THE ETHIOPIAN TRIBUNE · EDITOR’S FOREWORD

Abiy’s Drones Pouring Hell Over a Divided House

The Constitution Is Guilty of More Murder — Our Unity and Red-Sea Sovereignty

By Mefkereseb G. Hailu (PhD)

When we published Dr Mefkereseb G. Hailu’s twelfth article in September, we described it, as he had, as the close of his series. We were wrong, and gladly so. In a letter to this desk, MGH explains that each time he has set down his pen, events have handed it back to him. This month they did so with unusual force: seven armed movements allied against the government on 20 September, the north returned to war three days later, Mekelle changed hands again, and Ethiopia broke with Asmara and Cairo within a single week. A writer who has spent a year warning that a divided house cannot defend itself could hardly stay silent while the house burned.

This is the thirteenth article, and the first of three that will now conclude the series, appearing on successive Sundays. MGH tells us he may miss a church service or two to meet that schedule. We trust our readers will forgive him, and that his priest will too.

The article begins as a response to Yihenew Ewnetu’s study of drone warfare, Aerial Terror, published in Borkena. MGH welcomes it as the start of a criminal record and then does something rare in our discourse: he treats a fellow writer’s work as a case file in preparation, checking its sources, reconciling its figures and correcting its attributions, so that it can withstand the scrutiny of those paid to discredit it. Readers who care about accountability should read that section closely. It is a lesson in how evidence survives contact with a hostile reader.

“Accountability must fall on persons, not on the nation.”

But the record, he argues, names the wound and not the disease. His diagnosis is the one he has pressed throughout the series: the 1995 Constitution, which makes ethnicity the title to power, land and security, and so turns every grievance into a war. He is unsparing with everyone. The government bears the heaviest guilt, but the new alliance, the oligarchs, the clergy and above all his own class, the intellectuals, are each held to account.

The Tribune does not endorse every judgement in the essays we publish, and readers will find much here to argue with. That is the purpose of the platform. We publish this article because it insists on two disciplines our public conversation badly needs: that every civilian death be recorded, whoever caused it, and that the argument be about the rule-book rather than the latest ruler.

Synopsis

A criminal record, and the diagnosis behind it. MGH accepts that the drone strikes on markets, schools, clinics and churches are real, and that those which killed civilians are crimes whose chain of command runs to the Prime Minister. The task is to turn the record into a case file fit for international forums, and to ask the question the study does not: why a state turns its air force on its own villages.

The war that returned. He sets out the events of late September and early October, and identifies three new features: the government’s drone monopoly is gone, an internal war became an interstate crisis within days, and the political theatre continued regardless. A victory at Mekelle, he warns, settled nothing in 2020 and will settle nothing now.

From study to case file. The most technical section audits the drone study against its sources, re-anchoring expert quotations, correcting attributions, questioning cost estimates, extending the strike record to include Gedeb, Abbay Giyorgis and Hintalo, and insisting on the correct legal language: war crimes and crimes against humanity, not a genocide charge that cannot yet be proven.

Who benefits, who pays. The benefits of the drone war fall to a governing party, its command and foreign suppliers; the costs fall on the dead, millions of children out of school, destroyed clinics and a collapsing birr. He is candid about what he cannot verify, and about his own position as a diaspora investor.

The road to accountability. Ethiopia is not party to the Rome Statute, so the road to The Hague runs through a Security Council veto or a future government’s consent. Meanwhile, he urges the African Commission, a restored UN commission of experts, universal jurisdiction and targeted sanctions, on the principle that accountability must fall on persons, never on the nation.

The racket’s four estates. Returning to the framework of Cui Bono?, he indicts the political cadre, the oligarch, the pulpit and, at greatest length, the intellectual, whose “five disguises of complicity” keep every argument inside the constitutional ring.

The citizens’ Constitution and the Alliance for Survival. He proposes a constitution that makes the individual Ethiopian sovereign, with administrative boundaries, an indivisible union and one army under civilian and judicial control. He engages Yonas Biru’s assessment of the new alliance, agreeing with its warnings but arguing that a reformed ethnic federation would buy only a decade, and declines to take sides among those he calls ethnic entrepreneurs.

Objections and conclusion. He answers eight objections at full strength, closes with a reading of the comparative literature on ethnofederalism, and ends with an eight-point warning and the question that has run through the whole series: can Ethiopians stop fighting over the country long enough to build it together?

Read the full article here:

Thea13_drones_unity_mgh.pdf

next instalment, Medemer, Oromummaa and the Soul of the Nation, follows next Sunday, and the series concludes the week after.

The Editor

ANALYSIS

The War That Found the Capital

Within a single week, Ethiopia’s conflict moved from the northern front to the skyline of Addis Ababa and the desk of its Foreign Ministry. The fronts now run from southern Tigray to the Afar lowlands, and the capital is no longer insulated.

By E. Frashie
The Ethiopian Tribune · 1 October 2026

Shortly after midnight on Thursday, residents of central Addis Ababa heard what the city’s authorities had spent the previous afternoon preparing for. Diplomatic sources told Addis Standard of explosions at around 12:30 and 1:15 a.m., in areas near the headquarters of the Ethiopian National Defense Forces and the site believed to house the Meshualekia 4th Division. Residents reported ambulances and fire engines moving through the streets afterwards. An intelligence official confirmed to the Associated Press that there had been three blasts in three different locations, and declined to say more.

Hours earlier, the National Intelligence and Security Service had banned the flying of drones of any kind over the capital and its surroundings, indefinitely, and announced the deployment of anti-drone systems to protect its airspace and critical infrastructure. A source linked to the opposition alliance fighting federal forces in the north told Reuters that the alliance had struck the military’s headquarters with drones. Reuters could not verify the claim, and neither the Prime Minister’s office, the federal government nor the military has yet offered an account of what happened. If the claim is borne out, it would be the first known drone attack on the capital by forces opposed to the government.

Before the day was out, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs announced that it was closing Ethiopia’s embassy in Asmara and declaring ten Eritrean diplomats persona non grata, with 48 hours to leave the country, accusing Eritrea of “direct and indirect acts of hostility and belligerence”. In a separate notification to the Egyptian Embassy, it ordered an Egyptian diplomat to leave within the same period. By evening, Eritrea had severed diplomatic relations with Ethiopia altogether, and Cairo had expelled an Ethiopian diplomat in return.

A drone ban, a night of explosions and diplomatic ruptures with both Asmara and Cairo, all within 24 hours. Whatever the final account of Thursday’s blasts, their political meaning is already plain. The war that Addis Ababa has long experienced as a distant affair, reported from the Amhara highlands, rural Oromia or Tigray, has arrived, at least psychologically, at the capital’s door, and it now carries a regional dimension that the government itself has chosen to make explicit.

A National War

It is tempting to describe this as Tigray sliding back into war. That would be wrong on two counts. The country has not been at peace since the Pretoria Agreement of November 2022: the Fano insurgency in Amhara has been fighting federal forces since 2023, and the Oromo Liberation Army’s war in Oromia is older still. Nor is the fighting now under way a Tigrayan affair. The coalition calling itself the Alliance for Survival brings together the TPLF, the Amhara Fano National Movement and the OLA, alongside armed groups drawn from the Somali, Afar and Benishangul-Gumuz areas. Its fronts this week ran from southern Tigray to the Afar lowlands and the Amhara highlands, where the army claims to have killed more than 270 fighters. A war fought across half a dozen regions, with drones reportedly reaching the capital, is a national war.

Seven Days in the North

The facts on the ground, as far as they can be established through a communications blackout, are these. Telecom providers reported major disruption to phone and internet services in Tigray from Friday 25 September. Over the weekend, the Tigray Peace Force, a militia aligned with the federal government, and pro-government outlets reported that federal forces had taken Alamata, the southern Tigrayan town that serves as a supply hub for troops, fuel and food on the road towards Mekelle. ACLED, the conflict-monitoring project, recorded the takeover. The cost to civilians was severe. Hospital sources and residents told the BBC that more than 50 civilians had been killed in three days of fighting, including children only days old, and that patient numbers at the Korem and Alamata hospitals had more than doubled within 48 hours.

The alliance answered in Afar. Tigrayan forces took Erebti after heavy artillery fire on Sunday and pressed on towards Afdeera, displacing an estimated 150,000 people. The strategic logic is unmistakable: the road through Afar is the corridor to Djibouti, through which passes almost all of Ethiopia’s international trade, its fuel included. The same day, a drone struck the headquarters of Tigrai TV in Mekelle, while the TPLF’s seizure of the region’s main airport had already forced the suspension of flights. Reuters described the fighting as the largest escalation of violence in the country since the end of the 2020–22 civil war.

Almost every figure in this account is contested or unverified, and that is itself part of the story. Neither the government’s tallies of enemy dead nor the alliance’s battlefield claims can be independently tested while Tigray is cut off and its own broadcaster has been struck from the air. An information vacuum of this kind does not stay empty for long.

“The rest of the country could burn; the capital was to be insulated. This week punctured that assumption.”

The Capital Discovers Its Exposure

For much of the past three years, Addis Ababa has lived beside its country’s wars rather than inside them. The insurgencies in Amhara and Oromia brought checkpoints, sporadic road closures and periodic waves of arrests, but the capital’s official story was one of transformation: corridor projects, new boulevards and glass towers, a city remade as the showcase of a developmental state. The rest of the country could burn; the capital was to be insulated. This week punctured that assumption in three ways.

The first is the air. The drone ban is, in effect, an official admission that the authorities regard the capital’s airspace as vulnerable. A security source told the Cairo-based Mada Masr that the measure followed a 27 September attack on Harar Meda Air Base at Bishoftu, some 35 miles from the city, in which two soldiers were said to have been killed, along with strikes on Kombolcha airport and near Bahir Dar. That account rests on a single anonymous source and remains unconfirmed. But the government’s own conduct, from the ban and the anti-drone deployment to its silence after the blasts, suggests that it takes the threat seriously.

The second is the supply line. Addis Ababa is a landlocked capital whose fuel, medicines and imported goods arrive overwhelmingly by the Djibouti road. An offensive in Afar aimed at that corridor is not a peripheral manoeuvre; it is a lever on the price of petrol and bread in Bole and Piassa. For a city that has already absorbed a steep depreciation of the birr since the 2024 float, the prospect of interrupted supply is a more immediate fear than any battlefield map.

The third is information. The capital’s residents now face, in milder form, the same predicament as Tigray’s: they hear explosions and see ambulances, and are then met with official silence. Rumour fills whatever space official communication leaves empty. A government that has spent years managing the national narrative with great care now finds that narrative hard to manage in its own capital.

The Governing Elite and the Regional Rupture

Thursday’s expulsions must be read against the arc of the past eight years. Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s 2018 rapprochement with President Isaias Afwerki earned him the Nobel Peace Prize the following year, and during the 2020–22 war Eritrean troops fought alongside federal forces in Tigray. The Pretoria Agreement, negotiated without Asmara, began the unravelling of that partnership. This week marked a further, formal stage in its collapse.

The ministry did not specify what the ten Eritrean diplomats had done, saying only that their activities threatened national security and breached the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations. Ethiopia itself stopped short of severing relations, closing its statement by affirming the historical and people-to-people ties between the two countries. Asmara did not reciprocate the restraint. Information Minister Yemane Gebremeskel said that expelling the diplomats, among them Eritrea’s chargé d’affaires, amounted in effect to closing its embassy in Addis Ababa, and Eritrea’s foreign ministry announced that it was severing all diplomatic ties, warning of what it called “all the negative corollaries that this entails”. The two governments that signed a celebrated peace in 2018 now have no formal channel between them.

The Egyptian expulsion is narrower but no less pointed. The Foreign Ministry declared Ahmed Moharam Ahmed Soliman, a member of the Egyptian Embassy’s diplomatic staff, persona non grata, without giving a reason or identifying any conduct. Egypt answered in kind, declaring a counsellor at the Ethiopian embassy in Cairo persona non grata and giving him 48 hours to leave, according to the state-affiliated Al Qahera News. Relations between the two capitals have been strained for more than a decade by the dispute over the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam. What is new is that Addis Ababa has now taken concrete action against Egyptian personnel at the same moment as it accuses Eritrea, Sudan and Egypt of supporting the TPLF-led opposition alliance, accusations all three governments deny.

The ministry did not link any of the expulsions to the overnight explosions, and The Tribune draws no such link. But the measures give formal weight to accusations previously voiced by the military. Field Marshal Berhanu Jula has accused Eritrea of backing the alliance and alleged support from Sudan and Egypt, while Afar’s regional leadership has told Al Jazeera that Eritrean forces are fighting inside the region, a claim not independently confirmed. Ethiopia’s internal war is being drawn, step by step, into the rivalries of the wider Horn and the Nile basin.

For the governing elite, the dilemma is acute. Barely three months after a general election that the ruling Prosperity Party presented as a decisive mandate, the state faces a multi-front insurgency, a broken relationship with Asmara, a fresh confrontation with Cairo and an exposed capital. Washington lifted its atrocity-linked sanctions on Ethiopia and Eritrea only weeks ago, declaring the underlying national emergency over; that judgement already looks premature. Every option open to Addis Ababa carries a price. Escalation against Eritrea risks an interstate war layered on top of a civil one. A negotiated settlement would mean engaging an alliance some of whose members the government has, at various times, designated as terrorist organisations. Holding the line means a long war of attrition fought, increasingly, within earshot of the capital.

The drone ban and the silence after the blasts are themselves expressions of that anxiety.

“A state confident of its position explains what happened; a state unsure of it restricts and waits.”

The Fog of Claims

Every party to this war is now fighting partly through its claims. The government announces counts of enemy dead that cannot be checked; the alliance claims drone strikes on the capital that the government will neither confirm nor deny; regional officials report foreign troops on Ethiopian soil without independent corroboration. With Tigray cut off from phone and internet services and its broadcaster struck from the air, the gap between what is asserted and what is known has rarely been wider.

That gap carries real consequences. Civilian deaths in Alamata and displacement in Afar risk being lost beneath the louder contest over battlefield gains, while unverified claims harden into accepted fact before anyone can test them. For now, the most reliable picture is the one assembled slowly from hospital staff, residents, diplomats and conflict monitors, and it is a picture of a war that is widening rather than one approaching resolution.

What to Watch

Three questions will shape the coming days. The first is whether the government acknowledges what struck near its military installations on Thursday night; silence cannot be sustained for long in a capital that heard the explosions. The second is whether the diplomatic ruptures stay diplomatic. With the 48-hour deadlines expiring on Saturday and Eritrea warning of negative consequences, the question is whether Asmara, Cairo or Khartoum moves from words to deeds, and whether Addis Ababa does so first. The third is the Djibouti corridor. If the alliance’s push through Afar disrupts supply to the capital, the war will cease to be an abstraction for the residents of Addis Ababa and become part of their daily lives.

The capital’s governing class has long assumed that Ethiopia’s wars could be managed from a distance. This week it learned otherwise. With the fighting now reaching the Djibouti corridor, relations with Asmara and Cairo and, on Thursday night, the capital itself, the question is no longer whether the war can be contained to the periphery, but whether anyone in Addis Ababa has a plan for ending it.

Note on sources: This analysis draws on reporting by Reuters, the Associated Press, the BBC, Al Jazeera, Addis Standard, Mada Masr, Ahram Online, Radio Tamazuj and EFE, on ACLED conflict data, on statements and notifications by Ethiopia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs dated 1 October 2026 as carried by ENA and EBC, and on statements by Eritrea’s foreign ministry and Egyptian officials quoted by Al Qahera News. Claims attributed to the federal government, the opposition alliance and regional authorities could not be independently verified at the time of writing, owing to the communications blackout in Tigray and restricted access to the conflict zones. The Tribune will update this piece as confirmation emerges.

አስተያየት · ግልፅ ደብዳቤ

ለእውነተኛው የአማራ ፋኖ ታጋዮች የቀረበ ጥብቅና አስቸኳይ ግልፅ ጥሪ፦ የባርነት ካምፑን ሰብራችሁ ወጥታችሁ የሕዝባችሁን ክብርና ነፃነት አስከብሩ!

ዶ/ር ሶስና ታደሰ ቀደም ሲል በ«ፅምዶ» ጥምረት ዙሪያ ካቀረቡት ትንታኔ በመቀጠል፣ በጎንደርና በመላው አማራ ለሚገኙ የፋኖ ታጋዮች ከአፋብን አመራርና ከፅምዶ አሰላለፍ ራሳቸውን እንዲለዩ ግልፅ ጥሪ ያቀርባሉ።

ዶ/ር ሶስና ታደሰ · መስከረም 2019 ዓ.ም.

ከ፦ የታሪካዊና የህልውና ትግሉ ተቆርቋሪ (ዶ/ር ሶስና ታደሰ)

ለ፦ በጎንደርና በመላው አማራ ምድር መሬት ላይ ላላችሁ እውነተኛ የፋኖ አበጋዞችና ታጋዮች

የተከበራችሁ የአማራ የሕልውናችን አጥርና በተለይም የጎንደር ወታደራዊ አቅም ማዕከል የሆናችሁ ታጋዮች፤

ከዚህ በፊት የ«ፅምዶ»ን አደገኛነት በተለይም «ፅምዶ ፋኖን ለሕወሓት ተራ እግረኛ ቅጥረኛ ወታደር ያደርገዋል፤ ከዚህ አሰላለፍ ወጥታችሁ የድርጅት ነፃነታችሁን አስከብሩ፤ ወይም ይህንን ማድረግ ካልቻላችሁ በአስቸኳይ ከዚህ አፋብን ከሚባል መዋቅር ራሳችሁን በማግለል በራሳችሁ ዕዝና ነፃ ድርጅት ቁሙና መልሳችሁ ያጣችሁትን የሕዝብ ተቀባይነት አግኙ» የሚል ተደጋጋሚ ጥሪ ማድረጋችን ይታወቃል።

ይሁን እንጂ እናንተ አንድም እርምጃ ሳትወስዱ፦

መስከረም 10 ቀን 2019 ዓ.ም. የድርጅታችሁ መሪ ተብዬው ዘመነ ካሴ መቀሌ ላይ ሆኖ የፅምዶን ፀረ-አማራ የትብብር ኃይሎች መግለጫ ሲያነብ በትግራይ ቴሌቪዥን ከእናንተ እኩል ተመልክተናል!

መስከረም 17 ቀን 2019 ዓ.ም. የድርጅታችሁ የፖለቲካ ዘርፍ ኃላፊ ሄኖክ ኪዳኔ በሰጠው የሚዲያ ማብራሪያ፣ በራያ ዘብና በተከዜ ዘብ ዙሪያ በተነሳለት ጥያቄ ላይ፦ «የራያ ዘብም ሆነ የወልቃይት ዘብ ከሥርዓቱ ጋር ትጥቅ ይፈታል፤ የሚያስጠይቀው ወንጀል ካለ በወንጀል ይጠየቃል» ብሎ የማንነታቸውን፣ የርስታቸውንና የሕልውናቸውን አስጠባቂ የአማራ የቁርጥ ቀን ልጆችን ትጥቅ አስፈትቶ በወንጀል ተጠያቂ ለማድረግ የተዘጋጁ መሆኑን በግልጽ ተናግሯል!

የዚህ ንግግርና የፖለቲካ አቅጣጫ ዋና ትርጉም

የሄኖክ ኪዳኔ ንግግር ዋና ዓላማ በግልጽ እንደወረደ ሲተረጎም፦ ሕወሓት በአማራ ሕዝብ ላይ በተለይም በሸዋ፣ በጎንደር (ወልቃይት/ጠገዴ/ጠለምት) እና በቤተ-አማራ ወሎ (ራያ) ሕዝብ ላይ የፈጸመውን የዘር ማጥፋት ወንጀል ለማጠብና ከወንጀሉ ነፃ አድርጎ፣ የወልቃይትና የራያን አማራ ሕዝብ ትጥቅ አስፈትቶ ለጠላት አሳልፎ ለመስጠት የተዘጋጀ የፖለቲካ ወጥመድ ነው! ይህም በተደጋጋሚ ማስጠንቀቂያ የተሰጠበት አሁን ግን በይፋ የተገለጠ አስነዋሪ ሴራ መሆኑን መላው ሕዝብ ተገንዝቦታል።

ወልቃይት፣ ጠገዴ፣ ጠለምትና ራያ የይስሙላ የወሰን ውዝግብ ሳይሆኑ የአማራ ሕዝብ፣ የአማራ ህልውናና የጎንደርና የወሎ ቤተ-አማራ የፖለቲካና የወታደራዊ አቅም ማዕከላዊ ደም ስሮች ናቸው!

ጎንደር የታሪክ፣ የጀግንነትና የነፃነት አምባ እንጂ የጠላት ማስፈጸሚያና የባርነት ካምፕ ሆና አታውቅም!

ጎንደር የታሪክ፣ የጀግንነትና የነፃነት አምባ እንጂ የጠላት ማስፈጸሚያና የባርነት ካምፕ ሆና አታውቅም! ታዲያ እናንተ የዚህ ታሪካዊ ውርደትና የወልቃይት/ራያ ርስት አሳልፎ ለመስጠት የሴራ እቅድ አካል ሆናችሁ በዝምታ የምትቀጥሉት እስከመቼ ነው?

የሚቆረቆርላችሁን ማህበረሰብ ምክር ጆሮ ዳባ ልበስ ብላችሁ እንዳሳለፋችሁ ይታወቃል። ቢያንስ ግን አሁን የራሳችሁ የምትሏቸው መሪዎቻችሁ ከእናንተ ዓላማና የትግል ግብ ውጭ እየተንቀሳቀሱ መሆኑን በተግባር እያያችሁ ነው! የሊሐቃኑን ምክር ለመስማት ቢከብዳችሁ እንኳ ያላችሁበትን ሁኔታ አይቶ የሚንቃችሁ የጠላት ስብስብ እንዳለ ካወቃችሁ ሊያነቃችሁ ይገባል።

ትብብር በሚል የዳቦ ስም የፅምዶ የባርነት ካምፕ ውስጥ ተደፍቃችሁ እስከመቼ ተራ ቅጥረኛ የሕወሓት ወታደር ሆናችሁ ታደፍጣላችሁ?

እስከመቼ ከወጣችሁበት የትግል ዓላማ፣ ከጎንደር የጀግንነት ሌጋሲና ከራያና ከወልቃይት የአማራነት ጥያቄ ጋር ተጣልታችሁ ታዘግማላችሁ?

እስከመቼ ደጀን ከሆናችሁ ማህበረሰብ ጋር ተራርቃችሁ ትዘልቃላችሁ?

ይህ አፋብን የሚባል ፀረ-አማራ ስብስብ ለተከዜ ዘብ የማይራራና ትጥቅ አስፈታለሁ እያለ ሲፎክር ማን ማለት እንደሆነ ልብ ማለት ይገባል፣ እናንተም በተከዜ ዘብ መነጸር የምትታዩ የአማራ ዘቦች ናችሁ! ስለዚህ እንደ ሄኖክ ኪዳኔ አገላለጽ በፀረ-ሕወሓት ትግል ላይ በመሳተፋችሁ ትጥቅ ትፈታላችሁ፣ ብሎም የወንጀል ተጠያቂ ትሆናላችሁ ማለት ነው! ምክንያቱም አብዛኞቻችሁ የምትታወቁት ሕዝባችሁን ለመታደግ በፀረ-ፋሽስት ሕወሓት ትግል ላይ በመሰለፋችሁ ነው። ስለሆነም የአፋብን የትግል መስመር ፀረ-አማራ ብሎም የሕወሓት የሴራ ወጥመድ አስፈጻሚ መሆኑን በግልጽ ካያችሁ፣ ያላችሁበት የትግል ማዕቀፍ የጠላቶቻችሁ ወጥመድ መሆኑን ፍንትው አድርጎ ያሳያል።

ጥሪያችን

እውነታውን ተቀበሉ! የከፈላችሁትን ከባድ መስዕዋትና የመጣችሁበትን የትግል መስመር አስቡ! የወጣችሁለትን ታሪካዊ የትግል መስመር መሳቱን በድጋሚ መርምሩ፣ ከሐሰት ፕሮፕጋንዳ ራሳችሁን በማራቅ በዙሪያችሁ ያለውን የሕዝብ ትርታ አድምጡ! ተከዜ ዘብ በሕወሓት የሚመጣውን አውዳሚ ጦርነት ገድቦ የያዘ ለአማራ ሕዝብ ብሎም ለናንተ ቁጥር አንድ ጠባቂያችሁ ነው! ስለሆነም ከደጀኑና ከጠባቂው ማህበረሰባችሁ ጋር ተጣልታችሁ የጠላቶቻችሁን የፖለቲካ ቁማር መጫወቻ ካርድ ከመሆን በጊዜ እንድትቆጠቡ እና በጎንደር ጠቅላይ ግዛት ዕዝ ሐምሌ 5 ቀን 2018 ዓ.ም. ያወጣችሁትን መግለጫ መሠረት በማድረግ ግልጽ አማራዊ አቋማችሁን እንድታስፈጽሙ በጥብቅ እናሳስባለን! ከፋሽስት ወራሪ ሕወሓት ነፃ የሆኑ የአማራ ርስቶች በአማራነት በደምና በአጥንት የተገነባ የነፃነት ምድሮች እንጂ በፅምዶ ደላሎች ስምምነት የሚደራደሩበት የንግድ እቃ አይደሉም!

የአማራ ሕልውና፣ የፍትሕና የርስት ጥያቄ በፀረ-አማራና በፀረ-ኢትዮጵያ ደላሎች ቁማር አይሸጥም! ነፃነትን የሚያፃና ታጋይ ሁኑ!!

ድል ለአማራ ሕዝብ!

ፍትሕ፣ እኩልነትና ነፃነት ለኢትዮጵያ ሕዝብ!

ዶ/ር ሶስና ታደሰ

የአዘጋጁ ማስታወሻ፦ ይህ ግልፅ ደብዳቤ በአስተያየት ዓምድ ስር የቀረበ ነው። በደብዳቤው የተገለጹት አቋሞችና የቀረቡት መረጃዎች ሙሉ ኃላፊነት የጸሐፊዋ ብቻ ሲሆን የኢትዮጵያ ትሪቡንን አቋም አይወክሉም። በደብዳቤው የተጠቀሱ ወገኖች ምላሽ ለመስጠት ቢፈልጉ ዓምዳችን ክፍት ነው።

SEWASEW TEKLEMARIAM · COMMENTARY

Seven Brothers in Arms, One Blackout, and a Press Told Where Not to Look

A week after Ethiopia’s armed opposition announced its intention to topple Abiy Ahmed, the world’s newsrooms have filed story after story. At home, the regulator has filed a ban.

By Sewasew Teklemariam

26 September 2026 · Meskerem 16, 2019 E.C. · The Ethiopian Tribune

It was a Sunday-night broadcast, as these things so often are. On 20 September, Zemene Kassie of the Amhara Fano National Movement — whose fighters spent 2020 to 2022 marching beside the federal army against Tigray — sat before the cameras of Tigrai TV and read a joint statement on behalf of seven armed movements. They declared that they bore “the historic responsibility of overthrowing this regime”. They called themselves the Ethiopian Peoples’ Forces Alliance for Survival. The name is long; the ambition is short: remove the Prime Minister and install a transitional government.

Within three days, Tigrayan forces had taken the airports at Mekelle, Axum and Shire. Within four, flights to Lalibela were suspended as fighting reached the approaches to the rock-hewn churches. By Friday, the telephones of Tigray had fallen silent. Ethiopia, which spent nearly four years assuring everyone that the Pretoria Agreement had closed the book, found the book reopened — by the world’s press, if not by its own.

The world has noticed

Consider the ledger. Reuters broke the alliance story on 21 September and has since filed on the airport seizures, on Lalibela, on the overnight detention of veteran Tigrayan commanders, and on the blackout. That copy has travelled by syndication from US News in America to CNBC Africa, the Sowetan in Johannesburg, Business Recorder in Karachi and ThePrint in Delhi. Al Jazeera has published at least seven pieces in six days, from the founding statement to a question-and-answer explainer and an opinion column warning that this front may go the way of 2021’s short-lived nine-group coalition. AFP’s reporting from Afar, sourced from humanitarian workers on the ground, has run in Euronews, the Oman Observer and the Taipei Times.

The Associated Press produced a five-point explainer. CNN asked what had changed. NPR warned of a return to full-scale war. DW declared the battle lines redrawn. Foreign Policy led its daily World Brief with Ethiopia. The BBC reported panic-buying in Mekelle and noted that the region’s cash machines have not worked for months. Asharq Al-Awsat, Türkiye Today, Anadolu, Kenya’s KBC and Azerbaijan’s AnewZ all carried the story to their own audiences.

Diplomacy followed the headlines. The UN Secretary-General pronounced himself gravely concerned, named the three captured airports, and warned against a broader and more devastating conflict. The African Union Commission chairperson urged immediate de-escalation and direct talks, and dispatched Olusegun Obasanjo once more. The EU insisted differences be settled by dialogue. London condemned attacks by Tigrayan forces in Afar and southern Tigray, rejected the alliance’s stated aim of removing the federal government, and redrew its travel map. Washington’s ambassador said he was disappointed in the TPLF leadership, and the US Embassy barred its own staff from Tigray and Afar.

By this column’s count — a snapshot, not a census — at least twenty international outlets on four continents have reported the crisis in a single week. The appendix below lists them.

The world is reading about Ethiopia’s war. Ethiopians, increasingly, are reading about it in the world’s newspapers.

Darkness — and who switched it off

On the night of 24 September, telecommunications across Tigray went down. NetBlocks recorded a sub-national shutdown; Ethio Telecom services were cut entirely, while Safaricom’s smaller network limped on. It would be satisfying — and, given this government’s record in 2020–22, entirely plausible — to lay the blackout at Arat Kilo’s door. The evidence of this week does not allow it. Reuters, citing four people with knowledge of the matter including a diplomat, reports that it was the TPLF that ordered both operators to cut service, possibly to deny federal drones the mobile network. NetBlocks itself says its data cannot establish who pulled the plug. Neither the Prime Minister’s office nor the operators have commented.

Sewasew records the correction because this publication does not trade in convenient villains. But let no one mistake the point. People who lived through two years of severed lines, blocked cash and famine-like conditions are once again in the dark — and, with cash machines already dead, now cut off from the digital payments that had replaced them. A blackout ordered by self-declared liberators is exactly as dark as one ordered by the state.

Nor is the dark confined to phone masts. Reuters reports that Lieutenant General Tadesse Werede, the former commander of Tigrayan forces and former head of the interim administration, was detained overnight along with three other veteran officers who had voiced doubts about a return to war. An Alliance for Survival, it seems, does not extend survival to dissent within its own ranks.

Meanwhile, at home

The day after the announcement, the Ethiopian Media Authority suspended Tigray Television indefinitely, citing incitement and threats to national security. It went further: every digital, broadcast and print outlet in the country was forbidden to use the channel as a source or to reproduce its content, on pain of legal and administrative measures. Pause on that. The founding statement of the most consequential armed coalition in Ethiopia since 2021 was broadcast on that channel. An Ethiopian journalist who wishes to quote it from its source now does so at personal risk.

This did not arrive from nowhere. In February the same Authority revoked the registration of Addis Standard; in April its managing editor, Million Beyene, was taken from the newsroom and held incommunicado for nearly two weeks; in August its editor-in-chief, Yonas Kedir, was detained and beaten and its offices raided. Wazema Radio lost its licence. All nine of DW’s Ethiopian correspondents were suspended last October. Three Reuters journalists were refused accreditation. An AFP reporter was stopped from flying to Tigray in February. Four journalists who covered the Amhara conflict have spent close to three years in detention and, according to CPJ, could face life imprisonment or death. Reporters Without Borders places Ethiopia 148th of 180.

When readers ask why Ethiopian media show no interest in this war, Sewasew must issue a correction. Interest is not the problem. Permission is.

In fairness, the domestic record is not blank, and to say so would insult those still working. The Reporter covered the suspension of flights to Tigray and the Tigray TV ban. Addis Standard, publishing while it contests its revocation in court, reported the alliance’s formation. Ethiopia Observer carried the UN statement. Wazema reports by newsletter. Tigrayan outlets such as Kulu Media and UMD Media are documenting the blackout with commendable care about what they cannot verify. But these are narrowing spaces — increasingly online, increasingly in exile, and read by a fraction of the population.

The broadcast mainstream, where most Ethiopians actually get their news, belongs to the state and its allies. Media monitors documented earlier this year how EBC, Fana and their stablemates had settled on a single frame for Tigray: the TPLF as the sole spoiler of peace, the government as patient and dialogue-minded. The army’s claim this week of 272 Tigrayan fighters killed in Amhara arrives in that ecosystem unverified — and no domestic reporter is at liberty to go and check.

The juxtapositions write themselves. On the day the alliance was announced, the state news agency’s English service offered readers Getachew Reda’s counsel that dialogue was the only way to prevent the disintegration of — Sudan. On 24 September, as fighting spread through Afar, the Prime Minister was in Djibouti launching a petroleum infrastructure project; the President was addressing the UN General Assembly in New York. The government will say, fairly, that it has its own National Dialogue. Sewasew will observe that a dialogue is hard to hold when one side of the conversation has been taken off air.

Dialogue, it appears, is an export commodity: prescribed for Khartoum, rationed in Mekelle.

A word of caution about the brothers

Sewasew is nobody’s cheerleader, and readers deserve the other half of the ledger. This is an alliance of former enemies. Fano and the TPLF both claim Western Tigray, which Amhara forces have administered since the last war. At least one listed member, the ONLF, has reportedly denied joining. The federal government alleges Eritrean financing; Asmara denies it; the founding statement does not mention Eritrea at all. And history is not encouraging: the nine-group front proclaimed in November 2021 lost its Afar member within two months and its Benishangul member within a year, before the TPLF signed at Pretoria alone. Analysts at the International Crisis Group say it is not yet clear the groups can fight together at all.

What is clear is the price of failure. The last war cost an estimated 600,000 lives. Every party now reaching for the rifle — in Addis Ababa, in Mekelle, in the Amhara highlands and the Oromia forests — knows that number. None of them will be among the civilians who pay it.

Following the smoke

Tonight the Demera will be lit across the country, and tomorrow is Meskel. We tell our children that Empress Eleni found the True Cross by following the smoke. This week the world followed the smoke — from Mekelle’s airport to the hills above Lalibela — and reported what it found. Ethiopia’s own newsrooms have been told to watch the bonfire in the square and nothing beyond it.

እንኳን ለመስቀል በዓል በሰላም አደረሳችሁ።

May you reach the Feast of the Cross in peace. This year, the words “in peace” are doing a great deal of work.

Appendix · Media Monitor, 20–26 September 2026

A non-exhaustive snapshot of international coverage compiled by the Tribune desk. Syndicated wire copy is grouped under the originating agency. Dates are publication dates as shown by each outlet.

Domestic and diaspora coverage noted this week includes The Reporter, Addis Standard, Ethiopia Observer, Wazema, Kulu Media, UMD Media and The Habesha. Coverage by state broadcasters was not independently audited for this appendix.

ANALYSIS · HORN OF AFRICA

The Diplomacy of Convenient Silence

As war returns to northern Ethiopia, every capital speaks the language of Pretoria. Beneath the shared vocabulary, the positions could hardly be further apart.

By E. Frashie  |  25 September 2026

Within hours of Tigrayan forces seizing the airports at Mekelle, Axum and Shire on 23 September, the statements began to arrive. The African Union urged restraint. The European Union asked for de-escalation. The United Nations Secretary-General warned of a wider war. Washington declared itself disappointed. Read side by side, they share a vocabulary — dialogue, restraint, the Pretoria Agreement — and almost nothing else.

That shared vocabulary is the diplomatic story of the week. The fighting now running along three fronts, from the Kobo–Tumuga line on the Amhara border to the Tonsa–Megale axis on the Afar frontier, has not produced a unified international response. It has instead exposed how far the principal outside actors have already chosen sides in a conflict they publicly insist must be settled at the table.

Washington: from sanctioner to partner

No actor has moved further than the United States. Its ambassador in Addis Ababa, Ervin Massinga, placed the blame squarely on the TPLF leadership, which Washington sanctioned earlier this year, calling the offensive a poor decision and an “unwinnable fight”. He warned that the United States holds further tools to sanction leaders who escalate, and reserved a pointed line for the remaining members of the new Alliance for Survival: they would be wise not to follow.

The statement did not arrive in a vacuum. In the space of a single week, the State Department removed Ethiopia from the ITAR §126.1 list, ending the presumptive denial of defence exports to the country’s security forces, and allowed the 2021 national emergency underpinning sanctions on Eritrea to lapse. Washington said the Eritrea decision was taken “to advance US regional interests” — interests now defined by the war with Iran and by the value of Red Sea shipping while the Strait of Hormuz remains closed.

The result is a policy pulling in two directions at once. The United States is re-arming the federal government while rewarding the very neighbour Addis Ababa accuses of bankrolling the rebels. Both moves make sense through the lens of the Bab al-Mandeb. Neither has much to do with the Pretoria Agreement the ambassador invokes.

“Everyone speaks the language of Pretoria. No one with real leverage is spending it to save the agreement.”

The African Union: guardian of a deal it cannot enforce

The AU Commission chairperson, Mahmoud Ali Youssouf, issued the most detailed institutional statement, and it is notable for what it names and what it omits. It specifies the seizure of the three airports and the detention of federal personnel by the TPLF, and it voices concern about new political and military alliances. It says nothing of the drone strikes on Tigray that preceded the offensive and that the regional government cites as its reason for going to war.

Youssouf reaffirmed Pretoria as the cornerstone of peace, asked the AU High Representative for the Horn, Olusegun Obasanjo, to re-engage the parties urgently, and called on Ethiopia’s neighbours to refrain from actions that feed the escalation — an unmistakable, if unnamed, reference to Eritrea. IGAD added its own call for de-escalation. The AU is headquartered in Addis Ababa; its ability to speak even-handedly about its host government has been questioned since 2020, and it is about to be tested again.

Brussels and New York: the language of equidistance

The European Union called for immediate de-escalation and a renewed commitment to the permanent cessation of hostilities, insisting that differences be resolved through dialogue rather than force. António Guterres went further on the humanitarian dimension, asking all parties to protect civilians and guarantee unhindered aid access, and warning against a “broader and more devastating conflict”.

Neither has apportioned blame, and that equidistance is itself a position. Some regional outlets have reported that the United States, the EU and the AU are jointly threatening sanctions. On the public record, only Washington has done so.

Asmara: the party no one names

Eritrea is the actor most discussed and least named. It is absent from the alliance’s founding statement, as the Oslo scholar Kjetil Tronvoll has observed, and it is absent from the AU’s. Yet Addis Ababa places it at the centre. The prime minister’s spokesperson, Billene Seyoum, said the alliance’s members had long been collaborating with Eritrean financial backing, and that their announcement was “only attesting to what the Ethiopian government has been alleging time and again”. Getachew Reda, the prime minister’s adviser on East African affairs, has gone further, accusing Eritrea and Egypt of running a proxy campaign through the TPLF, Fano and the OLA. Asmara has consistently denied supporting Ethiopian armed groups.

What Asmara has not hidden is its satisfaction with Washington. Its information minister, Yemane Gebremeskel, said the 2021 sanctions had never been justified and welcomed the Trump administration’s remedy. Eritrea thus enters this war with its international standing stronger than at any point in five years.

Cairo, Riyadh and Abu Dhabi: the Red Sea proxy map

Beyond the Horn, the war slots neatly into an alignment already visible in Sudan. The analyst Martin Plaut describes Egypt, Turkey and Saudi Arabia as backing the Sudanese Armed Forces and Eritrea, while the United Arab Emirates, and to a lesser degree Israel, maintain ties with Ethiopia and the Rapid Support Forces — links that all parties officially deny. Jawar Mohammed, once among Abiy’s closest allies, sketches a similar map of the alliance’s patrons.

Egypt’s interest is structural. Cairo regards the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam as a threat to its water supply, and two of the alliance’s constituent movements come from Benishangul-Gumuz, the region in which the dam stands. Egyptian commentary this week has framed the fighting less as an Ethiopian affair than as a danger to Sudan and the Red Sea. For these capitals, public statements reveal far less than the alignments they are accused of maintaining.

Addis Ababa: pre-empting the narrative

The federal government has run a diplomatic campaign of its own. According to a report published this week, Addis Ababa warned Western foreign ministries days before the coalition was announced — a sign that it knew what was coming and meant to frame it first. Since the fighting began, Abiy has kept a conspicuously low profile, travelling to Djibouti to announce an economic partnership rather than addressing the nation on the war. Getachew Reda, asked about the alliance’s prospects, told state media he does not lose sleep over it.

Jawar reads the restraint as deliberate: the federal government, he argues, is limiting its engagement in order to demonstrate to foreign partners that the TPLF started the war. On the evidence of the American statement, the strategy is working. The army, meanwhile, says dozens of TPLF fighters have been killed and many more detained.

The inversion of 2021

The contrast with November 2021 is stark. Then, nine anti-government groups announced their coalition in Washington itself, the State Department urged Americans to leave Ethiopia, and Western envoys pressed Abiy towards unconditional talks. Today, a comparable coalition has been met by an American ambassador who blames the rebels and a Treasury that has just lifted sanctions on their alleged patron. The opposition has changed — Fano, the federal army’s ally in 2020, now fights beside the TPLF — but the world around it has changed more.

What the ledger leaves out

Missing from nearly every statement are the civilians. The Tigray regional government says the drone strikes of 22 September hit schools in Alamata; those claims have yet to be independently verified. A drone strike on 20 September destroyed an aid lorry carrying more than 41 tonnes of food. Aid workers in Afar are already moving supplies to the newly displaced. Only the UN Secretary-General has placed humanitarian access at the heart of his message.

The diplomatic posture of the world’s major actors is, in short, a contest over who fired first — because that answer will determine who is sanctioned, who is armed and who is forgiven. In that contest, Pretoria has become less an agreement to be defended than a vocabulary to be cited. The people of Tigray, Afar and Amhara, who paid for the last war, stand once again outside the ledger.

◆

EDITOR’S FOREWORD

Memory at the Crossroads

On Professor Girma Berhanu’s “Remembering Ato Eshete Moges Amid the Current Political Realignment in Ethiopia”

Readers of this publication have met Ato Eshete Moges before. In December 2021, and again in an essay this Tribune carried in April 2024, Professor Girma Berhanu told the story of a Fano leader who, as TPLF forces pushed south towards Shewa Robit in the closing weeks of that year’s offensive, refused a second withdrawal. At Salaysh, some fifteen kilometres from the town, he and his son Yitagesu stood their ground at their home against the advancing TPLF fighters, and both died there. Eshete’s last telephone call, as Berhanu recounted it, was to report that his son had been killed and that he himself was surrounded.

Nearly five years on, the forces that killed them and the movement that mourns them have put their names to the same founding statement. On the evening of 20 September, Zemene Kassie, chairman of the Amhara Fano National Movement, read out on Tigrai TV the proclamation of the Ethiopian Peoples’ Forces Alliance for Survival — the coalition this publication has followed under the name Tsimdo. Seven organisations, among them the Amhara Fano National Movement, the TPLF, the OLA and the ONLF, alongside Afar, Benishangul and Gumuz movements, pledged to remove the Prosperity Party government and to install a transitional administration under a charter. Of all the pairings the alliance contains, it is the one between Fano and the TPLF, enemies in the war of 2020–22, that has drawn the sharpest scrutiny.

It would have been easy — and for a writer so closely identified with the Fano cause, perhaps expected — to answer that pairing with a denunciation. Professor Berhanu has written something harder. He declines both to bless the alliance and to mock it. He insists that historical grievances be documented rather than turned into collective accusations against any people. And he makes the memory of Eshete and Yitagesu a test rather than a weapon: not what the dead would condemn, but what principles those who invoke them must be able to state. The eight questions he sets out — on shared objectives, civilian protection, accountability for past abuses, and the danger that a military coalition becomes a contest for the palace — are the questions every member of this alliance should now be asked. None has yet answered them in public.

Not what the dead would condemn, but what principles those who invoke them must be able to state.

A word on timing. The essay was finalised in the days before the formal declaration, and its closing section rests on the OLA’s statement of 17 September, in which the organisation said it was neither involved in nor a component of the emerging alliance, while describing cooperation among opposition forces as a “procedural consensus”. Three days later the OLA was named among the seven founders. Its framing has moved with it: the procedural label now describes its participation rather than its absence, and it has demanded that Fano disown an armed faction in Wollega. We do not read this as weakening the essay. The distance travelled between a press release and a signature in the space of three days is, if anything, the clearest illustration yet of Berhanu’s warning that claims of unity can outrun the consensus beneath them.

The Tribune publishes this essay because it refuses both of the easy scripts on offer — betrayal on one side, unity on the other. Its call for a civic Ethiopian political community, in which the state belongs to its citizens rather than to any ethnic claimant, and for a civilian and representative transition rather than a handover between armed factions, comes from within the constituency with the strongest claim to feel betrayed. That is precisely what gives it weight.

Berhanu closes not with a policy but with a folk verse of the Fano tradition, in which the singer grieves that Fano went home without taking leave, and would have seen him off however wearied. It is a lament for a departure that came too soon. The question it leaves is the one the essay asks of all of us: what the living owe to those who did not come back — and whether that debt is to be paid in vengeance, or in principle.

ፋኖ አገሩ ገባ፥ ሳይሰናበተኝ፣
እሸኘው ነበረ፥ ምንም ቢታክተኝ።

“Fano went home without taking leave of me; I would have seen him off, however it wearied me.” — traditional Fano verse quoted by the author (Tribune translation)

— The Editor, The Ethiopian Tribune

SYNOPSIS

In this essay, Professor Girma Berhanu of the University of Gothenburg reads the September 2026 Alliance for Survival through the memory of Ato Eshete Moges and his son Yitagesu, who died fighting TPLF forces near Shewa Robit in 2021. He neither condemns nor endorses the coalition. Instead he argues that reconciliation which suppresses memory is fragile, and that alliances between former adversaries must be judged by the principles that govern them rather than by the enemy they share.

Berhanu distinguishes Fano as an armed formation from Fano as a moral and political tradition, and argues that if the latter is claimed, questions of legitimacy, accountability and historical memory become unavoidable. He calls for past abuses to be documented rather than attributed collectively to ethnic communities, and sets out the questions any credible coalition must answer: its shared objective beyond opposition to the government, its governing institutions, its safeguards for civilians, its approach to responsibility for past violence, its conception of citizenship, and its protections against a post-victory struggle for dominance.

His wider case is for a civic conception of Ethiopia in which political authority derives from citizens rather than from ethnic ownership of the state, and for any transition to be civilian, representative and constitutionally grounded rather than a transfer of power between armed factions. Drawing on Jeff Pearce’s critique of the alliance and on the OLA’s “procedural consensus” statement, he closes with a question he declines to answer for the dead: what would Eshete Moges say — and what should the living learn from those who died?

Remembering Ato Eshete Moges Amid the Current Political Realignment in Ethiopia

By Professor Girma Berhanu

University of Gothenburg

1. Introduction

Recent reports indicate that several armed groups that have been engaged in conflict with the Ethiopian government in different parts of the country have announced an alliance aimed at challenging the government in Addis Ababa. The reported coalition brings together Fano forces in Amhara, the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA), the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF), and several smaller groups under what has been described as an alliance for survival. The groups have accused Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s government of presiding over war, mass destruction, poverty, and other forms of political and humanitarian crisis, and have argued that Ethiopia faces a serious risk of further fragmentation.

I do not dismiss the possibility that political realignment and dialogue among previously antagonistic actors could contribute to a pathway toward peace. Nor do I intend to mock or prematurely judge the emerging alliance. Political conflicts of this magnitude are rarely static, and former adversaries can, under certain circumstances, become partners in pursuit of shared political objectives. At the same time, however, political alliances cannot be understood solely through their immediate strategic calculations. They must also be examined in relation to historical memory, collective trauma, political legitimacy, and the expectations of the communities whose interests the actors claim to represent.

It was in this context that I found myself thinking about Ato Eshete Moges, a Fano leader who died in the Shoa Robit area alongside his son, Yitagesu Eshete. His death, and the circumstances surrounding it, remain deeply significant to me. I was particularly struck by the historical paradox presented by the possibility that a movement associated with his legacy might now cooperate with actors whom many Amhara communities associate with earlier violence and conflict.

This is not an argument that reconciliation is impossible. Nor is it an assertion that historical grievances should make political cooperation permanently unacceptable. Rather, it is an argument for historical consciousness. Reconciliation that simply suppresses memory is fragile; reconciliation that acknowledges past violence, establishes accountability, and articulates clearly defined political principles has a stronger intellectual and political foundation.

For many Amhara families, the violence associated with the conflicts of recent decades remains an unresolved historical experience. Accounts of massacres, displacement, destruction of property, sexual violence, and other alleged abuses have contributed to profound mistrust among communities. These experiences cannot simply be erased by the emergence of a new political configuration. At the same time, historical claims and allegations concerning responsibility for particular acts require careful documentation and should not be transformed into collective accusations against entire ethnic or political communities.

The central questions, therefore, are not simply whether former adversaries can cooperate, but under what conditions such cooperation could become credible and sustainable. What principles would govern the alliance? What mechanisms would address historical grievances? What safeguards would exist against renewed conflict? How would competing political objectives be reconciled? And, perhaps most importantly, what guarantees would be available to the communities whose histories and sacrifices are being invoked in the name of political change?

These questions are particularly important when the memory of individuals such as Ato Eshete Moges continues to shape the political imagination of those who identify with Fano.

2. Ato Eshete Moges: Memory, Sacrifice, and the Meaning of Fano

This article also serves as a commemoration of Ato Eshete Moges and his son, Yitagesu Eshete. Their deaths have acquired symbolic significance within narratives of Fano resistance and sacrifice. Yet commemoration should not simply reproduce heroic mythology. It can also provide an opportunity to examine the values, political assumptions, and historical interpretations that are attached to the memory of those who died.

The purpose of remembering Eshete is not to glorify war or violence. Nor should sacrifice be romanticised as though armed conflict itself produces political or social progress. Rather, the significance of his story lies in the questions it raises about responsibility, family, community, political commitment, and the moral costs of conflict.

The memory of Eshete can therefore be understood as part of a broader political and moral narrative surrounding Fano. In that narrative, Fano is presented not merely as an armed formation but as a social and political consciousness associated with resistance, community responsibility, self-determination, and opposition to perceived injustice. Whether one accepts this interpretation in its entirety or not, it is important to recognise that political movements acquire meaning not only through their organisational structures but also through the collective memories and symbols through which supporters understand them.

This distinction is important at the present historical juncture. If Fano is understood only as an armed organisation, then alliances can be assessed primarily in terms of military and strategic interests. If, however, Fano is understood also as a political and moral tradition, then questions of historical memory, political principles, legitimacy, and accountability become unavoidable.

The legacy of Ato Eshete Moges consequently raises a difficult question: what does it mean for a movement to preserve the memory and principles associated with those who sacrificed their lives while simultaneously entering political relationships with former adversaries?

The answer cannot simply be found in loyalty to the past, nor in an unquestioning embrace of the present. It requires a critical engagement with both.

Commemoration should not simply reproduce heroic mythology.

3. The Spirit of Fano and the Problem of Political Identity

One dimension of this discussion concerns the meaning attributed to the term “Fano.” The concept has been interpreted differently across historical periods and political contexts. It has been used to describe forms of local resistance, community mobilisation, armed struggle, and broader political consciousness. Consequently, treating Fano as a single, historically uniform entity risks overlooking significant changes in its composition, objectives, and political context.

A more productive approach is to examine the principles that different actors associate with Fano. These may include resistance to perceived oppression, community protection, political autonomy, sacrifice, solidarity, and a commitment to particular understandings of Ethiopian national identity.

The challenge today is to determine whether these principles can provide a coherent political foundation in a rapidly changing environment. Political movements inevitably confront pressures to compromise, form alliances, and adjust their strategies. Such adaptation is not necessarily evidence of betrayal. At the same time, strategic flexibility without clearly articulated principles can create uncertainty about the movement’s political identity and long-term objectives.

This is where the memory of Ato Eshete becomes particularly relevant. His story can be interpreted not simply as a narrative of military courage but as an opportunity to ask what political and ethical commitments should guide those who claim to inherit his legacy.

If Fano is to function as more than an armed formation, it requires a clearly articulated political philosophy. Such a philosophy would need to address questions of citizenship, equality, political representation, minority rights, territorial governance, accountability, and the relationship between ethnic identity and Ethiopian national citizenship.

The issue, therefore, is not whether Fano should cooperate with others in principle. Cooperation can be politically necessary. The more fundamental question is what kind of cooperation is compatible with the movement’s stated principles and with the interests of the wider population.

4. Historical Memory and the Possibility of Reconciliation

The prospect of cooperation among actors with deeply conflicting histories presents a broader theoretical problem. Political reconciliation requires more than a temporary convergence of strategic interests. Durable reconciliation generally depends on some degree of mutual recognition, accountability, institutional guarantees, and a shared understanding of the political future.

Historical memory plays an important role in this process. Communities do not enter political alliances as blank slates. They carry memories of violence, displacement, loss, and betrayal. These memories can influence political behaviour long after the immediate conflict has ended.

For this reason, political actors who seek reconciliation must confront rather than simply suppress historical grievances. The alternative is an unstable form of cooperation in which unresolved memories remain beneath the surface and can be activated when political circumstances change.

The question is particularly sensitive in Ethiopia, where political conflict has repeatedly intersected with competing understandings of ethnicity, citizenship, territory, state power, and national identity. A political coalition that brings together organisations with substantially different conceptions of these questions therefore requires more than a declaration of common opposition to the incumbent government. It requires a transparent account of what political order the coalition seeks to establish.

This is also why the memory of Ato Eshete Moges matters. His story represents, for many people, a particular history of sacrifice. That history cannot simply be detached from contemporary political choices. At the same time, historical memory should not become an obstacle to the possibility of reconciliation. The task is to create a political framework in which remembrance and reconciliation are not treated as mutually exclusive.

Reconciliation without memory is fragile; memory without reconciliation can become a permanent source of conflict.

5. The Present Crossroads

The current political moment presents Ethiopia with profound uncertainty. Political realignment may create new opportunities for negotiation, but it may also produce new tensions when organisations with incompatible objectives attempt to operate within the same political framework.

The central issue is therefore not whether cooperation is inherently legitimate or illegitimate. It is whether the actors involved can establish sufficient agreement concerning the political principles that would govern their cooperation.

Several questions deserve particular attention:

• What is the shared political objective beyond opposition to the current government?
• What institutional arrangements would govern the coalition?
• How would disagreements among participating groups be resolved?
• What guarantees would protect civilians and communities from renewed violence?
• How would responsibility for past abuses be addressed?
• What conception of citizenship would underpin the proposed political order?
• How would ethnic, regional, and national political interests be reconciled?
• What mechanisms would prevent a military coalition from becoming a struggle for political dominance after a change of government?

These are not merely strategic questions. They concern the foundations of political legitimacy.

A transition that simply replaces one concentration of power with another would not resolve the structural problems that have contributed to Ethiopia’s recurrent conflicts. A sustainable political settlement would instead require institutions capable of protecting citizens regardless of ethnicity or political affiliation.

6. Towards a Civic Conception of Ethiopian Political Community

My own concern is ultimately broader than the fate of any single political organisation. Ethiopia’s political future cannot be secured through competing claims of ethnic ownership over the state. The country belongs to its citizens, and political authority should derive from citizens rather than from exclusive claims that the state belongs to one ethnic group or another.

This principle does not require the denial of ethnic identity. On the contrary, a democratic political order must be capable of accommodating linguistic, cultural, historical, and regional differences while maintaining equal citizenship.

The challenge is to develop a political framework in which ethnic identity and national citizenship are not constructed as mutually exclusive alternatives.

Any future transitional arrangement should therefore be carefully considered. If a transition is required, its legitimacy would depend in part on its independence from the direct control of armed organisations, its civilian character, its representativeness, and its commitment to constitutional and democratic principles. Its purpose should be to establish the conditions for peace, equality, development, accountable government, and democratic participation rather than merely transferring power from one armed or factional group to another.

Ethiopians living abroad also have an important role to play. That role should include critical engagement with information, support for peaceful political processes, documentation of human-rights concerns, and resistance to misinformation. Diaspora political engagement is most constructive when it contributes to informed public debate rather than reinforcing polarization.

7. Final Reflections: What Would Ato Eshete Say?

A recent article by Jeff Pearce, Fano and Forget: The Betrayal of an Ideal, raises serious questions about the reported political realignment and its implications for the identity and historical memory of Fano. Pearce argues that an alliance involving actors associated with previous violence against Amhara communities risks undermining the principles the movement claims to represent. His argument is one interpretation of the current political development, but it reflects a broader concern: can strategic political alliances coexist with historical memory, political principle, and accountability?

As I am finalising this text, Addis Standard has reported an important clarification from the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) regarding the emerging alliance among Ethiopia’s opposition armed groups. The OLA has characterised the initiative as a “procedural consensus,” rather than a substantive political agreement, emphasising that it does not constitute a common position on Ethiopia’s political future or authorise any participating group to speak on behalf of others.

In a press release issued on 17 September, the OLA explicitly stated that it was neither involved in nor a component of the emerging alliance. At the same time, it acknowledged a broader pattern of cooperation among opposition forces, describing a process “stretching from west to east and from south to north.” The distinction is important. It suggests that coordination among opposition forces may be expanding, while the extent to which this coordination represents genuine political convergence remains unresolved. The OLA’s statement therefore highlights a central tension within Ethiopia’s opposition landscape. There may be growing recognition of the need for coordination, but procedural cooperation should not be mistaken for agreement on political objectives, governance arrangements, accountability, or a shared vision for Ethiopia’s future. In a fragmented political environment, claims of opposition unity can easily go beyond the actual level of political consensus.

The question that remains for me is therefore deeply personal, but also profoundly political: What would Ato Eshete Moges say about this emerging political configuration?

We cannot know the answer. Yet the question itself matters because it forces us to confront the uneasy relationship between historical memory and political expediency.

Remembering Eshete should not mean perpetuating a culture of revenge. Nor should honouring his memory require rejecting every possibility of political reconciliation. Rather, his memory can serve as a reminder that political movements are ultimately judged not only by the alliances they form or the power they acquire, but also by the principles they uphold when political circumstances change.

If there is a meaningful legacy to be drawn from his story, it should be one of responsibility: responsibility toward family and community, responsibility toward the wider society, and responsibility for the political consequences of one’s choices.

Ethiopia needs neither the romanticisation of armed struggle nor the erasure of historical suffering. It needs a political order grounded in equal citizenship, accountability, constitutional government, peaceful political participation, and respect for human dignity.

The central challenge, therefore, is to move beyond the politics of inherited grievance without erasing the history that produced those grievances. Reconciliation without memory is fragile; memory without reconciliation can become a permanent source of conflict. The difficult task is to hold the two together—to remember without reproducing hatred, and to pursue reconciliation without demanding historical amnesia.

As I think of Ato Eshete Moges and his son, Yitagesu, I am left not with a simple political answer, but with a question that deserves serious public reflection:

What should the living learn from those who died, and how should that memory shape the political choices we make in the present?

ፋኖን እወዳለሁ፥ ፋኖንስ አልጠላ፣
ተኳሽ እወዳለሁ፥ ተኳሽም አልጠላ፣
ሲደክመኝ አርፋለሁ፥ በጎፈሬው ጥላ።

ፋኖ አገሩ ገባ፥ ሳይሰናበተኝ፣
እሸኘው ነበረ፥ ምንም ቢታክተኝ።

References

Berhanu, G. (2022). Fano: A living saviour of the Amhara people and the Ethiopian spirit. Advances in Social Sciences Research Journal, 9(1), 112–119. https://doi.org/10.14738/assrj.91.11537

Eurasia Review. (2025, September 19). Ato Eshete Moges: A lion among men whose courage blazed like fire across Fano. https://www.eurasiareview.com/19092025-ato-eshete-moges-a-lion-among-men-whose-courage-blazed-like-fire-across-fano-oped/

Eshete Moges, Yitagesu Eshte: Valorous father and son paid in life together. (n.d.). Gazette Plus. https://share.google/PUtbTNy7VJp4Bzbxo

Fano: A mass outrage for Amhara existence, justice and Ethiopian unity. (n.d.). https://share.google/166WApR72QNn7zfTb

Pearce, J. (2026, September 20). Fano and forget: The betrayal of an ideal. Jeff Propulsion. https://jeffpropulsion.substack.com/p/fano-and-forget-the-betrayal-of-an

The story of fatherhood in the war field of Shewarobit—Ethiopia. (n.d.). The Voice of Africa. https://share.google/PuPVK59lQEIQ7yEqQ

Slovic, P. (2007). “If I look at the mass I will never act”: Psychic numbing and genocide. Judgment and Decision Making, 2(2), 79–95.

Gazette Plus. (n.d.). [Article title not provided]. https://share.google/ePqSYE9DwKp9sDwAb

YouTube. (n.d.). [Video]. https://youtube.com/watch?v=uwKCTed332Y

ANALYSIS

Two Fronts, One Army

As Abiy Ahmed forms his new government, he faces a rebel alliance in the field, rumours of disloyalty in his own barracks, and a national dialogue report that offers another way out. What he does to guard against one threat may weaken his defences against the other.

By E. Frashie

The Ethiopian Tribune · 22 September 2026

When the House of Peoples’ Representatives opens its new term in the coming weeks, Abiy Ahmed will do what every Ethiopian prime minister does at the start of a mandate: name a government. The last time he did so, in October 2021, after an election held in the middle of a war, he used the occasion to place twenty institutions under his own office, among them the National Intelligence and Security Service and the Information Network Security Agency. The cabinet he names this time will tell us more than any parliamentary speech about how he reads the danger now facing him. That danger has two faces, and they point in opposite directions.

The threat in the open

Late on Sunday 20 September, Zemene Kassie, chairman of the Amhara Fano National Movement, read a founding statement on the TPLF-controlled Tigrai TV. It announced the Ethiopian Peoples’ Forces Alliance for Survival, a coalition of seven organisations: the Amhara Fano National Movement, the Oromo Liberation Army, the Tigray People’s Liberation Front, the Ogaden National Liberation Front, the Afar Revolutionary Democratic Unity Front (Ugugumo), the Benishangul People’s Liberation Movement and the Gumuz People’s Democratic Movement. Its declared purpose is to remove what it calls the Prosperity Party’s personalist and dictatorial regime and to install an inclusive transitional government.

There is no doubt about the coalition’s reach. Its members claim constituencies in six of the country’s twelve regional states, and in Amhara and Oromia they are already at war with the state. Its cohesion is much less certain. Fano fought alongside federal forces against the TPLF in 2020–22, and Amhara and Tigray still both claim Western Tigray. Within a day of the announcement, OLA figures were describing their participation as a procedural consensus, not submission to a unified military command. The founding text commits members to resolve their differences according to the “freely expressed will” of their peoples. Applied to Wolkait, that formula would divide the alliance’s two largest partners.

Addis Ababa’s first responses were predictable. The Prime Minister’s spokesperson, Billene Seyoum, told Reuters that the groups had long been collaborating with Eritrean financial backing. Asmara has denied such accusations before, and no evidence has been published. On Monday the Ethiopian Media Authority prohibited news outlets from using Tigrai TV as a source.

The threat in the barracks

The second threat is harder to see. For some time, claims have circulated on social media that elements of the officer corps are prepared to move against the Prime Minister. Some of these claims are attributed to the exiled Oromo politician Jawar Mohammed. The Tribune has not been able to verify them, and nothing in this analysis depends on their being true. Rumours of disloyalty in the barracks shape a ruler’s behaviour whether or not they are accurate. In a system as personalised as Abiy’s, the perception of a threat is a threat in its own right.

The rumours also carry a politics of their own. In July, according to a ZeHabesha summary of a TikTok discussion, Jawar warned against coalitions formed only to topple Abiy without first agreeing on what would replace him. A transition managed by the army and a victory by an armed alliance are very different outcomes. Those who talk up the first may be positioning themselves against the second.

Nor is the idea alien to Ethiopian history. The Imperial Bodyguard moved against Haile Selassie in 1960. The Derg dismantled the monarchy from within the armed forces in 1974. Senior generals tried to remove Mengistu Haile Mariam in May 1989. And in June 2019, on the night of the killings in Bahir Dar, the Chief of the General Staff, Se’are Mekonnen, was shot dead in Addis Ababa. Every Ethiopian ruler has had reason to watch his own officers.

“Every lock he fits against his generals is a weight he hangs on his soldiers.”

The coup-proofing dilemma

Political scientists call it coup-proofing. A ruler rotates his commanders, divides the chain of command, promotes loyalists over the able, and builds parallel forces that answer to him alone. Each measure makes a coup harder, and each makes the army worse at fighting. Abiy must now do both at once: field an army strong enough to hold Amhara, Oromia and the Tigray frontier, while making sure that no part of it is strong enough, or united enough, to turn on him.

The precedent he will least want to hear is 1989. After the failed coup, Mengistu purged his senior officer corps and later had a number of its generals executed. The army that remained was loyal, and it was hollow. Within two years it collapsed before the EPRDF. The lesson is not that Abiy faces the same fate. It is that a regime which answers an open threat and a hidden one with the same instrument, a more tightly controlled army, can win the second contest and lose the first.

What the new government is likely to do

The first and most visible move will be at the top of the security state. Expect changes at the Ministry of Defence and in the general staff, and possibly further agencies brought under the Prime Minister’s office on the 2021 model. Expect, too, another round of promotions. Abiy has used mass promotion before to widen the pool of officers who owe their rank to him personally, and a larger pool of generals is a smaller risk from any one of them.

The second will be legal. The ban on Tigrai TV looks like an opening move, not a final one. The government has declared states of emergency before, nationally in November 2021 and in Amhara in August 2023, and it has designated armed movements as terrorist organisations, including the TPLF in 2021 before the designation was lifted after Pretoria. A designation of the alliance as a whole would make contact with any of its members a crime. That would reach far beyond the fighters, to intermediaries, diaspora organisers and journalists.

The third will be an effort to split the alliance. Its seams are visible, and Addis Ababa knows where they are. The ONLF can be reminded of its 2018 agreement, and the smaller Afar and Benishangul movements can be courted locally with offers of posts and budgets. Tigray’s own divisions give the government room to manoeuvre, as does the existence of Fano factions outside the AFNM. With the OLA, the government has already shown in its separate 2024 agreement with a breakaway commander that it prefers to peel off factions rather than negotiate with movements. Every member that signs a separate peace weakens the claim that the alliance speaks for Ethiopia’s peoples.

The fourth will be to externalise the threat. By naming Eritrea as the alliance’s paymaster, Addis Ababa converts a domestic insurgency into foreign aggression. That is useful for rallying nationalist opinion, and useful for binding an uneasy army to a common enemy. It is also dangerous. Combined with the government’s long-running rhetoric about access to the Red Sea, it builds a momentum towards interstate war that may prove easier to start than to stop.

The fifth will be aimed at those who spread the rumours. If talk of disloyal commanders worries the palace, it will act against the people spreading it. Jawar Mohammed was charged once before, in 2020. Renewed proceedings against him in absentia, pressure on Oromo Federalist Congress figures still inside the country, and action against journalists who amplify the claims are all plausible.

Finally, there will be the language of dialogue. The government will continue to present the National Dialogue as the peaceful route that the alliance has refused. It may repeat the gesture of 2021, when three opposition figures were brought into the cabinet, while keeping every security portfolio in trusted hands. Whether the dialogue amounts to more than language depends on what the new government does with the Commission’s report.

The Commission’s offer

The new government will not start from a blank page. The National Dialogue Commission was due to hand its report to the outgoing parliament before 22 September. It followed a 38-day conference in Addis Ababa at which more than 4,000 delegates debated over 400 agenda items under eight pillars: nation-building; government structure and electoral systems; federal cities; religious affairs; institution-building; social and economic questions; corruption and good governance; and peace-building. The full text has not yet been published, and the Commission insists that its recommendations are advisory, not binding. But the proposals reported to have emerged from it add up to the most coherent alternative yet placed before Abiy to the path of coercion described above.

The first is electoral: a move from first-past-the-post to proportional representation. Under the present system the Prosperity Party took 438 of the 486 seats decided in June. Under a proportional system, parties that now win nothing would win something, and the arithmetic of armed struggle would change. A movement that cannot win a constituency outright has little reason to lay down its arms for an election. A movement guaranteed a share of seats has more. It is also a reform that peaceful opposition parties and civic movements have pressed for years. Adopting it would reward those who chose the ballot over the gun, and show that non-violent pressure can change the rules.

The second is constitutional. Amending the 1995 constitution is the demand that unites the government’s critics and divides them at the same time. Amhara nationalists want to revise the ethnic federal settlement and Article 39, while Oromo, Somali and Tigrayan movements regard that same article as the guarantee of their existence. Like proportional representation, constitutional reform belongs to the vocabulary of peaceful protest. It was the largely non-violent demonstrations of 2015–18, the movement that brought Abiy to power, that first put the 1995 settlement openly in question. Opening the constitution through dialogue would answer the protesters in the streets, not only the fighters in the field. The alliance has avoided the question, and so, carefully, has the government. It should also be said plainly that a constitutional door opened in the name of dialogue can be walked through in either direction. Before the election, critics alleged that Abiy wanted to amend the constitution to create a presidential system. A reform that entrenched the executive would serve none of the Commission’s purposes.

The third concerns cities: metropolitan governments for the country’s major urban centres. This goes to the heart of the contest over Addis Ababa, in which Oromo nationalists assert a special constitutional interest, and over the control of fast-growing regional towns. Giving cities their own governance, instead of treating them as trophies of whichever ethnic region surrounds them, could take one of the most combustible questions off the battlefield. It would also be fiercely resisted by those who regard Oromia’s claim to the capital as settled and non-negotiable.

The fourth speaks most directly to the events of this week: that the armed movements now gathered in the Alliance for Survival be invited into talks within the framework of the Pretoria agreement. Pretoria was a bilateral deal between the federal government and the TPLF. Fano was not at the table and has never forgiven its exclusion. Extending that architecture to Amhara, Oromia and the other regions would turn a two-party ceasefire into something closer to a national settlement. The Commission has itself argued that armed groups belong in the dialogue. The question is whether a government that has just called the alliance an Eritrean project can bring itself to negotiate with it.

The fifth looks outward: negotiations with Sudan, Somalia, Eritrea and Egypt. Each relationship is a potential front. With Sudan there is the al-Fashaga border; with Mogadishu, Somaliland and sea access; with Asmara, an unfinished peace; with Cairo, the Nile and the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam. Abiy told the BRICS summit this month that Ethiopia would seek sea access only through negotiation. If he means it, regional diplomacy is also domestic security, because a neighbour at peace with Addis Ababa has less reason to finance its enemies. The remaining pillars, from religious affairs and institution-building to corruption and the economy, lack the drama of these five but would matter as much to whether any settlement lasted.

“The best coup-proofing is a settlement that leaves the generals nothing to rescue the country from.”

This is where the Commission’s offer meets the barracks. Coups in Ethiopia have always been presented as rescues: of the nation from a failing emperor, of the revolution from a failing Derg. A government that opened talks with its armed opponents, reformed the electoral system and made peace with its neighbours would leave any ambitious officer without a story to tell. In effect, the Commission has handed Abiy a political alternative to coup-proofing. It is not the only option on his desk. The Reporter reported last week that Washington has lifted the arms embargo it imposed during the Tigray war, which makes the military route cheaper. Whether he takes up the report or shelves it will be decided in the same weeks as his cabinet.

The Mengistu question

Mengistu Haile Mariam hangs over this moment in two ways, and either could describe what Abiy does next. The first Mengistu went to any length in the name of Ethiopian unity. From the Derg’s early slogan, Ityopia Tikdem, “Ethiopia First”, to national call-ups, a war economy and the purge of his own officers, he justified everything as the defence of an indivisible state. A leader convinced that he alone stands between the country and disintegration can persuade himself that almost any measure is warranted. The alliance, by warning that Ethiopia is at risk of breaking apart, has handed him that argument.

The second Mengistu is the one who left. In May 1991, with his army broken and the EPRDF closing on the capital, he flew to Zimbabwe, and his departure hastened the end of the war. Most Ethiopians remember it as flight, not sacrifice, and his motives were his own. But the precedent stands: an Ethiopian ruler concluded that the state would outlast him only if he went. Abiy, too, could decide that national unity is better served by his leaving than by his staying. Such an exit could be negotiated through the very transitional process that the alliance demands and the Commission’s report points towards, and it could be made on his own terms instead of an enemy’s.

“The first path, taken too far, ends on the second — on worse terms.”

This newspaper does not predict which course he will choose, and there is no public sign that he contemplates the second. But the two paths share a premise: that the unity of Ethiopia outranks any individual, including the one in the palace. They differ in who pays. On the first, the price falls on soldiers and civilians; on the second, on one man’s ambition. The lesson of 1991 is that a ruler who follows the first path too far may find himself left with only the second, and on far worse terms than he could have had.

The hidden price

Each of these measures has a cost that will not appear in a communiqué. Emergency powers mean mass detentions, and mass detentions in Ethiopia have tended to fall along ethnic lines. Designation and media bans narrow the space for the reporting that might tell the public what is happening in its name. The drone strikes already recorded by conflict monitors in Tigray, Amhara and Oromia fall on communities, not only on combatants. And an army reorganised for loyalty is an army less able to protect civilians from anyone at all.

What to watch

The signs will come quickly. Watch who is named Minister of Defence and Chief of the General Staff, and whether more of the security apparatus moves under the Prime Minister’s office. Watch for a state-of-emergency proclamation and for any terrorist designation of the alliance. Watch for unexplained retirements, transfers or arrests of senior officers. Watch for a separate deal with any single member of the alliance. And watch the temperature of Addis Ababa’s language towards Asmara. Above all, watch whether the Commission’s report is published in full, and whether the new government’s first programme adopts any of it or merely thanks the Commission for its work.

In July, Abiy told lawmakers that even if others joined the TPLF, the government did not have “an iota of fear” for Ethiopia’s sovereignty. A government that fears nothing has no need to fortify its own barracks. The cabinet he now presents, and what he does with the report on his desk, will show which of his two fronts he fears more, and whether, in guarding against one, he leaves the other open.

E. Frashie writes long-form analysis for The Ethiopian Tribune.

When Intellectualism Gives Way to Cadre Politics: A Warning to the Ethiopian Political Landscape

Professor Girma Berhanu

17 September 2026

Synopsis

Editorial Foreword

Every liberation movement eventually faces a question it would rather not ask: at what point does the discipline needed to win begin to resemble the order it set out to defeat? Ethiopian history answers this with painful clarity. A generation of students who called for freedom in the 1970s watched the language of revolution harden into a culture of denunciation. In that culture, the wrong question could make someone an enemy of the people, and intellectuals became functionaries of the line.

Professor Girma Berhanu, a long-standing contributor to these pages, writes because he sees that pattern stirring again. He does not write as a detached observer. He states plainly that Ethiopia needs fundamental political change, and he does not question the legitimacy of the grievances behind the Amhara struggle. What he questions is something more fragile and, in the long run, more decisive: the right to think aloud within a movement without being labelled for it.

His essay is notable for its restraint. He does not claim knowledge he lacks. He explains, with a candour that is rare in today’s polarised climate, why he has not rushed to pronounce on the alliances now dividing the diaspora. Some readers will find that restraint frustrating. We would suggest that it is the point of the essay. Where information is fragmented and interpretations are hardened by loyalty, the honest answer is often “not yet.” A movement that cannot hear that answer without suspecting treachery has already lost something it will need later.

Unity is not uniformity, criticism is not betrayal, and the freedom a struggle promises must first be practised within it.

The Ethiopian Tribune has spent many years documenting how the present government treats dissent: the arrests of journalists, the targeting of communities and the shrinking space for independent speech. We would be failing our readers if we held the state to that standard and exempted those who seek to replace it. Our commitment to accountability does not depend on who holds power or who seeks it.

We publish this essay not as a verdict on any organisation or alliance, but as an invitation. It asks readers to accept that unity is not uniformity, that criticism is not betrayal, and that the freedom a struggle promises must first be practised within it.

— Endex, Chief Editor, The Ethiopian Tribune

When Intellectualism Gives Way to Cadre Politics

My years of engagement in social activism and human rights work have taught me an important lesson: a freedom struggle cannot sustain itself when independent intellectual thought is replaced by political conformity. Yet this is precisely the danger I increasingly perceive in the Ethiopian political landscape today.

The distinction between intellectuals and political activists is becoming increasingly blurred. More troubling still is the growing influence of what might be described as a cadre mentality—a political culture in which ideological loyalty takes precedence over independent judgement, dissent is treated as disloyalty, and questioning the dominant political line can be interpreted as betrayal.

This tendency is particularly concerning in the current debate over the direction of the Amhara struggle. Questions concerning political strategy, alliances, negotiations, military cooperation, relations with other Ethiopian constituencies, and the future political order of Ethiopia are far too consequential to be determined by political loyalty or factional pressure. They require serious intellectual examination, open debate, evidence-based reasoning, and the courage to challenge prevailing assumptions—even when such challenges are uncomfortable.

An intellectual is not a cadre. An intellectual’s responsibility is not to defend a political organisation, faction, leader, or predetermined political line. Rather, it is to interrogate ideas, examine evidence, identify contradictions, consider alternative interpretations, and assess possible consequences. Political activists and organisations have a legitimate role in mobilising people and pursuing political objectives. However, intellectuals should not be reduced to instruments for legitimising decisions that have already been made. Their role requires a degree of critical distance, even when they share the broader political aspirations of a movement. Straddling the roles of prophet, critic, political activist, and scientist, intellectuals defy easy categorisation. They often portray themselves as “free-floating” and independent of universities, political parties, and state power. Yet the reality frequently falls short of this ideal. Intellectuals across different historical and political contexts have not always lived up to their claims of autonomy and have often confronted difficult tensions between intellectual independence, political commitment, institutional interests, and social responsibility.

In this article, I wish to venture into the complexity of intellectual life and examine these tensions critically. What does it mean to be an intellectual? How can intellectual independence be maintained in politically charged environments? And what happens when intellectuals become too closely aligned with the organisations, movements, or power structures they are expected to scrutinise? These are large and complex questions, and the space available here does not allow me to address them in their full breadth. Instead, I offer some reflections on the tensions and dilemmas that lie at the heart of intellectual life.

When intellectuals become extensions of political organisations, intellectual independence is compromised. When disagreement is interpreted as disloyalty, genuine debate becomes increasingly difficult. And when political conformity replaces critical thinking, a liberation movement risks reproducing some of the very authoritarian practices and political cultures that it seeks to overcome.

When political conformity replaces critical thinking, a liberation movement risks reproducing some of the very authoritarian practices and political cultures that it seeks to overcome.

This is not merely an intellectual problem. It is also a political and strategic problem.

The Amhara struggle cannot afford to silence critical voices at a moment when it faces difficult and consequential choices. Military alliances, political partnerships, relations with other Ethiopian constituencies, and competing visions for Ethiopia’s future should all be subjected to rigorous scrutiny. No organisation, leader, intellectual, or political faction should claim a monopoly over what constitutes the correct political line.

A freedom struggle worthy of the name must create space for disagreement. It must distinguish between criticism and betrayal, between independent analysis and political advocacy, and between intellectual responsibility and political discipline.

There is a profound lesson in the history of authoritarian political systems: when political loyalty becomes the principal measure of intellectual legitimacy, independent thought begins to erode. When independent thought is weakened, political movements become more vulnerable to strategic errors, internal authoritarianism, groupthink, and manipulation.

The objective, therefore, should be larger than winning arguments within a particular political camp. It should be to protect the intellectual and political space necessary for a genuine struggle for freedom, democracy, dignity, and self-determination.

The Amhara struggle needs organisation, but it also needs independent minds. It needs political activists, but it must not turn intellectuals into cadres. It needs unity, but unity must not mean uniformity.

It needs unity, but unity must not mean uniformity.

The future of the struggle—and potentially the future of Ethiopia itself—depends, in my view, on preserving this distinction.

I also want to be clear about my own position. I believe Ethiopia needs fundamental political change, and I support political processes that can contribute to a more democratic, accountable, inclusive, and just political order. However, supporting political change does not require me to endorse every political or military actor, alliance, strategy, or claim presented in its name. Political change and political conformity are not the same thing.

Recently, I have become increasingly aware of the intense polarisation surrounding the alliance between the Amhara Fano and other armed groups. I do not claim to know enough about these developments, nor have I involved myself deeply enough in all of the political and military dynamics, to take a definitive position on every aspect of these alliances. People from different parts of the world have nevertheless asked me why I have not been more explicit or vocal in taking a position.

My answer has consistently been that I am observing the situation carefully. It is difficult to position oneself when information is fragmented, interpretations are deeply polarised, and numerous actors are involved, often with different interests, objectives, and strategies. The result is considerable uncertainty and confusion.

My reluctance to take a premature position should therefore not be interpreted as indifference to political change. On the contrary, it reflects my conviction that positions on matters of such historical importance should be informed by evidence, context, careful analysis, and intellectual integrity rather than by political pressure or group loyalty.

What concerns me particularly is the extent of labelling, personal attacks, and verbal abuse surrounding these debates. When people become afraid to ask legitimate questions or express disagreement openly, the quality of political deliberation suffers. Such an environment is dangerous for any movement that aspires to contribute to democratic transformation. I have empirical observations that support this concern. In what began as a friendly or comradely WhatsApp group, I have noticed an increasing level of intensity and, at times, striking animosity in response to questions or alternative viewpoints. What I would describe as Mashemakek—the immediate belittling, dismissal, or rejection of an idea, accompanied by labelling the questioner or inquiry itself as an obstacle to be avoided—has become increasingly visible.

I have also observed what appears to be an emerging discourse of personality cult, expressed in ways that are deeply concerning and, at times, embarrassing. It is troubling to see political reverence and unquestioning loyalty re-emerging in a context where one might have assumed that such political practices had been relegated to the past. We had perhaps believed that we had moved beyond this kind of political culture decades ago.

I therefore distinguish clearly between support for political change and uncritical support for particular political actors. A movement that cannot tolerate independent thought, critical inquiry, and internal disagreement will struggle to build the genuinely free society it claims to seek. Political transformation requires more than a change of government or political leadership. It also requires a political culture in which disagreement, scrutiny, accountability, and independent thought are protected.

Ethiopia is at a delicate historical juncture, and the future of the Amhara people is likewise being shaped by developments whose consequences may be profound. This calls for greater transparency, intellectual honesty, and a carefully considered path forward. We need to examine the available evidence, engage with competing interpretations, and distinguish political claims from ideological positions and empirically grounded analysis.

My conclusion is therefore straightforward: I support political change, but I do not believe that political change should require intellectual conformity. Let intellectuals, researchers, journalists, and other independent thinkers engage openly with evidence, historical context, competing perspectives, and difficult questions. Political activists and political organisations have their own legitimate roles, but those roles should not replace independent intellectual inquiry.

The distinction is crucial. One can support the necessity of political transformation while remaining critical, cautious, and intellectually independent of the actors who claim to represent that transformation. For me, this is neither neutrality nor political indifference. Rather, it is a commitment to intellectual independence at a moment when independent thinking is particularly important. For sustainable organisational growth and genuine democratic transformation to take place, freedom movements must actively cultivate feedback, tolerance, and humility. Rather than demanding blind loyalty or ideological uniformity, a healthy political culture should encourage constructive criticism, create space for internal disagreement, and cultivate the intellectual humility to recognise that no single faction holds a monopoly on truth.

By prioritising evidence, protecting independent thought, and allowing room for disagreement, a movement can guard against the emergence of internal authoritarianism and, in doing so, help lay the intellectual and democratic foundations for the freer society it seeks to build.

A genuine freedom struggle must be capable of accommodating disagreement within its own ranks. It must be strong enough to tolerate questions, confident enough to confront criticism, and mature enough to recognise that political unity cannot be built by suppressing intellectual diversity.

The struggle needs committed people—but it also needs people who are free to think.

Short Summary

The article argues that Ethiopia’s political transformation requires independent intellectual thought, open debate, and critical scrutiny—not political conformity or cadre mentality. It distinguishes support for fundamental political change from uncritical loyalty to particular political actors or alliances, while calling for greater transparency, evidence-based analysis, and space for disagreement, particularly within the Amhara political struggle.

References

Bourdieu, P. (1988). Homo academicus (P. Collier, Trans.). Stanford University Press. (Original work published 1984)

Coser, L. A. (1970). Men of ideas: A sociologist’s view. Free Press. (Original work published 1965)

Konrád, G., & Szelényi, I. (1979). The intellectuals on the road to class power. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.

Kurzman, C. (2008). Democracy denied, 1905–1915: Intellectuals and the fate of democracy. Harvard University Press.

Leonard, M. (2008). What does China think? PublicAffairs.

Editorial front matter · The Ethiopian Tribune

Low Expectations — The Overlooked Discrimination of Our Time

Girma Berhanu, Professor · Department of Education and Special Education, University of Gothenburg

Synopsis

Professor Girma Berhanu argues that low expectations constitute an overlooked form of discrimination — one that operates alongside the more familiar categories of gender, ethnicity, religion, language and disability, yet attracts far less scrutiny. Drawing on the Pygmalion and Golem effects, he shows how expectation shapes not only how people perform but what opportunities they are offered and what image they form of themselves. What makes the mechanism so insidious, he contends, is its invisibility: it works not through open prejudice but through small, often well-meant remarks — “perhaps you should be more realistic” — that accumulate into a message about who belongs where.

The essay moves outward through widening circles. It begins in the personal, with the author’s childhood and his mother’s insistence, tied to the sign of the kirtas, that he was destined to succeed. It then examines the family, the classroom and the debate over Swedish as a second language, before tracing the same logic to its largest scale — the international arena, where dominant powers portray emerging nations as dependent or destined to fail. Throughout, the warning is the self-fulfilling prophecy: expectations that manufacture the very failure they predict, then read that failure back as proof. Berhanu’s prescription is not lowered standards but high expectations matched by genuine support — belief that, as he puts it, sometimes must precede a person’s belief in themselves.

Who are we enabling people to believe they can become?

Editor’s Foreword

We are accustomed to naming discrimination by its familiar categories. Professor Girma Berhanu asks us to attend to one that rarely announces itself and is seldom counted at all: the quiet verdict of low expectation. His argument is that a great deal of what constrains a life is delivered not through hostility but through solicitude — the gentle suggestion that something isn’t really for you — and that these small signals, repeated, harden into walls.

What recommends this essay to the Tribune is not only its care as a piece of educational thought, but the arc it traces. Berhanu begins in the most intimate register — a mother in Ethiopia who read a sign upon her son’s birth and refused, ever after, to let him think small of himself — and follows the same mechanism upward, through households and schoolrooms, until it arrives at the conduct of nations. When powerful states cast African and other emerging countries as incapable of governing, developing or succeeding on their own terms, they are not merely trading in rhetoric. They are practising, on a global scale, the same discipline of diminished expectation that a teacher visits on a child. For a publication concerned with the agency and standing of the Horn of Africa in the world, that continuity is the essay’s real gift.

Berhanu writes as a scholar at Gothenburg and returns to us, as he has before, with the instincts of both. Readers will find the piece personal where argument alone would not persuade, and unsparing where sentiment might have softened. It repays reading not as a lament but as a question put to all of us — parents, teachers, editors, states: who are we enabling people to believe they can become?

— The Editor, The Ethiopian Tribune

✦  ✦  ✦

Low Expectations — The Overlooked Discrimination of Our Time

Girma Berhanu, Professor

Low expectations may be understood as a subtle yet pervasive form of psychological and organisational harm that can erode human motivation, dignity, agency, and well-being. This phenomenon can manifest across educational institutions, workplaces, households, and the public sector, where persistently low expectations may contribute to diminished engagement, reduced aspirations, and the weakening of both individual and collective potential. Importantly, low expectations operate not only at the level of individuals and groups, but can also be extended to nations and national populations, including countries that are characterised as developing or underdeveloped. At broader social, economic, and political levels, such expectations may shape how societies are perceived, how their capacities are evaluated, and what opportunities and resources are made available to them.

We often talk about discrimination in terms of gender, ethnicity, religion, language, or disability. At the same time, there is another mechanism that receives far less attention, despite the profound consequences it can have for people’s life chances: low expectations.

Research has long shown that our expectations can influence people’s performance, motivation, and development. The Pygmalion effect describes how positive and high expectations can contribute to improved performance, while the Golem effect points to how low expectations can constrain people’s opportunities to develop and reach their potential. Expectations are, of course, not the only factors behind success or failure, but they can influence what opportunities people are given, what demands are placed upon them, and the perceptions they develop of themselves.

Despite this knowledge, society continues to signal to some people that they are not expected to succeed. Low expectations rarely emerge in a vacuum. They can interact with class, ethnicity, gender, language, and disability, thereby reinforcing existing inequalities. What makes low expectations particularly problematic is that they are often difficult to detect. They are not always expressed through explicit prejudice or intentional discrimination, but through small everyday actions, comments, and decisions.

When Someone Believes in You

To make this argument more personal, I would like to share an experience from my own childhood.

My mother was a great source of support throughout my schooling. In the beginning, I struggled and was not particularly successful at school. I was sometimes hit by a teacher and teased by students who performed better than I did. It hurt, both psychologically and physically. During those years, I had very little objective reason to believe that I would do particularly well in school.

But my mother saw something different.

She and my grandmother used to tell me that I had been born with part of the amniotic membrane still covering my head — what is called kirtas in Amharic and is sometimes referred to in Swedish as a segerhuva. In our cultural imagination, this was regarded as a special sign, almost a gift from God, indicating that the child was chosen and would succeed in life.

Whenever I encountered difficulties, my mother would say: “You are chosen. The kirtas is a sign that you will succeed.”

It may sound like a simple story, perhaps even superstition. But for me, it acquired a deeper meaning. I often felt weak — both physically and intellectually — yet my mother continued to speak of me as someone destined to accomplish something significant. She had a much brighter image of my future than I had of myself.

Eventually, I began to believe what she told me.

Even today, I can hear her voice when I encounter setbacks, both in academia and in my private life. Many years ago, some of my siblings questioned the meaning of my kirtas and suggested that it might instead be explained by the fact that I had been born prematurely. My mother firmly rejected that explanation.

I chose to believe my mother, regardless of what medical researchers might say.

The important point here is not whether the amniotic membrane itself had any particular significance. Scientifically, of course, it did not. But the story gave me something else: an expectation that I could succeed. It gave me the motivation to keep going when life was difficult. Perhaps, then, it was not the membrane itself that made the difference, but the high expectations associated with the story surrounding it.

You are chosen. The kirtas is a sign that you will succeed.

When Others Begin to Define Who You Are

The other day, a young woman told me how her parents constantly compared her with her brother. Through repeated comparisons and demeaning comments, she developed a sense that she was never quite good enough.

This is more than a story about a complicated family relationship. It is also about how people learn from childhood to see themselves through the eyes of others. When a child is constantly told that someone else is better, smarter, or more successful, there is a risk that the child will eventually adopt the same judgement about themselves.

In a similar way, high expectations can become a form of social capital. When a teacher, parent, or other significant adult communicates, “I believe you can do this,” it does not automatically create success — but it can create motivation, perseverance, and a willingness to try again.

That is why expectations matter.

School Is Not a Neutral Place

The same pattern can be found in schools. Many students describe teachers who, consciously or unconsciously, signal that they will not succeed in education. Students report being discouraged from pursuing higher education or ambitious career choices because of their family background, language, gender, or disability.

Often, this does not occur through explicit prejudice. It can be much more subtle:

“Maybe that isn’t really for you.”

“Have you considered something easier?”

“Perhaps you should be more realistic.”

Such comments may appear well intentioned. But when they are repeated over time, they can have a powerful normative effect. They communicate more than something about a particular educational programme or career choice. They can communicate a more fundamental message:

“You are not the kind of person who belongs there.”

This is where low expectations can become a form of invisible exclusion.

Swedish as a Second Language — A Question of Expectations

Similar questions arise in discussions about Swedish as a second language. I have encountered students who have felt singled out or humiliated when placed in such instruction, sometimes on grounds that they or their parents have found difficult to understand or accept. This may relate to the student’s linguistic background, family circumstances, or other assessments made by the school.

This issue has long been the subject of discussion and, at times, conflict among students, parents, schools, and researchers.

Here, we need to ask an uncomfortable but important question:

What assumptions do we hold about a student’s abilities?

What assumptions are made about what a student with another first language can achieve? What expectations exist regarding the student’s academic development? And how do these assumptions affect assessments of the student’s opportunities to succeed in mainstream education?

This is not to claim that all students have the same needs or that special support is never necessary. Rather, it is about ensuring that educational decisions are based on the student’s actual needs and circumstances, rather than assumptions about what a student from a particular background is presumed to be capable or incapable of achieving.

The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

The problem with low expectations is that they can become self-fulfilling.

When a person is constantly met with doubt, they may begin to doubt themselves. When they are given fewer challenges, their opportunities to develop their abilities may diminish. When they are not encouraged to pursue further education, they may never apply. And when they repeatedly hear that they do not belong in a particular place, they may eventually stop trying to get there.

In this way, low expectations can produce precisely the outcome they initially anticipated.

This is particularly problematic because society may then interpret the outcome as evidence that the original expectations were correct.

“We knew she wouldn’t be able to do it.”

But did we really know?

Or did our expectations help create some of the conditions that led to the outcome?

Raising Expectations Without Lowering Standards

We therefore need to talk more about low expectations as a mechanism contributing to discrimination and inequality. This does not mean that low expectations should replace other forms of discrimination as an analytical category. Rather, we need to make visible another process through which inequality is created and reproduced.

Treating people with respect does not mean lowering expectations of them. Quite the opposite.

High expectations mean believing that people can develop — while simultaneously providing them with the resources, support, and opportunities they need to succeed.

It is not enough to tell a student, “You can do it.” Schools must also create the conditions that enable the student to do so. High expectations without support can become empty rhetoric. But high expectations combined with pedagogical support, clear goals, and genuine opportunities can alter people’s educational trajectories.

My mother’s story about kirtas may not have been scientific. But it taught me something that I still carry with me: sometimes another person’s belief in you can come before your own belief in yourself.

Perhaps this is also one of the most important purposes of education — to see possibilities in people before they have learned to see those possibilities in themselves.

No one should be limited by other people’s assumptions about what they can or cannot become. It is time to recognise low expectations for what they can be: an invisible wall that limits people’s opportunities, participation, and hope for the future. With regard to nations, international politics, trade, and diplomatic relations, we can also observe how powerful states sometimes portray emerging or less economically powerful nations as incapable of succeeding or developing on their own terms. Such representations may be expressed through dismissive, degrading, or abusive language, including statements by political leaders that characterise African and other countries in highly derogatory ways.

These practices should not be understood merely as individual expressions of prejudice or political rhetoric. When such representations are repeated systematically by powerful political actors and institutions, they can contribute to a broader pattern of symbolic and structural abuse. They may reinforce hierarchies between nations, undermine the perceived legitimacy and agency of emerging countries, and influence how their economies, institutions, and populations are viewed internationally.

From this perspective, low expectations can operate at the level of international relations. Persistent portrayals of emerging nations as incapable, dependent, or destined to fail may contribute to an international environment in which their capacity for autonomous development is systematically underestimated. In this sense, the production and reproduction of low expectations can become part of a broader political agenda that constrains agency, reinforces dependency, and discourages the pursuit of independent economic, political, and diplomatic pathways.

And perhaps the most important question we can therefore ask is not only what do we expect from people? but also:

Who are we enabling people to believe they can become?

Girma Berhanu, Professor

The Ethiopian Tribune

Editorial Front Matter  ·  Foreword & Synopsis

GERD: From Engine of Ethiopia’s Renaissance to Engine of African Peace

An essay by Mefkereseb G. Hailu (PhD) — the twelfth and concluding article in the series

Foreword — The Bridge, and the Wall We Keep Building

For a year this newspaper has carried Dr Mefkereseb G. Hailu’s argument in instalments, and readers have watched it accumulate into something rare in our public writing: a single, sustained case, built stone by stone, about what Ethiopia is and what it might yet become. Eleven essays traced the architecture — the Foundations of unity and a sovereign coast, the Means of broad-based development, and the Engine meant to drive them both. This twelfth and final essay turns to the Engine itself, and to the question the other eleven were circling all along: not whether the dam can be built, but whether we can build the country around it.

It arrives at an unusual moment. This month TIME’s Africa edition put the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam on its cover and called it the power to unite a continent — a bridge, in the magazine’s image, rather than a wall. Dr Hailu takes that mirror and turns it on us with unsparing candour: strangers see cooperation in the concrete we poured; we see, in one another, one more thing to fight over. The distance between those two visions is his subject, and he refuses every comfortable name for it — settling, in the end, on shame.

A dam can be a wall or a bridge — Ethiopia must choose the bridge.

I will not disguise where the essay lands, for the Tribune does not run it to flatter anyone, least of all ourselves. Its charge falls on all four estates of what the author has called the racket the cadre, the oligarch, the pulpit, and, not least, the pen. Among the writings it names is one this newspaper published only a week ago: Dr Sosina Tadesse’s rebuttal in the Tsimdo debate. We printed her argument in full; we now print the essay that faults it and its rival for quarrelling over how to wage a war while sparing not one line for how it ends. That is not inconsistency. It is what an independent press is for: to carry the argument and its judge alike, and to trust readers to weigh both.

What Dr Hailu leaves us with is not a lament but a blueprint five conditions under which a shared nation becomes the lived experience of ordinary people, not one of which asks any Ethiopian to surrender his language, his faith, or his pride in his people. Whether we build it is not for a newspaper to decide. But the question deserves to be put plainly, and few have put it more plainly than this.

Read it as it was written: as a wake-up.

— The Editor, The Ethiopian Tribune

Synopsis

In the concluding essay of a twelve-part series, Dr Mefkereseb G. Hailu argues that the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam must cease to be a monument and become an engine the physical spine of Ethiopia’s transformation, and then of its peace.

He begins from a mirror held up by outsiders: TIME’s Africa cover, The Power to Unite Africa, which reads GERD as a bridge an anchor of regional electricity trade and African integration where Ethiopians see only one more thing to fight over. That gap, he contends, is not about the dam but about the state behind it. A development engine is not self-executing; it needs a functioning institutional order to turn electricity into factories, factories into cities, and cities into a productive middle class for whom cooperation pays more than fragmentation. This is the “missing bridge” and precisely what a racket built on ethnic fear cannot supply.

Drawing on the economics of urbanisation and the arithmetic of a youth cohort of two million a year, Hailu recasts peace and development as a single question, answerable only by a national bargain in which every constituency holds a material stake that war would destroy. He sets out five conditions under which unity is actually made, impartial security, impartial delivery, the material bond, the mixing city, and an honest reckoning, none of which demands that any Ethiopian surrender his identity.

Against this he sets the “paper war” of hermitised intellectuals who argue endlessly over how to fight while never asking how the killing stops, and warns that a nation squandering GERD on ethnic conflict forfeits its seat in the age of artificial intelligence. The choice, he concludes, was never between Ethiopia’s peoples. It is between the country and the racket that farms it: the bridge, or the abyss.