The Invisible Prime Minister: Abiy’s Media Mastery and the Art of Vanishing

 

By Sewasew Teklemariam Ethiopian Tribune Columnist

 

There’s something rather magical about our Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed he’s mastered the art of political prestidigitation. In a stunning feat that would make Houdini weep with envy, he’s managed to make himself completely invisible to any journalist who might dare ask an inconvenient question. For someone who once promised to open Ethiopia to the world, he’s become remarkably adept at closing himself off from it.

 

Since ascending to power in 2018, our Nobel laureate has performed perhaps his most impressive trick: not a single press conference with international or independent local journalists. Not one. In over seven years of leadership through civil war, ethnic cleansing, economic collapse, and humanitarian crises that have left millions displaced, Abiy has maintained radio silence with the fourth estate. The man who once unblocked hundreds of websites now blocks himself from any forum where he might face actual scrutiny.

 

It’s rather like running a restaurant but only allowing your mother-in-law to review the food. State-owned media dutifully serves up softball questions with the enthusiasm of a trained seal, whilst genuine journalists are left wondering if the Prime Minister has developed an acute allergy to accountability. One might ask: what exactly is he hiding from?

 

The answer, it seems, lies in Abiy’s masterful orchestration of media control that would make authoritarian regimes worldwide take notes. Having successfully brought domestic media “into line” through a sophisticated cocktail of legal intimidation and extra-legal threats, he’s now expanding his repertoire internationally. The recent abduction of journalists by masked men a theatrical touch that adds just the right amount of menace to the proceedings serves as a stark reminder that independent journalism in Ethiopia has become a contact sport.

 

Under Abiy’s stewardship, Ethiopia has plummeted from 110th to 145th out of 180 countries in the World Press Freedom Index. That’s quite an achievement for a Peace Prize winner. At least twelve journalists currently languish behind bars, whilst fifty-three others have fled into exile since the Tigray war began. Nothing says “media freedom” quite like an empty newsroom and journalists scattered across continents like autumn leaves.

 

The 2021 Hate Speech and Disinformation Prevention and Suppression Proclamation stands as Abiy’s masterpiece a legal document so beautifully vague that it could criminalise a weather forecast if delivered with insufficient enthusiasm for government policy. The law’s definition of disinformation as information that “is highly likely to cause a public disturbance” is so broad it could encompass reporting that the queue at the local shop is rather long. Particularly inspired is the provision targeting those with more than 5,000 social media followers with harsher penalties. Because nothing says “proportional justice” quite like punishing people for being popular. It’s rather like fining someone extra for having too many friends at their birthday party.

 

The government has developed sophisticated economic pressure tactics that would impress the most creative accountant. Since most media outlets depend on state-owned printing presses and distribution networks, authorities can effectively silence critical voices by delaying or refusing printing services. In one documented case that reads like something from a dystopian novel, the state-owned printer burned 40,000 copies of a newspaper that dared publish reports the government considered critical. One can almost smell the smoke of democracy burning alongside the newsprint.

 

Not content with silencing domestic critics, Abiy has branched into the export business specifically, exporting his media suppression techniques. During his recent bilateral talks with French President Emmanuel Macron, he reportedly raised concerns about Ethiopian journalists based in France and sought cooperation in limiting their activities. One can only imagine the conversation: “Emmanuel, old chap, would you mind terribly helping us quiet down these pesky journalists who insist on reporting inconvenient truths from the safety of the Champs-Élysées?”

 

This represents a rather bold expansion of Ethiopia’s sovereignty apparently extending it to the bistros of Paris. It’s diplomatic overreach with a distinctly Orwellian flavour, suggesting that geographical distance is no barrier to Abiy’s media control ambitions. The Committee to Protect Journalists reports that Ethiopian security personnel have engaged in intimidation of family members remaining in Ethiopia, online harassment campaigns, and threats of Interpol intervention based on questionable charges. Because nothing says “international cooperation” quite like weaponising family bonds and global law enforcement.

 

Which brings us to the crux of the matter: what exactly is our invisible Prime Minister hiding? The list of unexamined policies and unexplained decisions grows longer by the day. The sale of national assets, the mysterious details of international agreements, the conduct of military operations, the handling of humanitarian crises, all remain shrouded in official silence, protected by a phalanx of compliant state media that wouldn’t recognise a critical question if it arrived with a formal introduction and calling card.

 

The questions that would naturally arise in any functioning democracy remain unasked and unanswered: How were national assets sold? Who benefited? Why were these decisions made behind closed doors? What accountability mechanisms exist for such monumental choices affecting the nation’s future? The who, what, when, where, and why of governance have been replaced by the government’s preferred journalistic approach: don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t think.

 

The government’s justification, that stringent media control is necessary for national security and social harmony, rings rather hollow when one considers that the conflicts and tensions these policies allegedly address have only intensified under Abiy’s watch. It’s rather like claiming that boarding up all the windows improves the view. The ethnic violence that has plagued the country hasn’t been quelled by silencing those who report on it; if anything, the absence of independent reporting has allowed atrocities to occur with less scrutiny and accountability.

 

Most tellingly, research by Afrobarometer reveals that 71% of Ethiopians believe media should investigate and report on government mistakes and corruption, whilst 59% endorse media’s right to publish views without government control. There’s a rather spectacular disconnect between what Ethiopians want from their media and what their government is prepared to allow. It’s democracy with Ethiopian characteristics—the people’s will, filtered through the benevolent wisdom of those who know better.

 

The irony is delicious: a leader who came to power promising democratic renewal has created a media environment so restrictive that editors confess to simply republishing government statements rather than risk their livelihoods. As one journalist told The Guardian, “I have children, I need to survive.” Nothing captures the state of Ethiopian journalism quite like reporters forced to choose between truth and feeding their families. Many independent media outlets, faced with the impossible choice between editorial independence and survival, have simply opted to “repeat government statements,” creating an echo chamber that would make any authoritarian proud.

 

Ethiopia’s declining press freedom has become an international embarrassment, with foreign correspondents from The Economist and New York Times being shown the door, and French journalists detained and expelled. It’s rather like hosting a dinner party and then refusing to let anyone speak, eventually, people stop accepting the invitation. The deportation of international journalists sends a clear message to the global community: Ethiopia under Abiy Ahmed has no interest in transparency or external scrutiny.

 

The extraterritorial pursuit of journalists creates additional diplomatic complications that extend far beyond Ethiopia’s borders. If Ethiopia successfully pressures allies like France to act against exiled journalists, it sets a precedent that could unravel decades of international norms protecting press freedom. It’s soft power projection with distinctly hard consequences, potentially compromising the very international relationships Ethiopia claims to value.

 

The case of journalists like Dawit Kebede Araya, gunned down near his home after fleeing to Tigray, illustrates the extreme risks faced by those who dare to report independently. Whilst the Committee to Protect Journalists hasn’t directly attributed such killings to the government, the climate of fear is unmistakable. When journalists are murdered, imprisoned, or driven into exile with such regularity, the message to surviving practitioners of the craft is crystal clear: conform or face the consequences.

 

As we approach the 2026 elections, one editor’s warning echoes with particular resonance: “In two years, we won’t have any independent media left if things continue like this.” It’s a sobering prediction for a country whose constitution theoretically guarantees press freedom whilst its practice systematically dismantles it. The systematic elimination of independent voices creates a void that state propaganda rushes to fill, leaving citizens with access to only one version of events, the government’s.

 

Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed has indeed achieved something remarkable: he’s created a media landscape where the most powerful person in the country is simultaneously its most invisible. He speaks only to audiences guaranteed not to challenge him, answers only questions pre-approved by his handlers, and addresses only forums where dissent has been surgically removed. This calculated invisibility isn’t a bug in his media strategy, it’s the primary feature.

 

The transformation from the reformist leader who once released jailed journalists and unblocked websites to the invisible autocrat who imprisons critics and blocks accountability is perhaps the most damning indictment of his tenure. The man who rose to power on promises of openness has become the architect of opacity, constructing elaborate barriers between himself and any form of independent scrutiny.

 

In mastering the art of political invisibility, Abiy has revealed more about his leadership than any press conference ever could. When a leader consistently refuses to face independent scrutiny, when journalists are silenced, imprisoned, or driven into exile, when state power extends across borders to silence critics, the message is unmistakably clear: there’s something worth hiding.

 

The question isn’t whether Abiy Ahmed will eventually hold a proper press conference it’s whether, by the time he does, there will be any independent journalists left to ask the questions that desperately need answering. In the meantime, Ethiopia’s invisible Prime Minister continues his greatest performance: the vanishing act of democratic accountability. It’s a magic trick that would be impressive if it weren’t so tragic for the country he purports to serve.

 

Sewasew Teklemariam is a columnist for the Ethiopian Tribune and former correspondent for international media outlets. He writes on Ethiopian politics, media freedom, and democratic governance.