When I think of Ethiopia, I think of a symbol of resilience, pride, and independence. I think of the African nation who said no to colonization, whose valleys acted as the cradle of human civilization. Enclosed in her borders are nearly 100,000,000 people, over 80 different ethnic groups, and thousands of years of ancient history. The Ethiopians I know are cheerful, warm, and thankful regardless of the material standard of their lives. But my impression of Ethiopia darkened when I realized that their gratefulness stemmed from their appreciation that they had escaped a genocide and were managing to carry on despite the decades of political corruption that have endured until the present day.
According to the Corruption Perceptions Index of Transparency International, Ethiopia ranks 103 of 168, and if the country continues in its current direction, the CPI will only grow larger.
Ethiopia is governed under the façade of a democratic republic. For the past 25 years, the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) has had 100% representation in parliament. What makes matters worse is that the Tigray people, the ethnic group the party represents, only make up six percent of the population. The Tigray people’s political domination has led to billions of dollars of illicit financial outflow and a repressive domestic policy.
Here is an example. The Addis Ababa Master Plan, an initiative set forth by the Ethiopian government, was meant to take away land from the state of Oromia and place it under the jurisdiction of the capital. The plan frustrated the Oromo ethnic group, as it meant people’s farmland was going to be taken away for the sake of expansion of capital. In response, the Oromo people had a mass political protest this past January, which thankfully led to the cancellation of the plan. Sadly, in the process, over 150 people were killed and over 5,000 imprisoned.
The main voices against political turmoil are the Amhara and the Oromo. These ethnic groups make up 25 and 34 percent of the population, respectively. They both share frustration about lack of representation in the parliament, economic marginalization, and the absence of free speech and press. The Oromo and Amhara have been protesting these issues for the past year, but the government’s only response has been to murder more than 450 innocent people and to declare a six-month state of emergency.
The Ethiopian government has been acting under martial law for nearly eight months, claiming that protestors are being trained and armed by neighboring countries such as Eritrea and Egypt (both of which denied the allegations.) Civilians have been harassed and abused by the military, and some people have even been thrown into torture centers. When questioned about the actions of the government, Ethiopian Communication Minister Getachew Reda had this to say:
“The kind of threats that we are facing, the kind of attacks that are now targeting civilians, targeting critical infrastructures, targeting investments are not such that they could be effectively handled through ordinary law enforcement procedures. We are not here trying to control protesters through the state of emergency. We are trying to address a correlated and concerted, orchestrated attack against the Ethiopian state. That needs to be clear.”
If fighting for human rights is a threat to the state, then perhaps the state should reconsider its priorities. But reconsidering institutional priorities should have been on the Ethiopian government’s agenda a long time ago. The recent behavior they have displayed is too reminiscent of years past, and it hurts many to see history repeat itself like this.
In 1974, Ethiopia’s monarchical system collapsed as a result of a military coup led by General Teferi Benti. There was no real legislation, just a blood-thirsty military and a seat of absolute power that was waiting for the most power-hungry individual. In 1977, Benti was killed, and Colonel Mengistu Haile Mariam rose to power. During his dictatorship, many began vocalizing their hatred about the systems in place, calling for elections and representation in law reform. Haile Mariam’s response was the Red Terror, Ethiopia’s infamous political genocide that took the lives of nearly 500,000 people. It was a cleansing of voice, of hope.
And it’s ironic to think that the party that helped overthrow Haile Mariam and end the Terror is responsible for the slaughter occurring right now.
In 1994, under this new government, Ethiopia developed a constitution to create states based on ethnic groups, further separating an already disconnected population. The current regime has caused war, handled famine poorly, and in some instances have appeared strikingly similar to those that caused the genocide years ago. (An ethnic clash with the Gambella people in 2004 left 200 died and ten thousand forced to run away.)
Ethiopia has been digging its own grave deeper and deeper, and it is heart-wrenching to watch. Too many lives have been lost for the country to still be this way. As I write this piece, I think of my mother, a political refugee who escaped to Kenya and later the United States to avoid whatever hell was awaiting her back home. I think of her brother, my uncle, who was imprisoned, tortured, and killed for wanting a better Ethiopia. I think of my late grandparents whose land was taken away and who struggled until their deaths to make ends meet. I think of my family and how they are all scattered across the globe, attempting to make new homes and communities after losing so much. It’s no less than a tragedy, but somehow it has not received enough attention to be recognized as one.
And despite the tragedy they have experienced, I know too many Ethiopians who maintain such ridiculous positivity about the state of their country and the future of their own lives. These people have gone through some of the worst this world has to offer, but they still offer back their hearts. I can only pray that there is some intervention or realization in the country, so that the government can live up to the amazing people who inhabit it.