Global literary figures demand proof of life for 12 Eritrean writers missing 25 years

On September 18th, 2026—a quarter-century to the day after Eritrea's government began systematically dismantling its independent press—188 writers signed their names to a letter addressed to President Isaias Afwerki. They were asking for something simple and devastating: proof that twelve of their colleagues were still alive.

The twelve had vanished into Eritrean detention in 2001, swallowed by a crackdown that crushed the nation's free media within days. Among them was Amanuel Asrat, a poet whose words had once circulated freely. There was Dawit Isaak, a journalist and playwright who had reported on the government's actions. Nine others—Dawit Habtemichael, Fessehaye Yohannes, Mattewos Habteab, Medhanie Haile, Sahle Tsegazeab, Said Abdelkadir, Said Idris, Seyoum Tsehaye, Temesgen Ghebreyesus, and Yousif Mohammed Ali—had been held in the same silence, their families receiving no word of their condition, location, or even whether they remained alive.

The signatories read like a roll call of contemporary literature's most recognized voices. Nobel Prize winners Olga Tokarczuk and J.M. Coetzee lent their names. So did Colm Tóibín, Elif Shafak, Isabel Allende, Ben Okri, Yann Martel, Kamila Shamsie, and Tsitsi Dangarembga. Anthony Doerr, Lauren Groff, Andrei Kurkov, Margaret Busby, and dozens of others joined them. The letter was organized by PEN International, the global writers' organization dedicated to defending freedom of expression.

The document itself was spare and direct. "Within days, Eritrea's free press and the nation's independent voices were systematically crushed," it began. The signatories described what they called a "painful and unlawful silence"—the withholding of all information about the detained writers' health, whereabouts, and survival. They named this silence a violation of international law and an act of cruelty. They called for "immediate, verified proof of life for all arbitrarily detained Eritrean writers and critics." They reminded the president that a nation's future cannot be built on the suppression of its brightest minds, and that no writer or journalist should disappear for the peaceful expression of their views.

Eritrea, under Afwerki's rule since the nation's independence in 1993, has held no national elections in more than three decades. It operates as what observers describe as a repressive dictatorship. The 2001 crackdown on the press was not an isolated incident but part of a broader pattern of control. Yet the detention of these twelve writers—held incommunicado, their fates unknown to their families and the world—stands as one of the most stark examples of that control.

Burhan Sönmez, president of PEN International, spoke to the weight of twenty-five years. "Twenty-five years is an unbearable length of time for any family to live without knowing whether a loved one is alive," he said. "These writers have not disappeared from our memory. We will continue to speak their names, and we will continue to demand the truth about what happened to them." Earlier in 2026, PEN International had launched a public petition calling for the same proof of life, opening the demand beyond the literary world to anyone willing to add their voice.

The letter concluded with a statement of resolve: "We remain in solidarity with our missing colleagues, and we will not cease our efforts until they are free." It was a promise made by writers who understand that silence—enforced silence, the kind that swallows people whole—is the opposite of their craft. What happens next depends on whether Afwerki's government responds to the weight of 188 names, or whether these twelve writers remain, as they have for twenty-five years, disappeared.