I was lucky enough to go to Ethiopia at a unique period for most Ehiopians: after Abiy Ahmed’s rise to power in 2017, many citizens believed that they were on the path to democracy. I wandered from South to North in early 2020, a few months before the war. In the South, I sensed hope: one man proudly made me listen to the recording of Dr Abiy’s Nobel peace prize speech; others highlighted the sudden right for free speech; others mentioned the gun ban; others were looking forward to free and fair elections. The future appeared hopeful. Yet the further North I went, the more signs of an upcoming conflict subtly appeared here and there. They became blatant once I reached Tigray and Amhara. I began my journey in the fertile and green South, through Oromia and the Southern People region, then travelled up North, towards Amhara and Tigray. I was neither able to go to the East (Ogaden) nor to the West (Nekemte). Yet I noticed a clear divide between the North and the South: Northerners, such as Amharas and Tigrayans, speak a semitic language, and many claim to carry the legacies of the former Aksumite and Abyssinian empires. On the other side, Southern ethnic groups (Oromos and other minority groups) mostly speak Kushitic languages, and many claim to have been persecuted under various ‘Northern’ rulers. Two Ethiopian leaders were regularly mentioned for their considerable influence over Ethiopian identity: Emperor Menelik 2nd and Prime minister Meles Zenawi.
Menelik 2 (1844-1913) ruled the Empire of Ethiopia from 1889 to 1913. Firstly, he vanquished the Italians: Fresques in churches and chapels scattered around Tigray and Amhara, depict the emperor leading his soldiers in the battle of Adwa against the Italians. Secondly, he unified Ethiopia as one nation. According to some wolfwatchers I met in Dinsho (Oromia), Emperor Menelik imposed Amhara as the sole culture and Amharic as the sole language. These Oromo men declared that Menelik forbade minority language and customs, leading ruthless persecutions against anyone resisting his reforms. They specified that many of their ancestral customs are only resurfacing recently, since Abiy Ahmed’s rise to power.
A century after Menelik, Meles Zenawi (head of state from 1991 until his death in 2012) took the opposite direction. Many Ethiopians have diverging opinions over him, and it was difficult to build an objective portrait based on hearsays. Overall, many Tigrayans glorify him; many southerners consider him a dictator; many Amharas seem to believe that he kept power to himself. While in Addis, I was told that Meles came to power following the fall of the communist regime of the Derg (1974-1991), and the subsequent civil war. He oversaw the 1995 constitution of the federation of Ethiopia, which drew the new regions in accordance with ethnic federalism: each region was shaped according to a major ethnic group (Amhara, Tigrayan, Oromo) and each local language became an official regional language. The only exception is the Southern Nations, Nationalities and People Region, which has countless minority groups, sometimes as small as a village.
One century after Menelik, Meles took the opposite path, highlighting the multiple identities of Ethiopians. Among the people I met, some identified as Ethiopians first, while others stood for their regional identity.
It’s in this context that Abiy Ahmed came to power. He declared having roots in all ethnic groups in Ethiopia, yet he’s mostly considered to be an Oromo. Most Oromos were therefore supportive of Dr Abiy, whom they saw as a man who’ll stand up for them. Yet some paramilitary Oromo groups in Western Oromia (around Nekemte and Bedele) have been fighting federal troops, claiming that Abiy Ahmed does not support Oromo interests. On the other hand, I’ve heard Tigrayans accusing him of supporting Amhara interests. Amharas seemed to have mixed feelings regarding Dr Abiy: some argued that he saw all Ethiopians as equals, while others believe he only favours Oromos. Yet everyone had a different opinion, and free speech seemed to be a reality.
At a bar in Debark (Amhara), I was told that, before 2017, nobody would dare saying out loud their opinion: there always was somebody listening. Yet when I visited in 2020, everybody loudly stood for their political opinion. Every day, wherever I was in the country, I heard a different view: somebody told me in Arba Minch that there was more order and less crime under Haile Mariam (prime minister before Abiy Ahmed); an elderly man in Addis revealed to me the atrocities committed by the communist Derg regime: for example, if one’s relative was killed by the army, one had to pay for the bullet to claim the body back; another man in Konso told me that the the Derg, led by Mengistu (who was himself a Konso), enabled redistribution of land for all ethiopians; the same man added that there was more massacres under prime minister Haile Mariam.
So many people appeared comfortable opening up to me, which surprised me: having been to countries where free speech is a non-existent notion, I was used to people seeing my questions as suspicious or threatening. Yet not in Ethiopia. Regardless of who’s right and who’s wrong, there was a feeling that anybody could speak freely without fearing repercussions. Nobody agreed on anything, and everybody had their own opinion. Yet these diverging opinions had a convergence: a deeply-rooted grudge against Tigrayans.
Among the many opinions heard throughout the country, there was a recurring motto: ‘the Tigrayans took all the money’. I heard this saying from Oromos, from Amharas, from Konsos. I heard it both in towns and villages, from workers and bus drivers, from job seekers and local dignitaries. There was a collective bitterness and grudge towards Tigrayans: a man in Oromia said Meles gave all power to the Tigrayans; A business owner from Addis argued that businesses in Ethiopia were run by Tigrayans, and believed that Abiy Ahmed was left with two choices: either hold onto peace and economic imbalance, or ‘intervene’ and take their economic power.
On the other hand, when I arrived in Tigray, I witnessed a similar grudge from Tigrayans towards Abiy Ahmed and Ethiopia. While having lunch in a small cafe in Mekele, a teenager looked at me, pointed at the small TV showing music videos praising civil war heroes with kalashnikovs, and shouted to me: ‘dictatorship! Amhara dictatorship!‘. Later, in Hawzen, an old lady told me not to use Amharic words here, and rather speak in Tigrinya. If Mekele did appear more prosperous than other ethiopian cities, the Tigray region did not appear much richer: Tigray is a dry desert, unlike other neighbouring regions, particularly the fertile south and its lakes. And the grudge seemed strong on both sides. Worse, it felt institutionalised.
I travelled by bus from town to town, taking it along with locals. In the south, I never saw a checkpoint, and there was little sight of the army. In the North, both in the regions of Amhara and Tigray, there was a regional army checkpoint at every town’s exit and entrance. Each time, soldiers forced all passengers to step out, and check everybody’s document. I was never asked for my passport: they always asked me to wait on the side. What they checked was the region of origin of each passenger, and thus the ethnic affiliation of the said passenger. I never witnessed an Amhara checked by a Tigrayan soldier, nor have I seen a Tigrayan facing an Amhara trooper. I therefore cannot tell what the consequences would be for a ‘foreign passenger’. Yet soldiers at these checkpoints could easily show signs of tension: they threw stones at my feet and fellow passengers’ feet when we stepped too far from the bus. Beyond the regular army, I also noticed civilians with kalashnikovs in both Tigray and Amhara, while somebody in Shashemene (Oromia) told me of the gun ban imposed by Abiy Ahmed. A man in Debre Markos (Amhara) revealed to me that some regions of Ethiopia were reluctant in applying federal law. Another man in Adigrat (Tigray) said Tigrayans will not follow this gun ban, as he sees it as a way for the state to impose their rule onto Tigray.
The systemic persecutions committed by the communist Derg, supported by the Soviet Union and led by Mengistu, pushed several guerrilla factions to take action from the 70s. In 1988, the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) and the Ethiopian People Democratic Movement (EPDM, later renamed Amhara movement) founded the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF). Other regional rebel factions joined, while the EPRDF created affiliated movements in the remaining regions. It fought the Derg during the civil war, and took over the country. Through political manoeuvres, Meles Zenawi, leader of the Tigrayan People’s Liberation front, became the head of the EPRDF and therefore the new head of state. After his death, he was succeeded by his right hand man, Haile Mariam, who was from a southern minority group.
This grudge between Amharas and Tigrayans seems to find its roots in the heritage they both claim to have. Tigrayan people believe they inherit from the pre-Aksumite empire, founded by the queen of Sheba, and the Aksumite Empire (3rd-7th century AD), which reigned over the horn, Arabia and the red sea. Amharas claim to inherit from the Abyssinian empire, which ruled over Ethiopia until Haile Selassie’s death in 1973. This rivalry between both people, whose borders lay by each other, seem to hold a long grudge. Someone I met in Arba Minch believed that the Derg regime was the only time in Ethiopian history where southerners had power. With all these stories, arguments and beliefs, I quickly came to realise that everybody held a grudge over somebody else, the most vivid grudge aiming at Tigrayans.
Nowadays, hope has been shattered. I have not been back since the outbreak of the war. I also know very little, as it’s been difficult to stay in touch with people - partly due to the internet ban in the North. I have not been in contact with any Tigrayan. I haven’t heard from Oromo friends either, therefore I don’t know how things are in the South. Yet, from what I hear, the cost of living has skyrocketed: the high movement of internal refugees has led to housing crises in regions not directly affected by the war. Rents are hardly affordable in many places, and some friends of mine had to move to other houses. While more people come, less food arrives. Many goods in Amhara were exported from nearby Sudan. Now that their neighbour has fallen into war too, many products are not available anymore. Overall, the cost of basic items has exponentially risen. a cup of coffee, which was 5Birr in early 2020, is not 15 Birr. A pack of Injera (the basis of all meals) now costs 100 birr, which was the price of a meat meal in a restaurant three years ago. I’ve not been able to hear from people from the fertile Southern region, if they had similar deprivations. Yet I hear overall there’s no government presence anymore: a friend of mine says violence is everywhere these days. People quickly get home and don’t leave their houses at night. In various regions, people fear both criminality and the army: for instance, Amhara troops have rebelled against Abiy Ahmed, and have been fighting federal troops since July 2023. Some Amharas see to believe that Abiy Ahmed stands for Oromos interests. I have not been able to get in touch with Oromo friends to hear their thoughts over that. Yet I heard that Oromo rebels in Western Oromia tried to ally with Tigrayans during the war. There’s no access to Tigray these days. Yet the sheer violence of the war may have exacerbated their bitterness and hatred. This accumulation of grudge among all major groups, coupled with the rising civil war in Sudan, could reshuffle the future of Ethiopia.