“I’m here unofficially.”
Ceseli noticed now that none of the delegates applauded as the emperor took his seat with the Ethiopian delegation. Yifru took the seat directly in back of the emperor. Next to him sat the Ethiopian delegate, Takla Hawariate. Yifru turned and nodded to Standish sitting in the observer section reserved for the United States.
Both Standish and Yifru knew that Italy, and several other countries, had tried to prevent the emperor from speaking. Britain and France, though no more eager to hear him than any of the other members, had nevertheless pointed out that it would be even worse to try to silence him. The emperor’s request to speak had therefore been accepted, and the embarrassed League delegates would now have to listen to what he said.
The President of the Assembly, van Zeeland, of Belgium, turned to the day’s important, if unpleasant, business. Tacitly acknowledging Italy’s claim that its own King, Victor Emmanuel III, was now Emperor of Ethiopia, van Zeeland introduced Haile Sellassie as “His Majesty, the Negus, Haile Sellassie, first delegate of Ethiopia.”
Haile Sellassie walked to the rostrum. As he unfolded the pages of his address, there was no pink silk veil to protect him from the blaring spotlights.
Suddenly a great jeering racket arose from the Italian section of the press gallery. About a dozen correspondents leaped to their feet, shouting and shrieking in the direction of the rostrum. They shook their fists and hissed. Ceseli looked at the names of the important Italian newspapers. Given the notorious obedience of Italian newsmen to Mussolini, it seemed unlikely that they would have staged such a scene without his authorization.
Several of the other journalists tried to shut them up, but the bedlam continued. The guards, it seemed to Ceseli, were very slow to take control. There weren’t any in the press gallery, although there were many in the spectators’ gallery where the danger of a demonstration must have seemed greater. Standish looked up and their eyes met.
After what seemed forever, she could see the guards grabbing the men and hustling them out. Ceseli looked at Zeri who sat unperturbed by her side. “Ingra subucala induti vos novi rerum ordinis auctores,” he said under his breath. “The Blackshirts of the Revolution,” he smiled at her. “Latin. He gets all his speeches translated into Latin. Part of the Julius Caesar act,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
Ceseli smiled at this and looked back to the rostrum where the emperor, who had waited impassively for the noise to stop, now began to speak in Amharic. Ceseli took her earphones and moved the knob on her chair to the English language channel. The voice she recognized immediately was Yifru’s. She listened as he translated his emperor’s speech.
“I, Haile Sellassie the First, Emperor of Ethiopia, am here today to claim that justice that is due to my people, and the assistance promised to it eight months ago by fifty-two nations who asserted that an act of aggression had been committed in violation of international treaties.
“There is perhaps no precedent for a head of state himself speaking in this assembly. But there is also certainly no precedent for a people being the victim of such wrongs and being threatened with abandonment to its aggressor. It is to defend a people struggling for their age-old independence that the head of the Ethiopian empire has come to Geneva to fulfill this supreme duty, after having himself fought at the head of his armies.
“I pray Almighty God that He may spare nations the terrible sufferings that have just been inflicted on my people, and of which the chiefs, who have accompanied me here, have been the horrified witnesses.
“It is my duty to inform the governments assembled in Geneva, responsible as they are for the lives of millions of men, women, and children, of the deadly peril which threatens them, by describing to them the fate which has been suffered by Ethiopia.
“It is not only upon warriors that the Italian government has made war. It has, above all, attacked populations far removed from hostilities in order to terrorize and exterminate them.”
Ceseli’s thoughts wandered to that docile peaceful people she knew from Addis and had met on her trip to Axum. She could feel tears welling up for the innocent children she had played with in the streets of Dessie. In her pocket, she felt the gold Ethiopian coin that was her lucky piece. She forced herself to return to the emperor’s words.
“At the outset, toward the end of 1935, Italian aircraft hurled bombs of tear gas upon my armies. They had but slight effect. The soldiers learned to scatter, waiting until the wind had rapidly dispersed the poisonous gases.
“The Italian aircraft then resorted to mustard gas. Barrels of liquid were hurled upon armed groups. But this means too was ineffective. The liquid affected only a few soldiers, and the barrels upon the ground themselves gave warning of the danger to the troops and to the population.
“It was at the time when the operations for the encirclement of Makalle were taking place that the Italian command, fearing a rout, applied the procedure which it is now my duty to denounce to the world.
“Sprayers were installed on board aircraft so that they could vaporize over vast areas of territory a fine, death-dealing rain. Groups of nine, fifteen, eighteen aircraft followed one another so that the fog issuing from them formed a continuous sheet. It was thus that, from the end of January 1936, soldiers, women, children, cattle, rivers, lakes, and fields were constantly drenched with the deadly rain. That was its chief method of warfare.
“These fearful tactics succeeded,” the emperor said, pausing for effect. “Men and animals succumbed. The deadly rain that fell from the aircraft made all those whom it touched fly, shrieking with pain.”
I remember Marco’s first letter, she thought as she fought to get her concentration back to the speech.
“All who drank the poisoned water or ate the infected food succumbed too, in dreadful suffering. In tens of thousands, the victims of the Italian mustard gas fell. None other than myself and my gallant companions in arms could bring the League of Nations undeniable proof. That is why I decided to come myself to testify against the crime perpetrated against my people and to give Europe warning of the doom that awaits it, if it bows before the accomplished fact.”
After outlining the events that led to the war, he reminded the delegates again of their solemn commitment.
“In October 1935, the fifty-two nations who are listening to me today gave me an assurance that the aggressor would not triumph. I ask the fifty-two nations not to forget today, the policy upon which they embarked eight months ago, and on the faith of which I directed the resistance of my people against the aggressor. I thought it impossible that fifty-two nations, including the most powerful in the world, could be successfully held in check by a single aggressor. Relying on the faith due to treaties, I made no preparation for war and that is the case with a number of small countries in Europe. When the danger became more urgent, conscious of my responsibilities toward my people, I tried, during the first six months of 1935, to acquire armaments. Many governments proclaimed an embargo to prevent my doing so, whereas the Italian government, through the Suez Canal, was given all facilities for transporting, without cessation and without protest, troops, arms and munitions.”
“Gra. Gra. Gra. Ken Gra,” Ceseli thought of the barefooted soldiers drilling outside her office window. How many of them had died? How many had survived?
“The Ethiopian government never expected other governments to shed their soldier’s blood to defend the covenant when their own immediate personal interests were not at stake. Ethiopian warriors asked only for means to defend themselves. On many occasions, I asked for financial assistance for the purchase of arms. That assistance was constantly denied me. What then, in practice, is the meaning of Article Sixteen of the Covenant and of “collective security?”
“I assert that the issue before the assembly today is a question of “collective security”; of the very existence of the League; of the trust placed by states in international treaties; of the value of promises made to all states, that their integrity an
d their independence shall be respected and assured. It is a choice between the principle of the equality of States and the imposition upon small powers of the bonds of vassalage. In a word, it is international morality that is at stake.”
Beneath her on the floor of the assembly hall, she could see Standish struggling with his own emotions. He looked up at her briefly. Next to her, she could sense that Zeri was moved by the emperor’s words. What is he thinking, Ceseli wondered of the man who had saved her life?
“In the presence of the numerous violations by the Italian government of all international treaties prohibiting resort to arms and recourse to barbarous methods of warfare, the initiative has today been taken. It is with pain that I record the fact of raising sanctions. What does this initiative mean in practice, but the abandonment of Ethiopia to the aggressor? Is that the guidance that the League of Nations and each of the State Members are entitled to expect from the great powers when they assert their right and their duty to guide the action of the League?
“On behalf of the Ethiopian people,” he paused, “a member of the League of Nations, I ask the assembly to take all measures proper to secure respect for the Covenant. I declare before the whole world that the emperor, the government and the people of Ethiopia will not bow before force, that they uphold their claims, that they will use all means in their power to the triumph of right and respect for the Covenant.”
Ceseli started to sob thinking of the bombing of the Red Cross and of Marco. Beside her, Zeri took her hand and held it tightly.
“I ask the great powers, who have promised the guarantee of collective security to small States over whom hangs the threat that they must one day suffer the fate of Ethiopia: What measures do they intend to take?”
There was no sign of approval. The diplomats did not applaud. There were some who were obviously embarrassed. Others stared straight ahead, unmoved.
“Representatives of the world,” Haile Sellassie paused. “I have come to Geneva to discharge in your midst the most painful of the duties of a head of a state. What answer am I to take back to my people?”
As he stepped down from the rostrum, Haile Sellassie knew that he might have moved his listeners, but that he had failed to galvanize their decisions. He murmured then the words he was to use publicly later: “It is us today. It will be you tomorrow.”
Ceseli looked at her emperor. There were tears in her eyes and she did not care as they began rolling down her face. She was crying. She made no effort to hide it. The whole world should be crying. If only. If only what? If only Marco. The “if onlys” were so many. Too many.
ADDIS ABABA—JULY 10, 1941
CESELI LARSON CLIMBED THE steps to the little Ghibbi Palace noticing that it was now finished. Water spewed from the circular fountain and looking up she could see what had been her office window. Addis was no longer a mud and wattle city. In keeping with being the propaganda capital of Italian East Africa, the palace was now covered by stucco and painted a dazzling white, and the front door was now an Italian green. Only the red of the Italian tri-color flag is missing, she thought.
She hitched her camera bag higher on her shoulder recognizing how nervous she was by how much she was nibbling at her lower lip. She could almost hear Sotzy telling her not to. Ceseli looked quickly around her. Five years ago she had been used to walking up these steps to the little Ghibbi, greeting the guards and then walking through the hallway and climbing the stairs to her office. Now, she noticed that all the guards had new uniforms, a pistol in their holsters, and wore sandals. None of them knew her.
“Ezi yemetahute yifrune lemayet new,” she told the young soldier standing in back of a large desk.
“Yifru betam sera yebezabet sew new. Anchin yawkeshal?”
“I know he is busy, and yes. He does know me.”
“Arefe bey,” he said, pleasantly.
Ceseli looked around for the seat he had asked her to find. She noticed that the yellow halls were now white and some of the floor to ceiling mirrors had been replaced by mural paintings of Roman ruins, including the Arch of Titus.
She felt lucky she had brought a good book with her and dressed for the heat. Now she was increasingly nervous. Well, she thought, I have every reason to be this time. She straightened the blue linen skirt she was wearing and tugged at the blue and white striped man’s shirt that was belted at the waste. Her hair was in a ponytail and she knew that it was neat because she had checked it in the first mirror.
“Ceselí! Ceselí!” Ceseli looked up to see Yohannes striding to her. “Ceselí! It’s you! I can’t believe it! What brings you back to Addis?” he asked while kissing her three times on the cheek in the French way.
“I’ve come to see Yifru,” she said smiling at him. “You look well.”
“I am well. The emperor has appointed me to lead the new military academy. I’m very excited.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
“You will have to come to dinner and meet my wife,” he said, showing her his gold wedding band. “She will be teaching at the new university. My grandfather is here too. The emperor has put him in charge of the entire school system. Not only in Addis. Oh, and I was in Dessie to fetch my grandfather and I went to find Habtu. He asked for you. He’s a fine young man. Was very active with the patriots. They used him as a messenger. I told him that when he was old enough he should come to Addis to our military academy.”
“Oh, Yohannes, that’s so nice of you. I’m sure he’ll be so pleased, and his parents as well. And yes, I’d love to meet your wife.”
“I’ll take you to Yifru,” he said, “although you certainly know the way. Nothing here has changed,” he smiled as she followed him up the stairs. There is something I don’t know, he thought as he opened the door to Yifru’s office allowing her to enter and then closing it discreetly behind her.
“Ceseli!”
“I said I would come. You didn’t believe me?” she questioned, looking at Yifru.
“Let me look at you,” he said, smiling with a twinkle in his eyes. Then he held out his arms and Ceseli moved to him, crooking her head under his chin. As they embraced, Ceseli began to cry. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I wondered if this would ever happen.”
“It’s okay, Ceseli. Cry as much as you want.”
“I’m crying because I’m happy.”
“I certainly hope so,” he said, smiling again.
Ceseli drew back, fishing in her shoulder bag before withdrawing the silk pouch.
“The coins? Did they keep you connected to Ethiopia?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“And you’ve come to see the Ark? I promised you that.”
“Yes.”
“But not only, I hope.”
“No. Not only,” she teased.
“I’m thankful for that. Where are you staying?”
“With Daniele at the old U.S. mission. The house was used as the residence of the president of the Banca d’Italia. He left in May. So Daniele said it was empty and that he and his wife would love something to do.”
“That house belonged to the Minister of War, Mulugeta. He rented it to the U.S. He and his son were killed. You remember?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered as he held her close. “Sotzy, my grandmother, is here too. She wouldn’t hear of letting me come alone. Yifru,” she said as she drew back so she could study his eyes. “I need you to meet someone.”
“Sotzy?”
“Also. When can you come?”
“As soon as you want.”
“Then come for tea. At four.”
“I’ll be there. Now let me get someone to see you home.”
“Daniele is here, but thank you.”
The last five years had transformed Addis, she saw as Daniele drove her back to the mission. Wide paved avenues had replaced the mud ones and there were new buildings everywhere, and real street signs. D
aniele is no longer worth his weight in gold, she thought wondering how her own life had been transformed in these years. In September 1936, she had gone to Rome to start her studies at the American Academy and the time seemed to fly out of her control. She had looked up Bruno Zeri only to find he was covering the civil war in Spain.
Throughout these years, she and Yifru wrote to each other on a frequent basis. She wondered if he waited for her letters with the same intensity that she waited for his. She knew he had been living in exile in Bath, England with the emperor and his family, and she knew under what difficult circumstances.
In the spring of 1940, having completed her dissertation and receiving her degree, Ceseli decided it was now time to go home. She reached New York only days before Italy entered the war, declaring war against England and France, and weeks before Germany invaded France. Soon after she got an encouraging letter from Yifru.
Dearest Ceseli,
We too are going home. I told you eventually we would go home and we are all excited, but very uncertain of how and when. Our position has changed radically since Italy entered the war. We have met several times with Mr. Churchill who thinks we can invade and recapture Ethiopia. But how? With what troops? In any case we are leaving England tomorrow. You will be able to follow our progress from press accounts.
His last letter had come in March and bore a postmark of Washington, D.C. The diplomatic pouch, she thought as she tore it open. It was dated January 10, 1941
Dearest Ceseli,
I hope this finds you well. We are leaving Khartoum to enter Ethiopia from the village of Um Iddla. Our “army” is terribly small. We have only 100 Britishers, but a remarkable leader. His name is Orde Wingate. He’s a Scot. He’s betting that Ethiopians have been so badly treated by the Italians that they will join us in a revolt. Another British army will attack Eritrea and more British forces are on the way from Kenya. We have 15,000 camels loaded with arms and ammunition. Many more camels than men I’m afraid.
Love in the Land of Barefoot Soldiers Page 27
