An investigation into how Jeffrey Epstein’s tentacles reached Ethiopia, and what it reveals about power, complicity, and the global reckoning with sexual predation

By E Frashie Ethiopian Tribune Columnist

In the grand tradition of British scandals involving the powerful and the predatory, the Jeffrey Epstein affair has proven to be the gift that keeps on giving—or rather, taking. As the US Department of Justice released millions of documents related to the convicted sex trafficker and financier, Britons watched with grim familiarity as two of their own, Lord Peter Mandelson and Prince Andrew, found themselves ensnared in the lengthening shadow of Epstein’s crimes. For Ethiopians and East Africans, however, the revelations have taken on a peculiar local dimension: their country appears in approximately 334 of the released documents, raising uncomfortable questions about who knew what, and when.

The British experience offers a cautionary tale. Lord Mandelson, the Labour grandee and former EU trade commissioner, has faced renewed scrutiny over his association with Epstein, leading to swift rejection of his potential appointment as US ambassador and intense public opprobrium. Prince Andrew, the Duke of York, has become a pariah within his own family, stripped of royal duties and forced to settle a civil sexual abuse case brought by Virginia Giuffre for a reported £12 million. Both men’s falls from grace illustrate a crucial shift in public tolerance: proximity to a convicted paedophile is no longer merely unfortunate it is damning.

For Ethiopia, a nation already grappling with internal conflicts, economic challenges, and questions of governance, the Epstein connection represents yet another unwelcome international embarrassment. But it also raises profound questions about how predators like Epstein exploited developing nations, and whether enough is being done to investigate his network in Africa.

Britain’s reckoning with the Epstein scandal has been particularly visceral, perhaps because it touches upon enduring anxieties about privilege, power, and paedophilia within the establishment. Lord Mandelson’s association with Epstein reportedly introduced through mutual connections in elite circles—has proven politically toxic. Despite his protestations that he had no knowledge of Epstein’s crimes during their acquaintance, the court of public opinion has rendered its verdict. His nomination as ambassador to Washington was effectively dead on arrival, with both Conservative and Labour figures expressing alarm.

The Mandelson affair echoes the Prince Andrew debacle but with notable differences. Whilst Andrew’s relationship with Epstein was documented through photographs, flight logs, and eventually legal testimony, Mandelson’s connection appears more tangential, dinners, social gatherings, the sort of networking that defines elite circles. Yet in the post-Epstein era, such distinctions matter less than they once might have. The question is no longer “Did you know?” but “Should you have known?” and increasingly, “Why didn’t you ask?”

Prince Andrew’s trajectory from the Queen’s favourite son to virtual exile illustrates the mechanism of social rejection in real time. The now-infamous BBC Newsnight interview in November 2019, in which he claimed he couldn’t have been at a nightclub with Virginia Giuffre because he was at Pizza Express in Woking and suffered from a medical condition preventing him from sweating, became a masterclass in self-immolation. Public revulsion was swift and comprehensive. Corporate sponsors fled. Charities distanced themselves. The military stripped him of honorary titles.

What united both men’s downfalls was their association with a man whose crimes were, by 2008, a matter of public record. Epstein’s initial conviction for soliciting prostitution from a minor, a sweetheart plea deal that saw him serve just 13 months, should have ended his social acceptability. That it didn’t speaks to the power of wealth, influence, and the willingness of elites to overlook uncomfortable truths.

Epstein’s 2019 arrest on federal charges of sex trafficking minors and his subsequent death by apparent suicide in a Manhattan jail cell merely confirmed what investigators had long suspected: his earlier conviction represented only a fraction of his crimes. The subsequent releases of court documents, flight logs from his private jet (dubbed the “Lolita Express”), and now the DOJ files have painted a portrait of industrial-scale sexual exploitation involving girls as young as 14.

Yet the released documents reveal something far more disturbing than the already horrific sex trafficking operation. Buried within thousands of pages are references to Epstein’s fascination with eugenics, transhumanism, and what can only be described as a God complex that would make Lucifer himself envious. Witnesses and associates described Epstein’s interest in using his New Mexico ranch to seed the human race with his DNA, impregnating multiple women to create a “superior” bloodline a scheme that echoes the darkest chapters of 20th-century pseudoscience.

The files contain disturbing allegations that extend beyond sexual abuse into territory that seems almost mediaeval in its barbarity. Court testimonies reference Epstein’s circle discussing practices that blur the line between scientific experimentation and occult ritual. One particularly harrowing account describes conversations about cellular regeneration theories and the procurement of biological materials from young victims allegations that, whilst unproven in court, paint a portrait of a man whose depravity knew no bounds.

Whether these represent literal truths or the exaggerations of traumatised witnesses struggling to articulate unspeakable experiences, they underscore a crucial point: Jeffrey Epstein was not merely a sex offender but a man who believed himself above natural and moral law. His interest in cutting-edge science, from artificial intelligence to genetics, was inseparable from his conviction that wealth and intellect entitled him to treat human beings, particularly young girls, as experimental subjects. This, then, was the “Lucifer” that Professor Berhanu Nega might have unwittingly invoked.

The revelation that Berhanu Nega, now Ethiopia’s Minister of Education, received scholarship funding from Jeffrey Epstein takes on an almost prophetic irony given the professor’s own public statements. During his years in opposition to the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) government, Nega famously declared that he would “work with Lucifer himself” if it meant overthrowing the regime he despised.

It was not mere rhetoric. Nega’s political journey has been one of scorched-earth pragmatism. Having left the United States, where he held academic positions, he took the extraordinary step of accepting Eritrean citizenship to wage an armed insurgency against the Ethiopian government. His organisation, Ginbot 7, launched attacks from Eritrean territory, making common cause with one of Africa’s most repressive regimes a government that has held no elections since independence in 1993 and operates what human rights organisations have described as an open-air prison.

The insurgency failed militarily but succeeded in keeping Nega relevant. When Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed came to power in 2018, Nega was among the formerly exiled opposition figures welcomed back to Addis Ababa. His transformation from armed rebel to Minister of Education was swift and, to many observers, bewildering. That he now oversees the education of Ethiopia’s children whilst having received funding from a convicted paedophile strikes many Ethiopians as a cosmic joke in exceptionally poor taste.

Nega has maintained that he had no knowledge of Epstein’s crimes when he received the scholarship funding in the early 2000s. This is plausible, Epstein’s 2008 conviction came later, and his ability to maintain a veneer of respectability amongst academics was well-documented. Yet the symbolic resonance remains inescapable: a man who vowed to work with Lucifer did, in fact, accept money from perhaps the closest thing to a living embodiment of evil that modern America has produced.

The question now confronting Nega and the Ethiopian government is whether historical ignorance absolves present responsibility. Should a Minister of Education, responsible for safeguarding children, remain in post whilst associated, however tangentially, with the world’s most notorious child sex trafficker?

The Epstein connection to Ethiopia becomes more disturbing when examined alongside recent developments in the country’s digital infrastructure. According to documents circulating amongst civil liberties advocates and technology researchers, the Ethiopian government has harvested DNA and biometric data from approximately five million children as part of a digital identity programme. The initiative, ostensibly designed to improve access to education and health services, has raised alarm bells amongst data protection experts.

What transforms this from a concerning privacy issue into a potential Epstein connection is the funding architecture. Investigative journalists have identified links between the biometric programme and funding arrangements involving entities connected to Epstein’s network of technology investments. Moreover, contracts with United Arab Emirates-based businesses, some of which appear in the periphery of the Epstein files, suggest a complex web of financial relationships that demand scrutiny.

The UAE connection is particularly troubling. Epstein maintained extensive business relationships in the Gulf states, where privacy laws and less stringent regulatory oversight provided convenient cover for questionable transactions. That Ethiopian government contracts for biometric data collection involving children might flow through similar channels raises urgent questions.

To be clear: there is no evidence of direct Epstein involvement in Ethiopia’s digital ID programme, which postdates his death. But the pattern is familiar developing nations desperate for technological advancement and foreign investment, complex funding arrangements involving offshore entities, and programmes that collect sensitive biological data from vulnerable populations. These are precisely the conditions that predators like Epstein exploited.

The collection of children’s DNA in particular evokes Epstein’s documented fascination with genetics and eugenics. His stated desire to “seed the human race” with his genetic material, his funding of research into human longevity and enhancement, and his connections to the transhumanist movement all suggest a man obsessed with biological manipulation on a grand scale.

For five million Ethiopian children to have their genetic information collected and stored in databases accessible to foreign contractors recalls the darkest elements of the Epstein files. What safeguards exist to prevent this data being sold, shared, or exploited? Who has access? What purposes, beyond the stated administrative ones, might it serve?

These questions acquire particular urgency given Ethiopia’s political instability and history of surveillance. The EPRDF government, which Nega spent years fighting, was notorious for its extensive security apparatus. The current government under Abiy Ahmed has shown little inclination toward greater transparency or respect for privacy rights. The Tigray conflict demonstrated the willingness to use technology, including telecommunications shutdowns, as weapons of war.

The majority of Ethiopian references in the released documents relate to market intelligence reports that Epstein commissioned from consultants, suggesting he had, or was considering, investments in the country. One confirmed investment was iCog Labs, an artificial intelligence research laboratory co-founded by Ben Goertzel, a prominent AI researcher, and Getnet Aseffa. The emails reveal Goertzel’s energetic cultivation of Epstein as a funder, with repeated assurances that “the guys” in Ethiopia were doing “amazing things”, the sort of vague enthusiasm that signals either genuine excitement or, more cynically, the massaging of a wealthy patron’s ego.

The iCog Labs connection is particularly relevant because it illustrates Epstein’s modus operandi in respectable society. By positioning himself as a patron of cutting-edge scientific research, he also funded Harvard University’s Programme for Evolutionary Dynamics and MIT’s Media Lab, Epstein purchased legitimacy. Scientists and academics who accepted his funding found themselves in an impossible position after his crimes became undeniable: return the money and acknowledge poor judgment, or keep it and face accusations of complicity.

Given Epstein’s documented interest in artificial intelligence, genetics, and human enhancement, his funding of an AI laboratory in Ethiopia takes on sinister overtones. Was this genuine philanthropic interest in African technological development, or was Ethiopia, with its limited regulatory oversight and desperate need for investment, an attractive location for research that might face ethical objections elsewhere?

More colourful, if less consequential, are the emails from Shaher Abdulhak, a Yemeni billionaire who died in 2020 and who addressed Epstein as “cousin brother” a term of endearment that sounds rather less charming in English than presumably intended. Abdulhak’s pitches to Epstein included the gloriously ill-conceived idea of creating an energy drink from khat (a stimulant plant chewed across the Horn of Africa and Yemen) mixed with lemon juice to compete with Red Bull.

More seriously, Abdulhak sought a $20 million loan for National Tobacco Enterprise Ethiopia, claiming his Sheba Investment Company owned 60% of it. Whether Epstein provided the funds remains unclear, though the brazen nature of the request speaks to the casual corruption that characterised elite interactions with the financier.

Buried in the correspondence is one email that transforms the Ethiopian connection from merely embarrassing to potentially sinister. In a message apparently sent to Abdulhak, Epstein mentioned that a “good friend who runs a modelling agency” believed there were “interesting girls” in Ethiopia.

In isolation, this phrase might be innocuous. In context, an email from a convicted sex offender who trafficked underage girls internationally, it becomes chilling. The term “interesting girls” echoes the euphemistic language Epstein and his associates used to discuss recruitment of victims. Modelling agencies, legitimate and otherwise, have long been identified as potential vectors for exploitation, offering young women from impoverished backgrounds promises of international careers whilst potentially exposing them to abuse.

Court documents from Epstein’s trials reveal a recruitment pattern that was both systematic and global. Victims were often approached through seemingly legitimate channels, modelling scouts, educational programmes, employment opportunities, before being groomed and trafficked. The operation relied on local recruiters who understood cultural contexts and could identify vulnerable targets.

Ethiopia, with its poverty, limited opportunities for young women, and a culture where deference to wealthy foreigners remains common, would have been an ideal hunting ground. That Epstein’s private jet received permission to land in Ethiopia, and that he mentioned visiting the country in correspondence with Steve Bannon, confirms he had physical presence there.

There is no direct evidence in the released documents that Epstein trafficked Ethiopian girls or engaged in criminal conduct within Ethiopia. But the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, particularly when so much of Epstein’s operation was deliberately hidden. Victims have described being trafficked to numerous countries, being flown on his private jets to locations where their passports were confiscated and they were kept in conditions resembling sexual slavery.

For Ethiopian law enforcement and civil society, these revelations demand investigation. If Epstein visited Ethiopia, whom did he meet? Were any young Ethiopian women recruited through his network? Did any of his associates, the modelling agency friend, for instance, operate in the country?

The reaction amongst Ethiopians and East Africans to the Epstein revelations has been complex, reflecting broader ambivalences about corruption, foreign influence, and accountability. On social media and in diaspora communities, there is genuine anger, not merely at Epstein, but at the Ethiopian individuals and institutions that enabled his presence.

The revelation about Berhanu Nega has proven particularly divisive. His supporters argue that accepting scholarship funding from Epstein over two decades ago, before the full extent of his crimes was publicly known, represents an unfortunate association rather than complicity. His critics counter that a man who vowed to work with Lucifer cannot now claim shock at having done precisely that.

The controversy has reignited broader questions about Nega’s judgment and principles. His acceptance of Eritrean citizenship to fight Ethiopia, making common cause with a regime at least as repressive as the EPRDF he opposed, already raised eyebrows. His seamless transition from armed insurgent to government minister suggested a pragmatism that borders on opportunism. The Epstein connection adds another troubling layer.

Yet there is also a strain of fatalism in East African responses, a sense that corruption and exploitation by wealthy foreigners is simply business as usual. Ethiopia has long experience with foreign actors from colonial powers to modern corporations and NGOs extracting value whilst leaving minimal benefit. In this reading, Epstein is merely the latest in a long line of predators, and focusing on him distracts from structural problems.

This cynicism, whilst understandable, is dangerous. It normalises exploitation and discourages the accountability mechanisms necessary to prevent future abuses. The global reckoning with Epstein’s crimes has demonstrated that exposure and prosecution are possible, albeit belatedly.

The convergence of Epstein’s eugenic obsessions with Ethiopia’s biometric data collection programme represents a thoroughly modern nightmare. Epstein’s interest in “improving” the human race through selective breeding was, at least in his expressed ambitions, constrained by biology how many women could he impregnate? But contemporary genetic databases and artificial intelligence offer possibilities that would have seemed like science fiction even a decade ago.

The five million Ethiopian children whose DNA has been harvested now exist as data points in systems whose full capabilities and access protocols remain opaque. In the wrong hands, such databases could enable precisely the sort of genetic manipulation and selection that Epstein fantasised about. Even in benign hands, the data represents extraordinary value pharmaceutical companies pay enormous sums for genetic information from diverse populations.

That contracts related to this programme involve UAE-based entities with peripheral connections to Epstein’s network may be coincidental. But given the pattern of Epstein’s investments, artificial intelligence in Ethiopia, genetic research globally, transhumanist projects, the possibility of intentional targeting cannot be dismissed.

The Ethiopian government’s response to questions about data security has been, at best, inadequate. Officials tout the benefits of digital identity whilst providing few details about encryption, access controls, or international data-sharing agreements. For a government that has demonstrated willingness to use technology repressively, and which employs a Minister of Education who received funding from a paedophile eugenicist, assurances ring hollow.

What the Epstein files ultimately reveal, whether the references are to Britain, Ethiopia, or the dozens of other jurisdictions touched by his crimes, is the banality of elite evil. Epstein was not a Bond villain operating from a secret lair. He was a fixture of respectable society, funding university departments, advising the wealthy, socialising with princes and presidents.

His crimes were enabled not by exotic conspiracy but by the mundane mechanisms of wealth and power: the assumption that rich men deserve privacy, the reluctance to ask awkward questions of generous donors, the willingness to overlook earlier convictions in exchange for access and funding.

For Ethiopia, the lessons are particularly stark. When Professor Berhanu Nega vowed to work with Lucifer himself to achieve his political aims, he articulated a principle, that ends justify means, which is fundamentally corrupting. Whether he knowingly accepted money from a monster is less important than his demonstrated willingness to do so. That such a man now oversees the education of Ethiopia’s children, whilst his government harvests their genetic data through murky international contracts, should alarm anyone concerned with child welfare.

The parallels with Britain’s experience are instructive. Lord Mandelson and Prince Andrew discovered that wealth, title, and power provide no immunity from public judgment when the crimes are sufficiently heinous and the association sufficiently close. Both have been effectively exiled from polite society, their legacies permanently tarnished.

Ethiopian figures connected to Epstein deserve similar scrutiny. The fact that Ethiopia is poorer than Britain, that its media infrastructure is weaker, that competing crises demand attention none of these absolve the moral responsibility to investigate and, where appropriate, demand accountability.

As more files are released and investigations continue, the full extent of Epstein’s Ethiopian connections may become clearer. For now, Ethiopians are left with uncomfortable questions, partial answers, and the knowledge that their country appeared on the radar of one of history’s most prolific sexual predators a man whose interests in genetics, artificial intelligence, and young girls may have found fertile ground in a nation desperate for investment and incapable of effective oversight.

If Berhanu Nega truly made a Faustian bargain, working with his Lucifer to achieve power, the devil has certainly had his due. The question now is whether Ethiopia’s children will pay the price for their elders’ moral compromises. With five million of them reduced to data points in databases connected, however tenuously, to a dead paedophile’s trans humanist fantasies, the answer may already be written in code we’ve yet to fully decrypt.

The Ethiopian Tribune continues to investigate the Epstein files and welcomes information from readers regarding any connections between Epstein’s network and activities in the Horn of Africa. We particularly seek information about the biometric data collection programme, its funding sources, and its international partnerships.

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Ethiopian Tribune editor

editor@ethiopiantribune.com

https://ethiopiantribune.com

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By Endex, Ethiopian Tribune editor in chief

In the Mexico district of central Addis Ababa, where concrete modernity jostles uneasily with imperial memory, the sale of the Wabi Shebelle Hotel marks more than a routine commercial transaction. Completed in 1960 and now acquired by Sheikh Mohammed Ali Al-Amoudi, the hotel’s transfer of ownership closes a long, unresolved chapter in Ethiopia’s uneasy relationship with private property, monarchy, and the state.

Wabi Shebelle was built at the height of Emperor Haile Selassie I’s modernising ambitions. The hotel was not merely another hospitality venture; it was conceived as a source of income for the children of Prince Mekonnen, the Emperor’s son who died tragically in a car accident. In that sense, the building was both personal and political, a blend of dynastic responsibility and developmental optimism. At the time, Addis Ababa was positioning itself as Africa’s diplomatic capital, and hotels were instruments of national projection as much as commercial assets.

The overthrow of the monarchy in 1974 severed that lineage abruptly. Under the Derg military regime, Wabi Shebelle, like much private property associated with the imperial family was nationalised. Ownership became ideological rather than legal, and value was subordinated to revolutionary symbolism. What had once been a private income-generating asset was absorbed into a command economy that neither invested in nor preserved it adequately.

The hotel’s eventual return to the heirs during the EPRDF era was part of a broader, halting attempt to reconcile socialist expropriation with market reform. Yet restitution did not bring closure. Like many returned assets, Wabi Shebelle remained caught between sentiment and strategy. The heirs inherited not only bricks and mortar, but also decades of deferred maintenance, regulatory uncertainty, and political sensitivity.

Several attempts to sell the property failed. At one point, a prospective buyer reportedly offered more than two billion birr, an extraordinary sum by Ethiopian standards, but negotiations collapsed. Later, the value of the property declined after part of its land was taken for Addis Ababa’s corridor-development programme, a reminder that urban renewal in Ethiopia often proceeds with scant regard for historical continuity or private ownership. Even a near-purchase by a private bank fell through once it became clear the building would be repurposed primarily for financial services rather than hospitality.

The eventual buyer, Sheikh Mohammed Ali Al-Amoudi, is no stranger to Ethiopia’s economic landscape. Through MIDROC Investment Group, he has become one of the country’s most consequential private investors, straddling mining, agriculture, manufacturing and hospitality. His acquisition of Wabi Shebelle therefore carries both commercial logic and symbolic weight. It reunites a historically charged asset with a figure who has often functioned as a bridge between Ethiopia’s political elites and global capital.

The transaction was signed by Prince Beede Mariam Mekonnen on behalf of the sellers, and by Mr Jamal Mohammed, Chief Executive Officer of MIDROC Group, for the buyer. While the sale price has not been publicly disclosed, the emphasis has been placed elsewhere: preservation. MIDROC has announced that the hotel will be renovated without altering its historic character, and will operate under the Marriott Autograph Collection, a brand that trades precisely on narrative, heritage and distinctiveness rather than uniform luxury.

This matters. Addis Ababa’s recent redevelopment has often favoured demolition over adaptation, erasing buildings that once anchored the city’s memory. To retain Wabi Shebelle’s architectural and historical identity while upgrading it to global standards is to make a quiet but consequential argument: that Ethiopia’s past need not be an obstacle to its commercial future.

For MIDROC, the renovation offers reputational as well as financial returns. For the Mekonnen family, it provides a dignified exit from an asset whose emotional significance has long outweighed its economic utility. And for Ethiopia more broadly, the sale underscores an unresolved truth: property in the country is never merely property. It is history made tangible, politics rendered in concrete.

That Wabi Shebelle has survived revolution, nationalisation, restitution and urban redesign is itself remarkable. That it will now be reborn as a high-end hotel within a global brand network suggests a partial reconciliation between Ethiopia’s imperial inheritance and its market-driven present. Yet the story also raises quieter questions. How many other restituted properties languish, unsold and underused, because legal certainty remains fragile? How often does development proceed by subtraction rather than preservation?

In the end, Wabi Shebelle’s sale is less about who owns the hotel today than about what Ethiopia chooses to do with its past. The building has outlived emperors and regimes alike. Its next chapter will test whether memory can be monetised without being erased and whether history, in Addis Ababa, can finally be treated as an asset rather than an inconvenience.

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By Ethiopian Tribune Columnist

In the cold heart of a London winter, two families, bound by thirteen years of friendship and the tender threads of community that bind our diaspora, found their lives shattered in an instant that lasted, as the defendant would later say, “within a second.”

The Old Bailey has spoken. Ashenafei Demissie, 53, a self-employed cabbie who worked the punishing rhythm of seven-day weeks to make his way in this city, walked free after a jury deliberated for just over five hours. He stood accused of causing the death of five-year-old Fareed Amir and grievous injury to his own son, Raphael, 12, when his electric Volkswagen ID.4 surged forward in a car park near London Bridge Station on that November day in 2022.

But this verdict raises questions that stretch far beyond the courtroom’s oak-paneled walls.

Demissie, speaking through an Amharic interpreter, our mother tongue carrying the weight of his testimony, insisted he never touched the accelerator. He said the car moved of its own volition, that even when he stamped the brake pedal “two, three times,” the vehicle continued its deadly trajectory, striking the two boys and crashing into five other cars before finally coming to rest.

“Uncle Ash,” little Fareed had called him. The boy had run to Demissie’s car window that afternoon, excited about his new clothes, eager for the lollipop he knew his honorary uncle might offer. These were not strangers. Fareed’s mother, Maryam Lemulu, and Demissie’s wife, Yodit Samuel, had stopped to chat as neighbors do, as our people do, building kinship in foreign soil.

The prosecution painted a familiar picture: a tired driver, a moment’s confusion, the accelerator mistaken for the brake. Metropolitan Police Senior Forensic Collision Investigator Mark Still testified that the car had no mechanical fault, that it could not move without driver input, that the vehicle was accelerating at maximum speed when it struck the other cars. He noted numerous documented cases of drivers pressing the accelerator while believing they’re pressing the brake.

Yet Mr. Still admitted something crucial: he possessed no expertise in the vehicle’s software, which remains, conveniently, a “trade secret.”

Here lies the uncomfortable truth of our age. We are asked to trust machines whose inner workings are hidden from us, to place our lives in the hands of technology whose decision-making processes remain opaque, proprietary, sealed away from scrutiny. When tragedy strikes, whom do we hold accountable, the driver or the algorithm?

For Fareed’s family, five members present in court throughout the proceedings, this verdict offers no comfort. Their boy, who called Demissie “Uncle,” who was excited about his new clothes, who died from a fractured skull as his mother carried him desperately to Guy’s Hospital, he is gone. For Raphael, who spent a month in hospital with two broken legs and still struggles to walk, the physical scars remain.

Judge Alexia Durran thanked Fareed’s family for their dignity. One wonders what choice they had. What dignity is left to a mother who watched her five-year-old die? What closure comes from a verdict that places blame nowhere, not fully on the man, not quite on the machine?

Demissie wept on the stand, describing Raphael’s continued difficulties standing, recounting how he tried to stop Fareed’s bleeding with his own jacket, speaking of “never ending pain.” His anguish appears genuine. But does a driver’s suffering absolve him? Can technology become a shield behind which human responsibility vanishes?

For those of us who have built our lives in this diaspora, working seven-day weeks as Demissie did, navigating systems and technologies we barely understand to feed our families, this case speaks to a deeper vulnerability. We drive cars whose computers think faster than we do. We work in an economy that demands we master tools whose secrets are kept from us.

The jury has decided Demissie did not act carelessly. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps the car did malfunction in ways the investigator could not detect. Perhaps the software, that jealously guarded trade secret, betrayed them all.

Or perhaps we have simply learned that in the age of electric vehicles and automated systems, tragedy can strike without anyone being held to account, leaving only grief and unanswered questions in its wake.

Little Fareed called him “Uncle Ash.” Now he calls no one. And the car park near London Bridge Station remains, a monument to the day when technology, testimony, and tragedy converged,and the law found it could blame neither man nor machine with certainty.

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A Conversation in Three Acts

By Ms. Leeshan Kuratey
Investigative Journalist, Writer, and Poet

Prologue: The Satirist as Scholar

Before we enter the café, before the Ethiopian coffee is poured and the conversation ignites, we must acknowledge the architect of our lens: Sacha Baron Cohen.

Baron Cohen is no mere comedian. A graduate of Christ’s College, Cambridge, where he read History, he is a student of power, prejudice, and performance. His thesis explored the role of Jewish involvement in the American Civil Rights Movement a scholarly inquiry into solidarity, oppression, and identity. This intellectual foundation informs every character he creates. Borat is not simply vulgar; he is a mirror held up to Western liberalism, exposing its conditional tolerance. General Aladeen is not merely absurd; he is a composite sketch of authoritarian vanity, drawn from Gaddafi, Saddam, and a dozen other dictators who confused statecraft with theatre.

Baron Cohen’s genius lies in satirical anthropology. He does not mock from a distance; he embeds himself, hugs his subjects, kisses their cheeks, and watches them reveal their prejudices, their discomfort, their complicity. His characters are traps, disarming, ridiculous, invasive, designed to make the powerful forget the camera is rolling.

It is through this lens, educated, sharp, unforgiving, that we now turn to Abiy Ahmed Ali: Nobel laureate, PhD holder, former intelligence officer, moderniser of Addis Ababa, and practitioner of what we might call tactile diplomacy. If Baron Cohen’s satire is a scalpel, let us use it to dissect Ethiopia’s most visible, most photogenic, most polarising leader.

Act I: The Setting

A London café, the kind where Ethiopian intellectuals meet European analysts and the coffee costs more than it should. Two figures sit across from one another: a historian and a political satirist. They are soon joined by a third voice an Ethiopian-Canadian woman, in town for a diaspora conference, her suitcase still by the door.

The subject: Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed.

But they will not analyse him through the usual frameworks of political science or diplomatic protocol. Instead, they choose satire as their scalpel, and Sacha Baron Cohen as their guide. Specifically, they invoke two of his most iconic creations: Borat Sagdiyev, the hugger and personal-space invader from Kazakhstan, and General Aladeen, the dictator of Wadiya, who confused his nation with his wardrobe.

The question they pose: Is Abiy Borat, disarming the world with intimacy? Or is he Aladeen, staging Ethiopia as his personal theatre?

Or, most disturbingly, is he both?

Act II: The Hugger

Historian:
“Let us begin with the hugs. Abiy’s embrace of Prime Minister Modi in Addis, the hand-holding, the arm around the shoulder, the guided palace tours, it is profoundly Borat-esque. Not in crudeness, but in deliberate invasion of personal space. Borat hugs to unsettle, to expose. Abiy hugs to disarm, to project intimacy where protocol demands distance. It is theatre, and theatre, as we know, is politics.”

Satirist:
“Precisely. Baron Cohen’s characters, Borat, Brüno, operate by compressing social distance. They sniff, kiss, embrace, and force their subjects into positions of awkward complicity. The subject must either recoil, revealing prejudice, or reciprocate, revealing desperation. Abiy’s hugs function similarly. They collapse diplomatic formality. The photograph becomes the policy. The hug is the communiqué. It is absurd, yes, but absurdity is devastatingly effective in the age of images.”

Historian:
“Yet there is risk. In diplomacy, intimacy can be misread. What is intended as warmth may be perceived as subservience or worse, as brown-nosing. Protocol exists precisely to prevent such misinterpretation. Abiy weaponises protocol by shattering it: he drives Modi himself, hosts impromptu coffee ceremonies in the palace courtyard, clasps hands in front of cameras. It is charming, undoubtedly. But charm in diplomacy is also dangerous. It personalises what should remain institutional.”

Satirist:
“And yet, Baron Cohen would argue that breaking protocol is the point. Borat’s handshake that lingers too long, his kiss that lands too close to the lips, these are not accidents. They are designed to make the powerful forget themselves, to reveal their discomfort or their complicity. Abiy’s hugs may serve the same function: they make Modi, and the world, forget the script. In that moment of disarmed intimacy, Ethiopia is no longer a supplicant. It is a host, a friend, an equal.”

Act III: The Dictator

Satirist:
“Now let us turn to the other Baron Cohen archetype: General Aladeen. The palace receptions, the choreographed museum tours, the curated optics of Abiy as host, chauffeur, tour guide, these are Aladeen-esque. The leader is not merely head of government; he is the embodiment of the nation. He does not delegate; he performs. Every handshake is a headline. Every photograph is a policy document.”

Historian:
“Exactly. Recall Aladeen’s UN speech, where he ‘praises’ dictatorship by listing freedoms Americans take for granted, the freedom to be spied upon, the freedom to be exploited by corporations. It is satire, and the audience laughs. But Abiy’s palace pomp is not satire. It risks becoming parody. When the leader monopolises every frame, when every state visit is choreographed around his personal charisma, the line between authority and vanity blurs dangerously.”

Satirist:
“Yet we must admit: it works. The images of Abiy and Modi hugging, holding hands, touring the new Addis parks and science museums, they project Ethiopia as hospitable, modern, confident. They reset the international narrative from ‘conflict-ridden Horn of Africa’ to ‘dynamic emerging economy.’ In that sense, Abiy is both Borat and Aladeen: intimacy and grandeur, disarmament and spectacle, hug and throne.”

Act IV: The Diaspora Voice

Ethiopian-Canadian Woman:
“Gentlemen, if I may, you speak of hugs and pomp as though they exist in a vacuum. But they do not. Abiy has built roads, parks, museums. He has modernised Addis, created jobs, invested in science and technology. For the diaspora, these are not ‘optics.’ They are tangible. We see progress. We see a leader unafraid to embrace the world, literally and figuratively. Your satire is clever, but it risks dismissing achievement as mere performance.”

Historian:
“A fair point. Yet progress must be weighed against suppression, censorship, the centralisation of power. The hug may build rapport, but it cannot substitute for policy. Nor can it erase the concerns of those who see authoritarian tendencies beneath the charm.”

Satirist:
“And yet, as Borat would say: ‘Great success!’ The optics do matter. The diaspora sees the parks, the museums, the jobs. The international community sees the hugs, the handshakes, the palace pomp. Both are narratives, and in the 21st century, narratives are power. Abiy understands this. Whether you call it diplomacy or influencer marketing, the man has mastered the medium.”

Act V: The Segette Phenomenon

Historian:
“Let us introduce a third voice: Adonay, the Ethiopian TikToker, and his viral concept of ሰግጥ Segette, the exaggerated gesture, the performative dance, the clip designed for maximum diaspora consumption. Abiy’s hugs are Segette ሰግጥ. They are diplomacy as TikTok: designed for virality, for screenshots, for WhatsApp forwards among Ethiopians in Dubai, Toronto, and Washington.”

Satirist:
“Indeed. Segette ሰግጥ-ፈምስ is the Boratisation of diplomacy. It is the deliberate exaggeration of intimacy, the parody of protocol, the weaponisation of optics. Abiy is not merely hugging Modi; he is creating content. The hug is a TikTok clip. The palace pomp is an Instagram reel. The car ride through Addis is a YouTube vlog. It is diplomacy as influencer marketing, and it is devastatingly effective.”

Ethiopian-Canadian Woman:
“And why shouldn’t it be? If the world consumes politics through clips and memes, then let Ethiopia play the game. Abiy’s hugs are not brown-nosing; they are branding. They are Ethiopia’s entry into the global marketplace of images. And in that marketplace, visibility is power.”

Act VI: Costs and Benefits

Historian:
“Let us assess. The benefits: warmth, visibility, narrative reset, diaspora pride, international engagement. The costs: misinterpretation, protocol breach, security risk, accusations of vanity or subservience. The balance is delicate. Too much Borat, and one becomes absurd. Too much Dictator, and one becomes oppressive. The art lies in calibration.”

Satirist:
“Exactly. Borat disarms. Dictator commands. Abiy must calibrate between the two. Hug enough to humanise, stage enough to centralise. The danger is in excess. Brown-nosing is the accusation when intimacy outruns substance. Vanity is the accusation when pomp outruns policy.”

Ethiopian-Canadian Woman:
“But substance does exist. The jobs, the projects, the infrastructure , they are real. The optics amplify the substance. Without optics, substance is ignored. Without substance, optics are hollow. Abiy provides both. That, gentlemen, is his achievement.”

Act VII: The Verdict

Historian:
“So, is Abiy Borat or Baron Cohen? Dictator or democrat? Hugger or statesman?”

Satirist:
“He is all of them. He is Borat in intimacy, Aladeen in pomp, Baron Cohen in intellect , a Cambridge-trained satirist would recognise the performance for what it is. Abiy weaponises protocol, sometimes brilliantly, sometimes recklessly. He is theatre, and theatre, we must remember, is politics.”

Ethiopian-Canadian Woman:
“And he is a builder. A moderniser. A leader who has given the diaspora something to point to with pride. The hugs are not invasions; they are embraces. The pomp is not vanity; it is national projection. If you see only parody, you miss the substance beneath.”

Act VIII: The Spectator’s Reflection

The café empties. The Ethiopian-Canadian woman catches her flight. The historian and satirist linger over cold coffee.

Abiy Ahmed remains a paradox: Nobel laureate and former spymaster, hugger and centraliser, Borat and Aladeen. His diplomacy is intimacy and spectacle. His politics are theatre and substance.

The satire is educative: it reveals how protocol can be weaponised, despised, misused, or transcended. The analysis is political: it weighs costs against benefits. The reflection is realistic: it acknowledges both progress and peril.

In the end, Abiy is not merely a Prime Minister. He is a performer on the global stage, playing roles scripted by history, satire, and social media. Whether the world laughs, applauds, or recoils depends not only on his performance , but on whether we, the audience, are willing to see beyond the hug.

Sacha Baron Cohen once said: “Borat essentially works as a tool. The tool is to bring out the prejudices in people.” Perhaps Abiy Ahmed works as a similar tool, not to expose prejudice, but to expose assumption. The assumption that African leaders cannot be modern. The assumption that diplomacy must be cold. The assumption that intimacy equals weakness.

Whether that makes him Borat, Aladeen, or something entirely new — that, dear reader, is for history to decide.

Disclaimer

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, Ms. Leeshan Kuratey, and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any publication, organisation, or institution. This piece is a work of satirical and political commentary, intended to provoke thought and dialogue regarding contemporary Ethiopian politics and diplomacy. Any characterizations of individuals or events are presented through the lens of satire and analytical critique. References to Sacha Baron Cohen’s characters are used as literary and analytical devices and are not intended to diminish or misrepresent the achievements or policies of any individual mentioned. Readers are encouraged to engage critically with the content and form their own informed opinions.

About Post Author

Ethiopian Tribune editor

editor@ethiopiantribune.com

https://ethiopiantribune.com

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By E Frashie Ethiopian Tribune columnist

ADDIS ABABA—Last week, Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed addressed the nation with what government officials framed as a milestone announcement: the National Dialogue Commission has nearly completed its agenda-gathering phase, a process spanning over 300 districts and engaging thousands of Ethiopians. Yet within the same breath, the Prime Minister made a striking claim that encapsulates the deep polarisation surrounding this initiative. He alleged that Ethiopian opposition to the commission’s recent London consultation included not only domestic critics but also Eritreans, though he provided no validated intelligence to substantiate this assertion.

The London event itself became a theatre of Ethiopia’s broader contradictions. Ambassador Mehmud Drir, the commission’s representative, found himself in the unusual position of serving as translator for an Oromo security firm participant who thanked him for facilitating venue security. Government opponents have since characterised the gathering as “a national dialogue under siege by Oromo extremists,” praising participants who “remained defiant” despite alleged threats. Yet critics point to a different narrative: that participants used the platform to oppose the ongoing conflict in Amhara, exposing what they see as the commission’s fundamental partiality rather than its neutrality dialogue under siege.

These competing accounts of a single event heroic perseverance versus manufactured victimhood, genuine grassroots participation versus orchestrated government theatre, illustrate why Ethiopia’s National Dialogue Commission finds itself trapped in a paradox that mirrors the country’s broader crisis: everyone agrees dialogue is necessary, yet hardly anyone believes the current process can deliver it.

The commission’s predicament is not merely bureaucratic. It represents a fundamental question about political transformation in deeply divided societies: can conversation precede peace, or must peace precede conversation? As Ethiopia’s conflicts continue to smoulder in Tigray, Oromia, and Amhara, this question has moved from philosophical abstraction to urgent political reality, with consequences that will reverberate far beyond the Horn of Africa.

This debate reached a critical juncture recently through two contrasting public forums that reveal not merely disagreement over tactics but fundamentally opposed understandings of Ethiopia’s crisis. At Chatham House in London, a session distinct from the government-organised diaspora consultation, leading analysts delivered withering critiques of the commission’s fundamental structure and timing. Meanwhile, on Ethiopian state television EBC, government officials and academic supporters presented a more optimistic assessment of progress and potential.

The EBC broadcast featured Ambassador Mehmud Drir alongside Dr Roba Petros, a peace and development studies researcher, Emeritus Professor Alemayehu Gebremariam, a political science scholar and legal counsel, and Dr Teshale Tegene, a communication and public relations lecturer. The discussion provided detailed insight into the dialogue process, its philosophical foundations, and the practical challenges of implementation. Dr Teshale, notably, raised concerns about quality control of collected agendas and the difficulty of overcoming entrenched historical narratives of oppressor and oppressed, beneficiary and victim. The panel’s focus on “how” to conduct the dialogue, the role of citizens, intellectuals, and media, reflected a premise that the process itself is fundamentally sound, requiring only better implementation.

Yet this official optimism crashes against a wall of analytical scepticism articulated most forcefully at the separate Chatham House discussion titled “How to Craft a Credible and Inclusive Implementation Process for the National Dialogue in Ethiopia.” The contrast in framing is itself revealing: where EBC’s discussion presumed credibility and explored implementation, Chatham House questioned whether credibility exists at all and what preconditions might create it.

Mastewal Taddese Terefe, a lawyer and researcher based in New York City, brought formidable credentials and practical experience to her critique. A graduate of New York University School of Law with a Master of Public Policy from Oxford, she served as a legal fellow at the Federal Attorney General’s Office in Addis Ababa from 2018 to 2019, directly supporting the Ethiopian government’s justice reform efforts. Her subsequent work providing legal and policy analyses for organisations including the International Development Law Organization and the World Bank Group gave her comparative perspective on governance reform across multiple contexts. This background, including direct experience working within Ethiopian government institutions, lends particular weight to her assessment that the National Dialogue Commission currently holds “a definite no” for meaningful promise.

Mastewal’s critique focuses on what she characterises as the commission’s original sin: its exclusionary formation. Established by a parliament where the ruling Prosperity Party commands over 96 per cent of seats, with commissioners vetted and approved by this same legislature, the structure creates what she terms a “weaponised institution” one designed to provide democratic legitimacy whilst maintaining regime control. The pattern, she argues, is depressingly familiar across authoritarian contexts: announce a grand initiative with democratic rhetoric, staff it with individuals who pose no threat to power, allow it to address peripheral concerns whilst avoiding core questions of authority, then cite its existence as evidence of reform when facing international pressure. Ethiopia’s history offers ample precedent, from the Derg’s controlled mass organisations to the EPRDF’s carefully managed civil society space.

Her prescription differs markedly from calls for outright postponement. Instead, she presents the commission with an ultimatum: transform itself through dramatic internal reform or accept irrelevance. Her four non-negotiable preconditions, guarantee nationwide ceasefire, end humanitarian blockades, include all armed groups even those designated as terrorists, and establish genuine independence from executive control should not be topics for future discussion but immediate demands the commission itself champions. This approach embodies what might be called transformative institutionalism: the belief that institutions can earn legitimacy through courageous action rather than formal legal status. If the commission publicly demanded these preconditions, challenging the very government that created it, this would constitute proof of independence more convincing than any constitutional provision. The courage to bite the hand that feeds becomes the foundation for credibility amongst those currently boycotting.

Dr Goitom Gebreluel offers perhaps the most withering assessment at the same Chatham House forum. Ethiopia, he argues, suffers from what he terms “first-order problems” active insurgencies, compromised territorial control, mass displacement, and what credible reports describe as ethnic cleansing. These are not policy disagreements amenable to deliberation but existential challenges to the state’s basic functions. “The core demands of the opposition are power sharing and security guarantees,” Dr Goitom states bluntly. “The current dialogue, limited to discussions, is ill-equipped to meet these demands.”

His prescription is stark: postpone the entire exercise and replace it with third-party mediation focused on establishing the security preconditions:- ceasefires, humanitarian access, political prisoner releases that would make genuine dialogue possible. The current approach, he warns, wastes scarce political capital whilst deepening the very cynicism it seeks to overcome. Each failed consultation, each boycott by major opposition groups, each continuation of violence during the dialogue process reinforces the perception that peaceful political transformation is impossible, making future reconciliation efforts exponentially more difficult.

This analysis finds resonance in the recent history of peace processes. Northern Ireland’s Good Friday Agreement succeeded only after decades of preparatory work establishing basic security arrangements and building trust through incremental confidence-building measures. South Africa’s negotiated transition required external facilitation and explicit security guarantees that protected all parties from the consequences of their participation. The precedents suggest that rushing to comprehensive dialogue whilst armed groups still control territory and civilians still face violence may be not merely premature but actively counterproductive.

The divergence between the Chatham House analytical session and both the EBC discussion and the government-organised London diaspora consultation is instructive. The EBC panel, whilst including academic critique from Dr Teshale regarding historical narratives and media responsibility, operated within parameters that presumed the dialogue’s fundamental legitimacy. Questions focused on optimising implementation rather than interrogating foundational premises. The absence of organised political opposition voices or civil society representatives known for opposing the current framing meant the discussion remained, as one analysis noted, focused on “how” rather than “if” how to conduct the dialogue successfully rather than whether the commission as constituted can succeed at all.

Similarly, the London diaspora event, where Ambassador Mehmud reportedly congratulated the a-fan Oromo speaker who facilitated security personnel for the venue and translated that for participants, appears to have attracted primarily government supporters or at least those willing to engage within the commission’s framework. The Prime Minister’s characterisation of opposition as including Eritreans, whilst unsubstantiated, suggests an attempt to delegitimise domestic critics by associating them with foreign interference. Yet the fact that participants felt compelled to express grievances about the Amhara conflict even within this controlled setting hints at the depth of dissatisfaction that even sympathetic audiences harbour.

This reflects broader patterns in Ethiopian state media, which has historically shown bias towards federal government narratives. Whilst the EBC panel was not simply promotional acknowledging challenges in agenda quality control and the difficulty of bridging deep historical divisions, it lacked the voices that could offer fundamental challenge to the process itself. Major opposition groups including the Oromo Liberation Front and Oromo Federalist Congress refuse participation, labelling the commission a “government project.” Their perspective, essential for truly balanced assessment, was absent from both the state television discussion and the London diaspora consultation.

The Chatham House forum, by contrast, centred precisely these critical perspectives. Both Mastewal and Dr Goitom operated from the premise that the commission’s current structure and political context render it incapable of achieving stated objectives. Their debate concerned not whether the process is flawed but what remedies might salvage it postponement for external mediation versus radical internal transformation. This represents a fundamentally different conversation, one that questions legitimacy rather than presuming it.

The official response emphasises context and complexity. No peace process begins with perfect conditions, proponents argue. Northern Ireland’s dialogue occurred alongside continuing violence. Colombia’s peace talks with FARC proceeded whilst armed conflict continued. The act of dialogue itself creates constituencies for peace, gradually shifting incentives away from violence even when security remains imperfect. Waiting for ideal conditions means waiting forever, allowing conflicts to deepen and grievances to multiply. From this perspective, the critics demand an impossible standard whilst offering no realistic pathway to achieve it, external mediators cannot materialise overnight, and opposition groups might use any postponement simply to consolidate military positions.

There is genuine force to this counter-argument. Ethiopia’s conflicts are not frozen, awaiting resolution at some optimal future moment. They are active, escalating, generating new atrocities and grievances daily. The humanitarian toll grows whilst political actors debate procedural questions. The Prime Minister’s announcement that agenda-gathering nears completion represents, from the government’s perspective, tangible progress despite extraordinary obstacles. Hundreds of civil society organisations, religious institutions, and community groups are engaging with the current process despite its imperfections, and their courage deserves recognition rather than dismissal as regime collaboration.

Yet acknowledging the costs of delay does not negate the critics’ core insight: legitimacy matters, and legitimacy cannot be proclaimed into existence. When the Oromo Liberation Front, Oromo Federalist Congress, and numerous smaller parties refuse participation, they are not merely being obstructionist. They are responding rationally to an institution whose structural dependence on the ruling party makes genuine independence implausible. When armed groups designated as terrorists are excluded whilst the government claims inclusive dialogue, this is not peripheral detail but fundamental contradiction. When participants at a government-organised event feel compelled to express grievances about ongoing conflict in Amhara described by supporters as defiance under siege, by critics as exposure of the commission’s partiality, it suggests the process has not created the safe political space necessary for honest conversation.

The international community’s role in this debate remains contested but consequential. Western governments and multilateral organisations have generally adopted cautious endorsement welcoming the dialogue, encouraging broader participation, providing financial support whilst avoiding direct criticism of structural flaws. This diplomatic approach is understandable but potentially complicit. By treating the commission as legitimate regardless of its performance on inclusivity and independence, external actors may inadvertently enable precisely the “weaponised institution” dynamic that Mastewal identifies. The provision of resources and diplomatic validation without clear conditionality tied to measurable progress on preconditions reduces incentives for genuine reform.

A more constructive international engagement might involve honest brokerage that acknowledges failures alongside successes, graduated support calibrated to progress on specific benchmarks, ceasefire verification, humanitarian access improvements, opposition participation, and readiness to facilitate external mediation if domestic processes prove inadequate. The uncomfortable truth is that sustained international pressure, whilst resented as interference, has historically been essential to successful transitions in comparable contexts. South Africa’s negotiations occurred under sustained external scrutiny. Colombia’s peace process received crucial support and verification from international observers. The fiction that purely domestic processes operating without external accountability can succeed in deeply polarised contexts has little empirical support.

Perhaps the deepest wisdom lies in recognising that all parties to this debate are partially correct. The government officials and academic supporters on EBC are right that Ethiopia cannot afford indefinite postponement whilst conflicts escalate, and that dialogue processes can themselves create momentum for peace. Dr Roba Petros and Professor Alemayehu’s contributions highlighted comparative examples and philosophical foundations that demonstrate serious intellectual engagement with the dialogue’s potential. The participants in London who braved alleged threats to engage with the process deserve acknowledgement for their courage, whatever one thinks of the commission’s structure.

Yet the critics at Chatham House are equally right that current conditions make genuine dialogue nearly impossible and that structural flaws in the commission’s formation undermine its credibility. Mastewal’s insider experience working within Ethiopian government institutions gives particular credibility to her assessment of how institutions can be weaponised whilst maintaining democratic appearances. Dr Goitom is right that attempting comprehensive dialogue before establishing minimal security wastes political capital and deepens cynicism. The fact that even government-supportive participants at the London event felt compelled to express grievances about ongoing conflict suggests the process has not yet created conditions for the open, honest conversation its architects envisioned.

The synthesis of these partial truths requires precisely the political humility and willingness to embrace complexity that authoritarian politics systematically eliminates. What Ethiopia requires is neither blind faith in process nor counsel of perfection on preconditions, but something more difficult: conditional proceeding. The commission must continue whilst simultaneously transforming its mission from consultation facilitator to precondition champion, using its platform to demand ceasefires, humanitarian access, and inclusive participation. The government must demonstrate political will through concrete actions, prisoner releases, ceasefire orders, media openings that allow critical voices equal platform alongside supportive ones, not merely rhetorical commitments or unsubstantiated allegations about foreign interference.

Opposition groups must reciprocate good faith reforms with genuine engagement rather than indefinitely moving goalposts. But the burden of proof lies primarily with the commission and the government that created it. The Prime Minister’s unsubstantiated claim about Eritrean involvement in London opposition, rather than strengthening the commission’s position, reinforces critics’ concerns about a government more interested in delegitimising dissent than addressing its root causes. Ambassador Mehmud’s dual role as commission representative and security facilitator at diaspora events, whilst perhaps practically necessary, symbolises the uncomfortable reality that a process claiming national inclusivity requires security arrangements to protect participants from fellow Ethiopians.

The stakes extend far beyond Ethiopia. In an era when authoritarianism resurges globally and many nations face challenges of managing diversity, Ethiopia’s experience will influence regional and global debates about conflict resolution and democratic development in multi-ethnic contexts. If Ethiopia succeeds in negotiating peaceful transformation through inclusive dialogue, it provides a model for other divided societies. If it fails, if violence continues, the state fragments, or authoritarian consolidation proceeds under democratic pretence, the lesson drawn will be that force, not dialogue, determines outcomes in contexts of profound division.

The commission, having nearly completed its agenda-gathering phase according to the Prime Minister, now faces its moment of truth. Will it proceed to drafting recommendations based on consultations conducted primarily amongst government supporters and civil society willing to work within existing parameters? Or will it heed the calls from Mastewal and others to pause, confront its legitimacy deficit, and champion the preconditions necessary for genuinely inclusive dialogue? The gap between the EBC panel’s focus on implementation and the Chatham House forum’s questioning of legitimacy, between the London diaspora event’s managed participation and the broader opposition’s boycott, represents not merely different tactical assessments but incompatible visions of what constitutes legitimate political process in a fractured state.

The nation watches, caught between the cautious optimism of state media and the structural pessimism of external critics, wondering whether this pursuit of consensus will ultimately bridge divisions or deepen them. The answer will depend less on the elegance of constitutional amendments or policy documents than on whether Ethiopia’s political leaders can summon the courage to embrace uncertainty, accept compromise, and prioritise national survival over factional advantage. Whether that possibility remains alive depends on choices being made, or deferred, in Addis Ababa today, and on whether allegations of foreign interference, claims of dialogue under siege, and managed consultations can somehow transform into the genuine national conversation Ethiopia desperately needs before its conflicts render all dialogue impossible.

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

About Post Author

Ethiopian Tribune editor

editor@ethiopiantribune.com

https://ethiopiantribune.com

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By Ethiopian Tribune chief editor.

It was a crisp October morning in London, one of those days where democracy feels vaguely possible, until one attends an Ethiopian National Dialogue Commission (ENDC) session. The Park Plaza Victoria, a venue known for hosting weddings, corporate retreats, and now political theatre, was the chosen stage for what officials described as a “historic moment of civic engagement.” Historic indeed: rarely has a dialogue begun with such a chorus of slogans, interruptions, and diplomatic sarcasm.

The ENDC, tasked with healing Ethiopia’s fractured political soul, arrived in London on 11 October 2025 to collect agenda items from the diaspora. According to its official website, it had already achieved “100% reach in Oromia” and “265 districts in Amhara” a logistical miracle, considering both regions are currently under military siege. One might ask how one dialogues with districts under drone fire, but such questions are considered impolite in diplomatic circles.

Outside the venue, hundreds of protesters gathered, many from the Amhara diaspora, waving placards that read “Stop Amhara Genocide” and “Abiy Ahmed is a killer.” According to Borkena News (21 August 2025), this was part of a Europe-wide mobilisation against what protesters describe as systematic violence in the Amhara region. Inside, the mood was less revolutionary and more theatrical. The session was interrupted not once, not twice, but three times, each time by diaspora activists who apparently mistook the event for an actual dialogue.

One such interruption came from Fitsum, a community leader from Birmingham, who asked the commissioners why they were dialoguing while the country was collapsing. “Shouldn’t stopping the war come before collecting agenda items?” he asked, presumably under the mistaken impression that logic had a seat at the table. His question was met with the kind of silence usually reserved for awkward family dinners.

Enter Ambassador Mohammed Dirir, a man fluent in six languages but apparently deaf to the seventh, the language of peace. When asked why the Commission excluded the protesters outside, Dirir replied that they were “only here to strengthen their asylum cases.” This remark, delivered with the finesse of a man who once wept on camera while praising Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, was not well received. Ethio Forum’s video analysis, “Mohammed Dirir’s Weeping and Mockery,” recalled Dirir’s Khartoum press conference in 2012 E.C., where he cried in Arabic and then again in Amharic, leading the channel to mock him as “crying by appointment and for translation.”

The irony was not lost on the diaspora. Here was a man who could cry in two languages but could not hear the cries of exiled Ethiopians. The Commission’s stated values “Inclusivity, Clarity, Credibility, Neutrality” were recited like a prayer, even as protesters were dismissed as asylum opportunists. One might call it cognitive dissonance; others might call it policy.

Anchor Media’s coverage added further spice to the stew. Their video, “The Commission’s Encounter with Protest,” documented the three interruptions and noted that some commissioners appeared exhausted, with one allegedly falling asleep. The video suggested that the officials were present not to engage, but to “fill their bellies” a metaphor that, while crude, may be the most accurate summary of the day’s proceedings.

The Commission’s alleged purpose, according to both Ethio Forum and Anchor Media, is not national healing but political survival. The real agenda? Facilitating Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s transition from parliamentary leader to President under a new constitution. Ethio Forum cited Abiy’s own remarks about needing “his own constitution,” viewing the current one as a “mere game of letters.” One assumes Scrabble is now a governance model.

The diaspora, however, was not playing games. Their slogans were not asylum strategies but soul-songs of a people denied peace. And beneath the chants, another rhythm pulsed: Pamfalon’s “Hagere (ድል ለ democracy)”, a sonic manifesto that has become the unofficial anthem of diaspora defiance. The song samples four voices Malcolm X, Abiy Ahmed, Eskinder Nega, and Jawar Mohammed creating a five-part fugue of resistance

Malcolm X universalises the struggle, reminding Ethiopians that justice is not granted but seized. Abiy’s early promises of reform are sampled ironically, a haunting echo of betrayed hope. Eskinder Nega delivers the moral imperative, speaking of justice, truth, and unity. Jawar Mohammed warns of internal decay, cautioning against tyranny cloaked in reform. And Pamfalon fuses it all into a rhythmic cry for youth to rise and reclaim.

“Dil” is not just victory. It is memory, mourning, and mobilisation.

As Ambassador Dirir mocked protesters for seeking asylum, the song’s message rang louder: they seek asylum because the state failed to offer safety. They chant because silence is complicity. They sing because the Constitution has become a game of letters, not a contract of dignity.

And while the ENDC commissioners were busy dodging questions and sipping diplomatic coffee, the British police were outside, performing their own version of crowd control one that felt less like public safety and more like a tutorial in institutional paranoia.

As I filmed the protestors diaspora voices chanting against genocide and repression I was met not with courtesy, but with suspicion. Officers loomed, questioned, and hovered, as if journalism were a crime and tripods were weapons. It was a scene familiar to anyone who’s watched Auditing Britain, the YouTube channel run by Reda Bouadi-Clifton, whose viral encounters with UK police have exposed a pattern of unlawful stops, intimidation, and rights violations. His videos reveal officers who bend the law with the flexibility of yoga instructors except with less grace and more hostility.

The irony, of course, is that while Ethiopia’s commissioners were being accused of suppressing dissent, British policing itself has been under fire for institutional racism and misogyny. A recent BBC investigation laid bare the rot within the ranks: discriminatory practices, sexist cultures, and a tendency to treat accountability as optional. One might say the Met Police and the ENDC have more in common than either would care to admit both allergic to scrutiny, both fluent in deflection.

So there I was, camera in hand, documenting a protest against authoritarianism, while being gently nudged by the local enforcers of democracy. It was a moment of transnational irony: the Ethiopian state represses dissent with arrests; the British state does it with polite harassment and paperwork.

And yet, amid the interruptions, slogans, and diplomatic sarcasm, one must pause to offer credit where it’s due. Ambassador H.E. Biruk Mekonnen and his team, including the ever-graceful deputy, managed to host the London ENDC session with a level of elegance that would make Buckingham Palace blush. The coffee was hot, the chairs were symmetrical, and even the protesters, those unruly diaspora truth-tellers, were allowed into the hall. Yes, allowed, despite their vocal opposition to the government’s war in Amhara. It was a rare moment of civility in a political landscape better known for detentions than decorum.

Among the attendees were Oromo activists, including veterans of the infamous embassy flag swap of 2020, when protesters stormed the Ethiopian embassy in London and replaced the national flag with that of the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF).

The footage, recorded by The Ethiopian Tribune on 3 July 2020, shows a crowd demanding justice for slain singer and activist Hachalu Hundessa.

Five years later, some of those same voices were inside the ENDC hall, not to swap flags, but to demand recognition. One Kerro representative recounted how his relatives had spent over nine years in prison for the crime of possessing an OLF flag. “It’s not the state flag,” he clarified, “but it is our symbol. Our blood is in that cloth.”

The debate over flags, it turns out, is not just about vexillology, it’s about memory, identity, and the right to mourn without being criminalised. The OLF flag, demonised by Ethiopian authorities and now state of Oromiya replaced for the Egyptian tricolour, but they requested OLF flag presented not as a threat, but as a symbolic representation of Oromiya’s suffering and resilience.

The Commission, to its credit, listened. Or at least nodded politely. Whether this nod translates into policy remains to be seen, but for a moment, the hall was not just a stage, it was a forum.

Of course, no Ethiopian political gathering would be complete without a parade of ghosts. Ambassador Biruk’s team extended invitations not only to diaspora activists and community leaders, but also to a who’s who of yesteryear’s regime operatives. Former Dergue diplomats, retired military personnel, and even a few ex-spies were spotted sipping coffee and nodding solemnly, presumably reminiscing about the good old days of state surveillance and ideological purity.

Religious leaders were also invited though conspicuously absent were representatives of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, the institution that once crowned emperors and now struggles to get a seat at the table. Perhaps the Commission felt that the Church’s centuries of theological nuance might interfere with the streamlined messaging of corridor development and constitutional rebranding.

One lone female participant, armed with more clarity than the entire panel, noted that most attendees hadn’t done their homework. “They don’t even know what the ENDC is supposed to do,” she whiskered, as another speaker launched into a five-minute Q&A.

Indeed, when handed the microphone, many attendees treated their five minutes not as an opportunity to engage with Ethiopia’s political crisis, but as a chance to audition for a memoir. Instead of probing the ENDC’s mandate or challenging its metrics, they waxed lyrical about their personal achievements, diplomatic escapades, and corridor development theories that bore no relevance to the Commission’s mission. One gentleman recounted his role in a regional infrastructure project with the solemnity of a Nobel laureate, while another praised the government’s urban landscaping as if potholes were a form of reconciliation. The result was less a dialogue and more a talent show, minus the talent. And as the clock ticked, the silence of former Ginbot Seven leaders loomed large, their revolutionary pasts now reduced to polite nods and zipped lips, as if someone had quietly slipped them a gagging order with the coffee.

Not all commissioners, however, were there to serve the Prime Minister’s constitutional ambitions like loyal scribes in a palace court. Ambassador Dirir, for instance, demonstrated impressive linguistic dexterity, translating Afan Oromo commentary into Amharic with the flair of a seasoned diplomat. But his sarcasm, directed at former diplomats and protesters, betrayed his true role: not as a seeker of inclusion, but as a loyal commissioner serving his master’s voice. His remarks were less about dialogue and more about damage control.

In fairness, the other four commissioners offered a different tone, one that suggested a flicker of independence from the invisible hands of power. Their public statements, while cautious, reflected a genuine desire to listen, not just to perform.

Most notably, Deputy Chief Commissioner Hiroute Gebreselassie, a former UN Peacekeeping Head and Special Envoy for the Sahel, brought something rare to the hall: empathy. Having lost a close family member to violence, her gestures and tone carried the weight of lived grief. She did not speak in slogans or bureaucratic platitudes. She spoke as a mother, a mourner, and a mediator. Her credentials—Master’s in Law from Sorbonne, peacebuilding roles across Africa, are not just impressive; they are earned.

Then there was Commissioner Dr. Ayrorit Mohammed, a legal scholar with a PhD and Master’s in Law from Amsterdam University, and experience as a judge, lecturer, and police research director. Her presence was quiet but grounded, a reminder that law, when not weaponised, can still be a tool for justice.

Commissioner Dr. Ambaye Ugato, with postdoctoral credentials from the Max Planck Institute and a career in peace and dialogue advising, brought academic rigour to the table. His work with MIND-Ethiopia and the Ethiopian Elders Council Network suggests a commitment to grassroots reconciliation, not just top-down mandates.

Commissioner Melaku WeldeMariam, a legal advisor and former Secretary of the Ethiopian Human Rights Commission, added institutional memory to the mix. His background in law and human rights gave the Commission a veneer of credibility—one that must be protected from political erosion.

Together, these commissioners represent the possibility of dialogue, even as the machinery around them groans under the weight of cynicism. They are not flawless. But they are not hollow. And in a hall filled with slogans, sarcasm, and corridor consultants, that is no small thing.

About Post Author

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YJ’s “Shaka Shaka” Is Diaspora Rap’s Defining Moment and a Call to Action

By Ethiopian Tribune | October 1, 2025

In a music industry often driven by spectacle and short-lived virality, “Shaka Shaka” by YJ (Yeabsra Justice) arrives as something deeper, a lyrical reckoning wrapped in rhythm and draped in heritage. The official music video, now streaming on YouTube, is a must-watch. Not just for its sonic polish or visual flair, but for the moment it captures: YJ, walking through London’s streets, proudly wearing the Ethiopian flag. It’s not a costume. It’s a covenant. Green, gold, and red wrapped around his shoulders like a birthright.

Born at just 26 weeks premature in Barnet Hospital, YJ’s life began with uncertainty. His father, Mr. Aynalem Mebratu, a respected electrical engineer and pillar of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church (EOTC) community in London recalls the three-month hospital stay and the fragile hope that defined those early days. His mother, described as a “strong mom,” nurtured him through it all. Diagnosed with autism from birth, YJ now calls his condition a “superpower” a source of tenacity, vision, and creative fire. Raised in Enfield, his family remained in the UK for years due to ongoing medical needs, delaying Mr. Aynalem’s return to Ethiopia.

But while YJ was growing into his voice, his father was building foundations literally. Mr. Aynalem has been instrumental in organizing fundraising efforts for two major EOTC churches in London: Debretsion of St Mary and Debre-Genet Holy Trinity. Both buildings are now owned by the EOTC Synod, thanks to the tireless work of community leaders like him. His dedication to faith, heritage, and collective uplift is now mirrored in his son’s artistic rise. The reward is generational: spiritual legacy meets sonic legacy.

YJ began making music in 2019 at Wesley, a special school, treating it as a hobby. But a talent show performance at Leicester Square rough, raw, and unexpectedly viral changed everything. Instead of retreating, YJ leaned in. Artists like KSI reached out. The internet didn’t break him. It built him.

His breakout single “No Diddy”, released in August 2024, was born from emotional urgency and strategic beat selection. It led to performances at London’s O2 Arena-twice. YJ credits his stage comfort to childhood acting, including Shakespeare plays like Romeo and Juliet and The Tempest. His father shares that YJ spends up to 16 hours a day immersed in music and fan feedback. This isn’t a hobby anymore. It’s a calling.

Managed by Unexpected Media a team that first defended him from online bullying and includes a manager with low-functioning autism, YJ’s career is built on empathy, structure, and resilience. He’s not chasing fame. He’s building demand, carefully avoiding exploitation. Negative comments don’t faze him. He turns discomfort into humor, overthinking into art.

“Shaka Shaka”, released in late September 2025, is his latest and most personal offering. The lyrics are a tapestry of self-reliance, emotional reflection, and quiet defiance. “I survive all alone and I had to grab the bag on my own,” he raps, distilling years of struggle into a single line. He speaks of betrayal “I really can’t believe that she lied” and loneliness: “Sometimes I cry alone, sometimes I smile alone and go solo.” There’s healing too, through music and metaphor: “Let me feel it while I’m healing, let me feel the effects of the drink I’m sipping on.” And there’s self-worth, quietly asserted: “I don’t need to seek the attention I already got from my friends and my lover.”

Last year, YJ appeared on EBS’s Seyfu Show, and has since been featured across multiple online platforms, building a loyal fanbase among Ethiopian Gen Z and diaspora youth. His music is loved, shared, and quoted. He’s not just known he’s cherished.

And now, the moment demands more. Shaka Shaka isn’t just a release it’s a rallying cry. Ethiopian artists, producers, and performers especially those in the diaspora are called to stand up against autism and disability discrimination. Collaboration isn’t just creative it’s political. By working with artists like YJ, the community can build inclusive stages, amplify unheard voices, and create opportunities that reflect the full spectrum of Ethiopian talent.

This is a call to Kassmasse, whose lyrical militancy has shaped a generation. To Wogdawit, whose poetic fire burns through every verse. To Lij Michael, whose revolutionary cadence electrifies stages. And to Abel Tesfaye AKA “The Weeknd” whose global mystique proves that Ethiopian artistry knows no borders. YJ is not asking for validation. He’s offering a bridge.

At 21, YJ stands at a crossroads armed with streaming momentum, radio recognition, and a fiercely loyal digital community. His team says only “big things” lie ahead. The rest, they say, is “up to God.” But if “Shaka Shaka” is any indication, YJ isn’t just next, he’s necessary.

Watch the clip. Feel the rhythm. Read the flag. The future of diaspora rap is wrapped in it.

Artist Profile
Name: YJ (Yeabsra Justice)
Born: September 28, 2004
Base: Enfield / Barnet, London
Heritage: Ethiopian
Streaming Platforms: Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube
TikTok: @yeabsrajustice
Instagram: @yeabsrajustice
Snapchat: Yeppyjustice
Inquiries: yj@dlaworld.com
Management: Unexpected Media

Family Tribute:
Mr. Aynalem Mebratu, father of YJ, is a respected electrical engineer and community leader. He has played a key role in fundraising and securing permanent buildings for Debretsion of St Mary and Debre-Genet Holy Trinity Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Churches in London—both now owned by the EOTC Synod. His dedication to faith and community is reflected in his son’s rising artistic legacy.

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Major festival promises football, athletics, live music and authentic cuisine from 15th-17th August

The Ethiopian Sports & Culture Federation in UK is preparing to host one of the year’s most anticipated community events, bringing together sport, music, and authentic Ethiopian culture for a three-day celebration at the New River Leisure Centre in Hornsey.

Running from 15th to 17th August, the festival promises something for every member of the Ethiopian diaspora and the wider London community, with organisers working tirelessly to create an authentic taste of home in North London.

A Celebration for All Ages

The festival’s inclusive approach ensures entertainment across all age groups. Young football enthusiasts will have the opportunity to showcase their skills on the pitch, whilst athletics competitions will test speed, strength and endurance. For the youngest attendees, a circus performance promises wonder and excitement, creating memories that will last long after the weekend concludes.

“We wanted to create an event that brings our entire community together,” explained one of the organisation’s directors, Alebachew Dessalegn, during a recent conversation. “From toddlers to grandparents, everyone will find something to enjoy.”

Culinary Journey and Musical Entertainment

Food lovers can look forward to authentic Ethiopian cuisine prepared by local business owners, offering traditional dishes at fair prices throughout the three-day event. The aroma of berbere spices and injera bread will transport visitors straight to the heart of Ethiopia.

Music will pulse through the venue across Saturday and Sunday, with multiple DJs curating soundtracks that blend contemporary hits with beloved Ethiopian classics. The musical programming reflects the community’s diverse tastes whilst maintaining strong cultural roots.

Honouring a Football Legend

Sunday’s finale carries special significance for Ethiopian football fans. The closing football matches will culminate in a trophy ceremony where winners will receive awards named in honour of Mulugeta Kebede, the beloved Ethiopian national football legend who recently passed away. This touching tribute ensures that Kebede’s legacy continues to inspire young athletes within the diaspora community.

The trophy ceremony promises to be an emotional highlight, celebrating both sporting achievement and the memory of one of Ethiopia’s greatest football ambassadors.

Star-Studded Musical Finale

The weekend’s crown jewel will be a live concert featuring Bisrat Surafel, the renowned Ethiopian musician who is travelling directly from Ethiopia to perform for London’s Ethiopian community. Surafel’s appearance represents a rare opportunity for diaspora members to experience authentic Ethiopian musical artistry without crossing continents.

His performance promises to be the perfect conclusion to three days of cultural celebration, bringing traditional melodies and contemporary Ethiopian sounds to the New River Leisure Centre stage.

Affordable Family Entertainment

The festival organisers have ensured accessibility for families, with children under 14 paying just £5 entrance fee throughout the weekend. Adults can enjoy Saturday’s festivities for £10, whilst Sunday’s ticket at £25 includes access to the highly anticipated musical concert featuring Bisrat Surafel.

These reasonable prices reflect the community-focused nature of the event, making it possible for entire families to participate in this cultural celebration.

Event Details

When: 15th-17th August 2025
Where: New River Leisure Centre, Hornsey, London N22 5QW
Organised by: Ethiopian Sports & Culture Federation in UK CIC
Tickets: Children under 14: £5 | Adults Saturday: £10 | Adults Sunday: £25 (includes concert)

The Ethiopian Sports & Culture Federation in UK continues to strengthen community bonds through events like this festival, ensuring that Ethiopian culture remains vibrant and accessible in London.

For more information, contact the organisation at escfuk@yahoo.com or askescfuk@gmail.com.

This promises to be more than just a festival – it’s a celebration of identity, community, and the enduring spirit of Ethiopian culture in the heart of London.

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By Our Special Correspondent

In an age overwhelmed by ephemeral digital content, the preservation of historical discussions and events through video recordings remains a vital endeavour. A particular video clip, hosted on a endexye YouTube, offers a precious glimpse into a book launch and discussion centred around the extraordinary life and legacy of Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia. Whilst the precise date of the recording and the videographer’s identity remain unspecified within the clip itself, the mere existence of this footage speaks volumes about the dedication required to document such fascinating historical moments.

A Timeless Conversation Now Accessible in 2025

Picture the scene: a gathering of individuals, likely historians, scholars, and those with a personal connection to Ethiopia, coming together to celebrate the launch of “King of Kings: The Triumph of Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia” by Prince Asfa-Wossen Asserate. The atmosphere would have been charged with intellectual curiosity and perhaps a touch of reverence for the subject matter. This video transports us to that moment, allowing us to eavesdrop on a rich discussion led by the author himself, alongside insightful contributions from individuals such as Angela Raven-Roberts.

The Enduring Value of Historical Documentation

The effort involved in recording and preserving such events cannot be overstated. From setting up cameras and microphones to ensuring clear audio and video quality, documentary work requires meticulous planning and execution. The fact that this discussion, whenever it occurred, has been made available online signifies a commitment to sharing knowledge and fostering a deeper understanding of history. In 2025, this video stands as a testament to the power of such documentation, offering an invaluable resource for anyone seeking to learn about Emperor Haile Selassie I, Ethiopian history, or the broader tapestry of African political thought.

What Awaits Within the Footage

As the provided summary indicates, the video delves into various facets of Haile Selassie’s life and reign. Viewers can expect to gain insights into his personal character, his strategic leadership during pivotal moments in Ethiopian history (including the Italian occupation and his exile), and his ambitious, albeit sometimes challenging, efforts to modernise Ethiopia. The discussion doesn’t shy away from critical perspectives, addressing significant events such as the 1960 coup attempt and the complexities surrounding Eritrea.

Furthermore, the inclusion of audience questions adds another layer of depth, revealing the enduring interest and diverse perspectives surrounding this influential figure. Prince Asfa-Wossen Asserate’s unique position as both an author and a member of the Ethiopian imperial family undoubtedly brings a nuanced and personal dimension to the conversation.

An Invitation to Learn and Reflect

In 2025, this video serves as more than just a historical record; it is an educational tool waiting to be discovered. For students of African history, political science enthusiasts, or anyone curious about the forces that shaped the 20th century, this footage offers a direct connection to a significant historical moment and the perspectives of those who have studied it deeply.

By watching this video, you are not merely consuming content; you are engaging with a carefully preserved piece of intellectual history. You are witnessing the exchange of ideas, the analysis of a complex legacy, and the dedication of individuals committed to understanding and sharing the past. Take the time to explore this valuable resource – you might be surprised by the richness and relevance it holds even today.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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editor@ethiopiantribune.com

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By Our Special Correspondent

In an age overwhelmed by ephemeral digital content, the preservation of historical discussions and events through video recordings remains a vital endeavour. A particular video clip, hosted on a endexye YouTube, offers a precious glimpse into a book launch and discussion centred around the extraordinary life and legacy of Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia. Whilst the precise date of the recording and the videographer’s identity remain unspecified within the clip itself, the mere existence of this footage speaks volumes about the dedication required to document such fascinating historical moments.

A Timeless Conversation Now Accessible in 2025

Picture the scene: a gathering of individuals, likely historians, scholars, and those with a personal connection to Ethiopia, coming together to celebrate the launch of “King of Kings: The Triumph of Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia” by Prince Asfa-Wossen Asserate. The atmosphere would have been charged with intellectual curiosity and perhaps a touch of reverence for the subject matter. This video transports us to that moment, allowing us to eavesdrop on a rich discussion led by the author himself, alongside insightful contributions from individuals such as Angela Raven-Roberts.

The Enduring Value of Historical Documentation

The effort involved in recording and preserving such events cannot be overstated. From setting up cameras and microphones to ensuring clear audio and video quality, documentary work requires meticulous planning and execution. The fact that this discussion, whenever it occurred, has been made available online signifies a commitment to sharing knowledge and fostering a deeper understanding of history. In 2025, this video stands as a testament to the power of such documentation, offering an invaluable resource for anyone seeking to learn about Emperor Haile Selassie I, Ethiopian history, or the broader tapestry of African political thought.

What Awaits Within the Footage

As the provided summary indicates, the video delves into various facets of Haile Selassie’s life and reign. Viewers can expect to gain insights into his personal character, his strategic leadership during pivotal moments in Ethiopian history (including the Italian occupation and his exile), and his ambitious, albeit sometimes challenging, efforts to modernise Ethiopia. The discussion doesn’t shy away from critical perspectives, addressing significant events such as the 1960 coup attempt and the complexities surrounding Eritrea.

Furthermore, the inclusion of audience questions adds another layer of depth, revealing the enduring interest and diverse perspectives surrounding this influential figure. Prince Asfa-Wossen Asserate’s unique position as both an author and a member of the Ethiopian imperial family undoubtedly brings a nuanced and personal dimension to the conversation.

An Invitation to Learn and Reflect

In 2025, this video serves as more than just a historical record; it is an educational tool waiting to be discovered. For students of African history, political science enthusiasts, or anyone curious about the forces that shaped the 20th century, this footage offers a direct connection to a significant historical moment and the perspectives of those who have studied it deeply.

By watching this video, you are not merely consuming content; you are engaging with a carefully preserved piece of intellectual history. You are witnessing the exchange of ideas, the analysis of a complex legacy, and the dedication of individuals committed to understanding and sharing the past. Take the time to explore this valuable resource – you might be surprised by the richness and relevance it holds even today.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

About Post Author

Ethiopian Tribune editor

editor@ethiopiantribune.com

https://ethiopiantribune.com

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