Tucked in the northeast corner of Africa, Eritrea is one of the most
closed societies in the world, so much so that it's sometimes dubbed the
"North Korea of Africa."
President Isaias Afwerki does not
tolerate any independent media. The Internet is restricted. Reporters
without Borders recently named it 179th out of 179 countries for freedom of expression.
It's
illegal to criticize the government which could mean something as
simple as complaining about the city power outage. Even gatherings of
more than seven people might get you hauled into a police station.
"Even
asking a question like, 'Where is my father?' if your father is in
jail," says Isayas Sium, an Eritrean-American software engineer in San
Jose, Calif., who left the country in 1995. "These are the questions you
cannot ask, let alone protest or criticize the regime."
From his
perch in California, Sium tries to stay politically connected to his
country. He marches when there's a local demonstration, contributes to
refugee causes and posts on Facebook.
But there's always one
thing missing. The people inside Eritrea don't dare to "like" his
Facebook posts. And they never march in the streets themselves. For
Eritrean activists living abroad, this silence can be frustrating.
So Sium had an idea: If we can't ask them to come out, what if we ask them to stay home?
An Act Of Defiance
Eritreans
typically hit the coffee shops and movie houses on Friday nights, so
the idea was to use this as a passive resistance that hopefully could
not be punished.
The movement was dubbed Freedom Friday, or Arbi
Harnet in the Tigrinya language that is widely spoke in Eritrea. Sium
and other activists abroad then had to inform Eritreans in a country
with no free media. So they smuggled out a phone book, organized
volunteers on Facebook and started cold-calling the fatherland.
"At
first it was a strange thing," says London-based activist Selam Kidane,
"for somebody that you don't know to phone you randomly and talk to you
about things that are considered quite dangerous."
Sium agrees.
"The
first question they ask is, where'd you get my number? Then we tell
them, 'Oh, I don't know you, I got your number from the phone
directory.' So some of them say, 'OK, thank you.' Some will just hang up
after they hear ...[
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