Ethiopia’s Morality Police Target Hemlines Whilst Addis Ababa’s Sex Trade Thrives Unchecked

Authorities fine women for ‘immodest’ dress as capital’s red-light districts operate openly, serving burgeoning middle-class demand

By Alemitu Regassa researcher for Fabian movement

In a striking display of selective enforcement that has drawn widespread condemnation, Ethiopian authorities fined 13 women 5,000 birr each for wearing clothing deemed inappropriate in Dima Woreda, even as the capital’s notorious Chehniya district in Bole continues its brisk trade in commercial sex, seemingly immune from official scrutiny.

The contrast could scarcely be more jarring. Whilst police resources were mobilised to detain women at an entertainment venue for alleged dress code violations, mere kilometres away in Chehniya, scantily clad women openly solicit business alongside their counterparts in full Islamic dress the latter catering to conservative clientele who prefer the appearance of religious propriety whilst engaging in the same transactions.

“It’s absolutely farcical,” observers note unanimously. “You can walk through Chehniya at any hour and witness an entire economy built around commercial sex, serving everyone from lorry drivers to businessmen. Half-naked women stand beside others in full hijab, all competing for the same customers. Yet the authorities choose to prosecute women at a private venue for showing a bit of leg. The hypocrisy is staggering.”

The history of Addis Ababa’s sex trade stretches back to the city’s very foundation. When Emperor Menelik II established the capital in the late 19th century, sex workers were deliberately positioned in specific quarters to serve the military encampments of various warlords and their soldiers. This strategic placement created the template for what would become permanent pockets of organised prostitution throughout the city’s development. As Addis Ababa expanded through the 20th century, these traditional brothel areas evolved and multiplied, adapting to each era’s demands. Today, the descendants of those original establishments operate as modern “massage parlours” and “saunas,” providing a veneer of legitimacy to what remains fundamentally the same service that sustained Menelik’s armies over a century ago.

The digital age has merely amplified what history established. The sex industry that once operated primarily through physical locations has now colonised the digital realm with remarkable efficiency, creating a parallel economy that operates with even greater impunity than its street-level counterpart. YouTube channels have discovered a lucrative niche filming “city walk” videos ostensibly showcasing Addis Ababa’s corridor development and urban renewal projects. Yet the cameras invariably linger on the streets where sex workers congregate, the comment sections filling with knowing references and requests for specific locations. These videos, monetised through advertising revenue, effectively function as promotional material for the sex trade whilst hiding behind the façade of urban documentation.

The irony is palpable: content creators profit from filming the very women whom authorities elsewhere punish for their clothing choices. The algorithm rewards these videos with views and revenue, whilst the women filmed often see none of the proceeds from their commodification. Some channels have amassed substantial followings specifically for their “night walk” content through red-light districts, their creators earning income from documenting an industry that officially doesn’t exist.

Telegram channels and mobile applications have transformed the transaction itself, moving the initial contact from street corners to encrypted messaging platforms. Potential clients can now browse profiles, negotiate prices, and arrange meetings without ever setting foot in districts like Chehniya. These digital marketplaces operate openly, with channels boasting thousands of subscribers and featuring explicit content that would theoretically violate both platform policies and Ethiopian law. Yet they persist, often for months or years, suggesting either official indifference or active protection.

The digital realm has also become a venue for unauthorized intimate content, both leaked and deliberately released. Several Ethiopian celebrities and public figures have found their private sexual encounters circulating on social media and pornographic websites, some claiming the releases were without consent, others facing accusations of deliberate publicity stunts. Regardless of intent, these videos generate massive traffic and commentary, further normalising the commodification of sexuality in the Ethiopian digital space whilst women in Dima Woreda face prosecution for far less.

Perhaps most damningly, organised criminal enterprises have established sophisticated operations in affluent areas of Addis Ababa, running what amounts to auction houses where young women are effectively sold to wealthy clients for extended periods. These arrangements, conducted through encrypted apps and private networks, involve sums reaching six figures in birr amounts that represent years of average wages. Clients bid for exclusive access to women for periods ranging from days to weeks, the transactions facilitated through the same digital infrastructure that authorities seemingly cannot or will not disrupt.

The persistence of these operations reveals the uncomfortable truth behind selective enforcement: high-ranking officials are themselves clients of these services. The digital infrastructure of exploitation enjoys protection not through technological sophistication but through political complicity. Sources indicate that access to these premium services has even been weaponised against political opposition, with compromising situations arranged and documented to ensure silence or cooperation. The same officials who publicly champion moral standards privately ensure that the ecosystem serving their appetites remains untouched.

“The digital expansion of the sex industry has created a multi-tiered market,” observers note. “Street-level work in places like Chehniya serves the lower and middle classes. Massage parlours and saunas cater to those seeking discretion. Telegram channels and apps provide convenience and variety. And at the top, you’ve got organized operations serving the wealthy and powerful. Every tier operates openly, every tier generates revenue, and every tier remains unprosecuted. But thirteen women wearing modern clothing at an entertainment venue? That’s where authorities draw the line. It’s not law enforcement it’s a protection racket for patriarchal privilege.”

The Chehniya district has long been recognised as one of Addis Ababa’s primary red-light areas, its streets a testament to Ethiopia’s bifurcated approach to female sexuality. Here, the diversity of offerings reflects the equally diverse demands of male clientele: some prefer the visual appeal of revealing dress, whilst others seek the titillation of transgression concealed beneath conservative Islamic garb. “The variety is the point,” commentators explain. “You’ve got women in mini-skirts and crop tops working the same streets as women in full abaya and niqab. It’s market segmentation at its most cynical different packaging for different punters, but the transaction is identical.”

The economic drivers are unmistakable. Ethiopia’s soaring inflation and chronic unemployment have hit women particularly hard, forcing thousands into sex work as formal employment opportunities evaporate. The middle class, meanwhile or what remains of it continues to fuel demand, with Chehniya and similar districts operating as de facto entertainment zones for men with disposable income. “The reality is that economic desperation has created a massive supply of women entering sex work, whilst inflation hasn’t entirely destroyed male purchasing power for such services,” analysts observe. “What you’re seeing in places like Chehniya is a functioning market that authorities either can’t or won’t disrupt, despite its visibility.”

The selective morality extends beyond Addis Ababa’s streets. Ethiopia actively markets its Omo Valley tribes many of whose traditional dress involves minimal clothing as tourist attractions, generating substantial foreign currency from what officials elsewhere term “indecency.” “The state has no problem whatsoever with Mursi women in lip plates and little else appearing in every tourism brochure,” critics note. “Those bodies are commodified for foreign consumption. But when urban women choose modern dress, suddenly we’re talking about ‘community customs’ and moral standards. It’s transparently about control, not culture.”

Commentators have been unanimous in their condemnation of the Dima Woreda enforcement action, viewing it as part of a broader pattern of authoritarian overreach disguised as cultural preservation. “This is pure authoritarianism dressed up as tradition,” they assert. “When you’ve got Chehniya operating openly, when you’ve got thousands of Ethiopian women trafficked to the Gulf states for domestic and sexual servitude, when you’ve got Addis Ababa functioning as a regional hub for sex tourism and your response is to fine a dozen women for their clothing choices you’ve revealed your true priorities. This isn’t about morality. It’s about intimidating women who dare to exercise autonomy.”

The human cost of the sex trade has been documented across generations. One former member of the Tigray People’s Liberation Front, speaking candidly about the movement’s history, revealed that more of his compatriots perished from sexually transmitted diseases such as HIV and AIDS contracted through the sex industry than from actual combat engagements. “We lost entire cadres not to bullets but to the brothels,” he stated. “The official histories speak of battlefield heroism, but the real attrition happened in the red-light districts of every town we passed through or occupied.”

This sobering reality has, however, prompted some progressive responses. Ethiopia has implemented targeted health and safety policies aimed at protecting both sex workers and their clients from disease transmission. Free condom distribution programmes, mobile HIV testing clinics in known red-light areas, and antiretroviral therapy access have demonstrably reduced infection rates amongst this vulnerable population. Several NGOs operate harm-reduction programmes in districts like Chehniya, providing health screenings, legal advice, and economic alternatives to women seeking to leave the industry. Whilst these initiatives cannot eliminate the exploitation inherent in survival sex work, they represent a pragmatic acknowledgement that criminalisation and moral condemnation serve only to endanger already marginalised women further.

The selectivity of enforcement tells the entire story. Women are being policed for fashion choices whilst a massive commercial sex industry now amplified and facilitated by digital platforms operates with impunity. It’s textbook patriarchal control punish the visible exercise of female autonomy whilst ignoring or even facilitating the actual exploitation of women’s bodies for economic gain. The hypocrisy extends to Ethiopia’s relationship with Gulf states, where tens of thousands of Ethiopian women work under the notorious kafala system, many facing conditions tantamount to modern slavery. Their remittances provide crucial foreign currency for Ethiopia’s struggling economy, yet the government continues to facilitate this migration despite well-documented abuses.

“You’ve got a state that exports its women to the Middle East, knowing full well many will face exploitation, because it needs the remittances,” observers point out. “That same state then criminalises women domestically for clothing choices. The message is clear: women’s bodies are state assets to be controlled and monetised, not autonomous individuals with rights.”

In Chehniya and surrounding areas of Bole, the commercial sex trade operates with a brazenness that belies official rhetoric about moral standards. Street corners feature women in various states of dress or undress openly negotiating with potential clients. “I’ve walked through Bole at night for research purposes, and it’s immediately apparent what’s happening,” diplomats note. “You’ve got half-naked women on one corner, women in full Islamic covering on another, all clearly engaged in sex work. The police walk past. Everyone knows. The only people being prosecuted are women whose crime is wearing modern clothing in the wrong venue, at the wrong time, without generating revenue for the right people.”

The presence of women in conservative Islamic dress engaging in sex work adds another layer to the hypocrisy. These women cater specifically to clients who desire the frisson of religious transgression or who feel more comfortable with the appearance of propriety. “It’s actually quite a sophisticated market,” analysts explain. “Some men want the visual appeal of revealing clothing. Others prefer the idea of a ‘good Muslim woman’ secretly engaging in sin. The sex workers adapt their presentation accordingly. Meanwhile, women who simply choose to wear modern clothing to an entertainment venue face detention and crippling fines. The cognitive dissonance is extraordinary.”

Underlying the entire situation is Ethiopia’s economic crisis, which has disproportionately affected women. With youth unemployment exceeding 25 per cent and inflation rendering formal-sector wages inadequate for survival, many women face impossible choices. “The real crime here is economic violence against women,” economists argue. “When legitimate employment doesn’t exist or doesn’t pay enough to survive, women turn to whatever options remain. That might be migration to the Gulf, or it might be sex work in Addis whether on the streets, in massage parlours, or through digital platforms. The state has created these conditions through economic mismanagement, then criminalises the women forced to adapt to them.”

Perhaps most troubling is the official promise to “strengthen inspection and enforcement” of dress codes a commitment that suggests intensified surveillance of women’s bodies rather than any engagement with the economic and social factors driving exploitation. “When authorities announce they’re strengthening enforcement of dress codes whilst ignoring the massive commercial sex trade operating openly in the capital now amplified through YouTube monetisation, Telegram channels, and organized criminal networks serving the elite you have to ask: what’s the real agenda?” commentators demand. “This isn’t about protecting women or upholding standards. It’s about reasserting patriarchal control at a moment when economic crisis has disrupted traditional hierarchies. Women are being scapegoated for exercising the tiniest bit of autonomy whilst the structures that actually exploit them remain untouched indeed, protected by the very officials who benefit from them.”

The Dima Woreda incident has drawn criticism from international observers, who see it as emblematic of broader issues in Ethiopia’s governance. “You’ve got a country that markets its people’s bodies for tourism, exports its women into exploitative labour, hosts a thriving sex industry across physical and digital spaces, allows the monetisation of that industry through social media platforms, and then criminalises fashion choices,” they observe. “It’s a perfect illustration of how authoritarian states use ‘tradition’ and ‘morality’ as weapons against the autonomy of women, particularly when those women are already economically vulnerable.”

The 5,000-birr fines equivalent to several months’ wages for most Ethiopians have been particularly criticised as potentially pushing women further into the economic desperation that drives sex work in the first place. “It’s a vicious cycle,” observers note. “Economic crisis forces impossible choices. Women who try to maintain some autonomy even just in how they dress get criminalised and fined. The fines create more economic pressure, which may drive them into the very sex work that operates with impunity across every platform and price point. It’s not just hypocritical—it’s systematically cruel.”

As Ethiopia’s economic situation continues to deteriorate, observers expect the contradictions to intensify: more women pushed into informal economies, including sex work across physical and digital spaces, even as authorities expand their surveillance and control of female behaviour in other contexts. The women of Dima Woreda, fined for their clothing choices, represent casualties of a system that profits from female bodies whilst punishing female autonomy a contradiction that plays out nightly on the streets of Chehniya, in YouTube videos monetising their presence, on Telegram channels facilitating transactions, and in the encrypted networks serving Ethiopia’s elite, all beneath the indifferent or complicit gaze of the same authorities who mobilised against hemlines elsewhere.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official position of Ethiopian Tribune.