a blind eye to diplomatic norms and international agreements. Teruneh had more than his fair share of these clashes throughout his long political career. One particular issue that caused friction with his superiors was the shooting of a West African diplomat in his car for refusing to comply with the imposed curfew. Teruneh pushed for the government to issue an apology, repair the diplomat’s car, and cover his medical expenses. Although Seyoum Mesfin was on board with this idea, an EPRDF cadre in the ministry insisted that no apology should be offered, even if the diplomat had died. Seyoum then reprimanded Teruneh. Other diplomats, such as Ambassador Fisseha, remained silent despite knowing the Vienna Convention, Teruneh bemoaned. “Later, I learned that the cadre opposed the idea because the diplomat was shot by soldiers who were following orders from his brother,” he wrote.

Another incident occurred in 2003, when Teruneh Zenna was serving as Chargé d’Affaires of the Permanent Mission of Ethiopia to the United Nations in New York. At that time, Ethiopia had contributed troops to the UN peacekeeping mission in Burundi to support the peace process. However, the individual selected to lead the mission was a major general from South Africa, chosen for his higher education and language skills. This arrangement didn’t sit well with the Ethiopian generals, including the Minister of National Defense, Abadula Gemeda, and the Chief of General Staff, Samora Mohamed Yunis, who pressured Teruneh to draft a letter threatening to withdraw Ethiopian troops unless an Ethiopian officer was appointed to lead the mission. Despite the mounting pressure, Teruneh stood his ground and refused to write the letter. He believed that catering to the demands of one general was not worth jeopardizing the country’s diplomatic standing, a “perspective that would later align with the government’s reasoning and logic”, he writes.

One of the most compelling chapters recounts the events of 2000, as the Ethiopia-Eritrea conflict neared its end. Tiruneh, stationed in Brussels as Charge d’Affairs, witnessed the profound effects of this war, which was largely rooted in a border dispute. He observed how Western countries, the U.S. and European nations, intensified their pressure on Ethiopia, viewing it as the primary aggressor.

Western nations accused the Ethiopian government of forcibly deporting Eritreans and Ethiopians with one Eritrean parent during the conflict. Susan E. Rice, then U.S. Assistant Secretary for African Affairs, stated that an estimated 60,000 Eritreans and Ethiopians of Eritrean descent had been deported from Ethiopia to Eritrea.

The European Parliament was gearing up to impose sanctions on Ethiopia under Chapter 91, citing allegations of human rights violations. This push for sanctions was spearheaded by Glenys Kinnock, a Member of the European Parliament and the wife of Neil Kinnock, leader of the British Labour Party. Glenys had visited Eritrea in March 1988 and was a vocal advocate for Eritrean causes. Her efforts to advocate for sanctions reflected her perceived bias and connections to the Eritrean regime.

When the European delegation planned a fact-finding mission to Addis Ababa and Asmara, Tiruneh objected to Glenys Kinnock’s involvement as the team leader, citing concerns about her impartiality. His objection led to her replacement by another member, highlighting concerns about the fairness and objectivity of the mission.

In many ways, this memoir is an ode to public service, emphasizing the dignity of serving one’s country, whether in diplomacy or as a human rights commissioner. In its most compelling chapter, Teruneh reflects on his time as Chief Commissioner of the Ethiopian Human Rights Commission from 2010 to 2015. During this period, he advanced human rights in Ethiopia, expanding the Commission from Addis Ababa to regional branches and growing its workforce from 20 to 100 employees. His commitment to investigating violations, raising awareness, and ensuring accountability transformed the institution, though it often put him in conflict with those in power. Teruneh considers this role the most fulfilling of his career, as it allowed him to serve humanity and champion justice and dignity nationwide.

During those years, Teruneh navigated some of the most challenging political waters, interacting with several of the country’s most powerful figures. When his commission set out to observe the election results that confirmed the ruling EPRDF’s landslide victory in May 2010—controversially granting Prime Minister Meles Zenawi a fourth term in office—they encountered significant pushback from the head of the election board, Merga Bekana, who argued that observing the process was outside their mandate. Undeterred, Teruneh pressed ahead with the observation. Not long after, another warning came from then-government Spokesman, Bereket Simon, who told him that his commission had the authority to monitor prisons and police stations, but no right to observe or report on the election. Teruneh stood his ground, refusing to bow to selective or biased reporting. Angrily, Bereket added, “Even if you do, I’ll make sure no cadre cooperates with you.” The then-Deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, Hailemariam Desalegn, later asked Teruneh to step down after hearing about his exchange with Bereket. Despite this, his commission published a harsh report on the election, which the wider public and foreign diplomats lauded but received coldly by the government. Subsequently, during a meeting at the airport, Bereket told him, “We have squabbled without really knowing each other well,” which he took as an excuse.