By: Habte H.
When I was a child, my father used to say something that hits differently these days – especially when he felt I was drifting, being lazy, or failing to show up when it truly mattered.
“If you cannot stand by me when it matters – will I eat your flesh, or will you lift me the sky? What is your relevance, then?”
It was his way of challenging those who remain passive in moments of urgency – not because they lack strength, but because they lack conviction. That line keeps echoing in my head every time I think about the National Movement of Amhara (NAMA).
Honestly, I thought the party had quietly packed its bags and left. And maybe it did – at least in spirit.
When Amharas were being massacred in broad daylight…
When mothers buried children with no one to console them…
When entire communities were emptied, displaced, and dishonored…
When journalists were jailed, and young activists disappeared without trial…
Where was NAMA?
Where were the statements? The outrage? The defiance it once promised?
I heard nothing. Nothing but the sound of chairs being warmed in Addis, as though the suffering was just another headline in a foreign land.
Sometimes, I get confused by three things in life: urban Dogs, urban monks, and political bodies like NAMA. From a distance, they all seem noble.
The dog – majestic, loyal, protective.
The monk – gentle, wise, healing.
The party – bold, principled, ready to speak for the voiceless.
But once you get closer, the illusions collapse.
The dog? It does not bark, let alone bite, when someone breaks in. The monk? He walks with his tall beard and spotless robes, but offers no comfort, no healing – only judgment and hypocrisy. At times, he lives with less compassion than even ordinary, non-religious people.
And NAMA? It cannot even whisper its own name, let alone speak for its cause.
I remember visiting a small town outside Debre Markos, where elders still recall the days of young men organizing under NAMA’s banner. “This party is our last shield,” one old man had said, eyes lit with hope. Today, that same man probably sits quietly under a eucalyptus tree, wondering what became of that shield – how it rusted without ever being raised.
These things – dogs that do not protect, monks that do not heal, parties that do not speak – are useless creatures, dressed in beautiful coats. Pretty from the outside, hollow within. And dangerous in their betrayal.
Why? Because they exist against their original purpose – or worse, they exploit that purpose for comfort and survival.
NAMA was not created to join hands with the system that bleeds the Amhara people.
It was formed as a reaction to that system – a voice for the voiceless, a guard for the vulnerable. But now? Its leaders dine with that system, toast with it, and speak its language fluently.
Look at Belete Molla, Gashaw, Yusouf. I do not mention them with hatred – I mention them as tragic examples of what happens when opportunism replaces mission. They have become indistinguishable from the regime. They smile in meetings and blend in so well that I doubt even they remember what NAMA was supposed to be.
And here is the most bitter irony: they spend more time attacking those who still dare to speak up than confronting the forces killing their people. Take Dr. Desalegn Chane – a man who, despite being sidelined and pressured, still speaks from principle. And yet, it is not the oppressors who go after him first – it is his own supposed comrades, bitter that he won’t sit quietly like them.
So, let me ask plainly, without diplomacy: Belete, Gashaw, Yusouf – what will you do for the Amhara people with more power, when you could not even lift your voice when their children were dying? What do you plan to offer? Bureaucratic titles? Party-line speeches?
Do you think we will forget this silence? Do you think history is blind?
I once heard young boys cracking a joke during the early days of the transition, standing by a tea stall in Addis: “Kematerua mewetaterua” – Despite her short stature, she walks with so much pride
It is equivalent to dying serving the same master you once begged from. We laughed then. It felt like satire. Now? It feels prophetic. You have chosen Abiy’s favor over your people’s pain. You have forgotten the heroism, the sacrifice, the blood spilled in the name of survival.
So, what do we do with something that looks noble …., but is rotten at its core? We bury it. Respectfully, perhaps – but thoroughly. Because that is the only way we can clear space for something real, something rooted in courage and conviction.
If NAMA is no longer alive, let it go with dignity. But if it still stands – then let it prove it. Let it speak boldly, act courageously, and make sacrifices for the people it claims to represent. Otherwise, it is just another body in a suit – good for photo ops, but empty in purpose. As Ras Alula once said: “Either fight – or stop carrying my name.” So, fight – or let go of the name. But do not mislead the people.
Editor’s Note : Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com
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