How the Yearning for Liberty and Pluralism Inspired Pillaging the Dead? by Degol Hailu

Degol Hailu is based in London. He studied and worked at SOAS, University of London, before spending many years as a senior adviser at the United Nations. Pillaging the Dead is his debut novel. The book follows Tarik, a university student who scrapes by as a street bookseller in an unnamed African country. After being arrested for selling banned books, he embarks on a political journey that pits him against the regime, putting himself and his family in grave danger.

Pillaging the Dead draws on my own experience. I have longed to document the absurdities of unsavoury regimes that curtail civil liberties and suppress political pluralism. While I deliberated on how to do just that, a trigger arrived at the right moment. Although I wish it hadn’t, for the victims who endured its consequences.

The street booksellers I used to buy illicit literature from had been arrested. That was in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, about ten years ago. They were detained and beaten for selling books the ruling party deemed dangerous and “reactionary”. As their regular customer, I saw firsthand how their imprisonment affected them. They bore bruises and carried limps, marks of endurance and perseverance.

Since then, I have been compiling incidents similar to those inflicted on the booksellers. I delved into human rights reports, read about court cases, and listened to personal testimonies. My research and documentation helped me create a world in which absolute power reigns supreme; political activism is an offence; satire is a threat to the state; and elections are a farce.

In the world of Pillaging the Dead, artists run for dear life. Political cartoonists must be careful when sketching the Supreme Leader. Disfiguring His Excellency could result in treason charges, and the artist could vanish without a trace. Singers with dissenting lyrics face sedition charges.

The price of a byline for journalists could be spending pre- and postnatal care in prison, as one character in the novel knows only too well. Political writings, from blogs to books, reach readers through clandestine publishers and underground libraries. As my publishers at Cassava Republic Press say, ‘In the streets of this city, banned books travel faster than fear.’

Protests don’t just end with tear gas. Black batons are the kindest weapon for silencing dissent. The likelihood of freedom chanters finding themselves in the snipers’ crosshairs is real. Placards invite bullets.

Where the judiciary is politically influenced, judges render their verdicts based on evidence from witnesses who inhale helium beforehand and testify behind curtains. Justice is sold to the highest bidder. Bail money finds its way into the pockets of bureaucrats.

Opposition parties are merely a nuisance. For example, owners of meeting halls, such as hotels or conference centres, are barred from renting them to opposition parties, always on the regime’s direct orders. They comply without hesitation: ‘We just want to run our businesses in peace,’ they say.

When reports of human rights violations gain traction, either the internet is shut down or the power supply is cut off altogether. One character in Pillaging the Dead plays cat-and-mouse with the authorities—writing daring pieces that prompt them to tamper with the network or power supply. When those measures fail, the authorities ransack and close the offices of human rights organisations and civil society groups, often on charges of “terrorism”.

Where civil liberties are stripped away, the security services do the regime’s bidding, from arbitrary arrests to physical harm. But when their crimes make it into the international headlines, the Ministry of Independent Investigations steps in to probe the matter. The Ministry submits its findings to the Supreme Leader, often in a ceremony where the clapping lasts for eternity.

Regime loyalty often takes precedence over merit. Even when civil servants are found to have forged their diplomas and degrees to secure their positions, the worst punishment is demotion, provided they remain loyal to the Supreme Leader.

Public consultation is symbolic when houses are demolished, farmland is confiscated, and bodies are exhumed from cemeteries to make way for highways, industrial zones and amusement parks. The living are evicted without consent; the dead are pillaged.

But this regime is not alone. It receives all the support it needs from “friendly nations” from afar. Aid flows non-stop. Foreign investors zip in and out of the airport, in striped suits and pink shirts, bouncing on their Vero Cuoios.

Such is life in the world of Pillaging the Dead.

The absurdities the book depicts seem entirely implausible, were it not for their reality in many parts of the world. Forget the regimes well known for their authoritarian tendencies—parallels exist close to home. The dangers of despotism and autocracy may be creeping into our everyday lives. As Amnesty International warns: ‘The [UK] Government should begin the process of reversing the years of attacks on our right to demonstrate, one of the most effective tools we have to hold our leaders to account.’

This piece may have made Pillaging the Dead seem like a political manifesto. Far from it. The book is simply a work of fiction inspired by many real events and the kinds of biographical incidents mentioned above. It tells the story with a mix of humour, political and social commentary.

You could say the book is written in the tradition of Alain Mabanckou, Ayi Kwei Armah, Chinua Achebe, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, Tsitsi Dangarembga and Wole Soyinka. I’m in no way elevating myself to the level of these literary giants. As a humble debutant, I dare say I’m greatly influenced by their writing, which weaves sharp irony, humour, and dark satire to critique those in power who misuse public office.

As one early reader said, by blending satire with thrills, Pillaging the Dead ‘takes you into a farcical world and swings you between laughter and tears.’

I hope readers will experience that too. But there is no guarantee—you may be reading a book that could be banned soon.