Railways to Redemption, Altars to Ashes
0
0
By Thomas Araya Ethiopian Tribune columnist
Ethiopia, that ancient land of saints and sovereigns, is once again caught between the sacred and the profane. Faced with economic ruin, civil unrest, and mounting allegations of atrocity, the government has chosen to respond not with reflection or reform, but with railway maps and maritime metaphors. It is a regime that governs by distraction where sovereignty is a slogan and suffering a subplot.
The latest fantasy involves a railway to the Red Sea, a £1.3 billion sketchpad project linking Weldiya to ports in Eritrea and Djibouti. The Prime Minister, with the rhetorical flourish of a man who’s mistaken Parliament for a TED Talk, declared that Ethiopia “will not remain landlocked whether anyone likes it or not.” One half expected him to unveil a tunnel to Atlantis. Eritrea, understandably alarmed, has fortified its borders. Egypt, ever the regional referee, has offered Eritrea a diplomatic umbrella, lest Ethiopia mistake ambition for artillery. The Red Sea, once a corridor of trade and theology, is now a stage for nationalist theatre. The railway is not merely a logistical fantasy; it is a geopolitical provocation. It seeks to “correct the mistake of 1993,” when Eritrea gained independence and Ethiopia lost its coastline. But one might ask whether the mistake lies not in geography but in governance. After all, a nation that cannot keep its own hospitals open should perhaps refrain from annexing ports.
Meanwhile, civil society is being dismantled with the precision of a bureaucratic guillotine. Organisations are ordered to register their assets or face suspension. Over 1,500 licences have already been revoked. Amnesty International warns of a legal regime that allows the government to handpick CSO boards like a child choosing sweets. Election monitoring is now a subversive act; advocacy, a criminal enterprise. It is a curious democracy where the ballot box is guarded by bayonets and the press is muzzled with legalese. And as for the registration frenzy, one suspects it will soon become an open season for underpaid officials to tax their way to prosperity. In a system where salaries are threadbare and oversight is ornamental, the temptation to monetise paperwork is irresistible. What begins as asset declaration may well end in asset extraction, with civil society reduced to a toll booth for bureaucratic enrichment.
But the most chilling development is not economic or legislative, it is ecclesiastical. In the Arsi Zone of Oromia, Ethiopian Orthodox Christians have been killed in what church sources describe as religiously motivated attacks. According to the Church’s Public Relations Department, more than 25 followers were killed in October alone. A specific incident on 27 October in Hela Zibaba Kebele saw three civilians murdered and four abducted by unidentified gunmen. A follow-up report from early November added five more victims, including a husband, wife, and neighbour. The broader estimate, 144 Orthodox Christians killed since September, suggests something far more sinister than sporadic unrest. The perpetrators remain officially unnamed, though local sources allege involvement of armed groups operating in the region. In some cases, victims were reportedly removed from their homes and shot. The mayor of the area has been implicated in whispers, yet remains in office. The victims remain unnamed. The churches remain desecrated. The government, ever eloquent on matters of railways and sovereignty, has offered no comment. Not even a perfunctory denial. It is a peculiar kind of governance that builds railways to the sea while blood pools in the pews.
The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, one of the world’s oldest Christian institutions, has long been a pillar of national identity. To attack its faithful is not merely a crime, it is a desecration. And yet, the regime’s response has been one of studied indifference. This silence becomes all the more damning when viewed against the international backdrop. In Nigeria, similar patterns of religious violence have prompted global rebuke. On 1 November 2025, President Donald Trump threatened military action against Nigeria, declaring: “If the Nigerian government continues to allow the killing of Christians, the USA will immediately stop all aid and assistance to Nigeria, and may very well go into that now disgraced country.” He labelled Nigeria a “country of particular concern” under the International Religious Freedom Act and warned of “radical Islamists” responsible for a “mass slaughter” of Christians.
The Nigerian government, for its part, rejected the claims of genocide but acknowledged the need for international cooperation. Church leaders welcomed Trump’s stance, while diplomats scrambled to contain the fallout. And Ethiopia? No rebuke. No designation. No viral video from the White House. The silence is strategic. Ethiopia, unlike Nigeria, is not yet on the radar of global Christian advocacy or American foreign policy. But the parallels are unmistakable. In both countries, religious minorities are being hunted. In both, local authorities are accused of complicity. In one, the world responds. In the other, the regime builds railways to the sea.
As if this were not enough, Tigrayan fighters have re-entered Afar, violating the 2022 peace deal and reigniting fears of renewed conflict. The government, true to form, has revived its favourite script: blame Shabiya, blame the diaspora, blame geography. Eritrea is cast as villain, the Red Sea as prize, and the Ethiopian people as props in a geopolitical pantomime. The Defence Ministry speaks of “preparing for war,” while the Prime Minister assures Parliament that Ethiopia’s maritime ambitions will not be thwarted. It is a dangerous game. The Red Sea is not a sandbox. It is a strategic corridor watched by Gulf states, China, Russia, and the United States. A war with Eritrea would not be a border skirmish, it would be a regional conflagration.
There is something tragically cyclical about Ethiopia’s current trajectory. A nation that once resisted colonialism now mimics its tactics. A government that once spoke of unity now governs by division. A country that once gave sanctuary to exiles now produces them in droves. The massacre of Orthodox Christians in Arsi is not merely a political scandal, it is a theological rupture. It recalls the darkest chapters of Ethiopian history, when emperors persecuted sects and warlords desecrated sanctuaries. The silence of the state is not neutrality, it is complicity.
And yet, the regime marches on, building railways to the sea, drafting proclamations against civil society, and declaring war on neighbours. It is a government that governs by distraction, deflection, and denial. Ethiopia deserves better than this tragic pageant. It deserves leaders who build bridges, not scapegoats; who mourn massacres, not manufacture maritime myths. Until then, the Red Sea remains a distraction and the nation, a hostage to its own narrative.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official position of Ethiopian Tribune or its editorial board.
