By Kebour Ghenna
Ethiopia’s National Dialogue has ended. I welcome every serious effort that was made to bring Ethiopians together, confront difficult disagreements and search for common ground. But I am left with one fundamental question that, in my view, did not receive the attention it deserved:
Who is ultimately sovereign in Ethiopia – the individual citizen or the group to which that citizen belongs?
This may sound like a constitutional technicality. I believe it goes to the heart of many of our political difficulties.
Article 8 of the Constitution states that “all sovereign power resides in the Nations, Nationalities and Peoples of Ethiopia.” Article 39 takes this principle very far, recognizing the right of every Nation, Nationality and People to self-determination, including secession. At the same time, Article 10 declares human rights and freedoms inherent, inviolable and inalienable, while Chapter Three extensively protects individual rights.
We therefore have an unusual constitutional formulation:
The individual possesses rights.
The Nation, Nationality or People possesses sovereignty.
I believe we need to examine what this has meant for Ethiopia.
Sovereignty answers the most fundamental political question: from whom does legitimate political authority originate?
If I am sovereign as a citizen, the state ultimately derives its authority from me and millions of other individual citizens. I may be Oromo, Amhara, Somali, Tigrayan, Afar, Gurage or another identity.
I may have mixed ancestry. I may identify strongly with Ethiopia or strongly with my local community. These identities should be protected.
But before the state, I am a citizen in my own right.
That principle matters because my political existence should not depend upon somebody speaking on behalf of my ethnic or linguistic community. My rights should neither increase when “my group” controls government nor diminish when another group does.
Losing an election should mean losing political office, not losing security, opportunity, identity or belonging.
That is fundamental to democratic compromise.
There is a second question that I believe deserves equally serious attention.
Ethiopia’s political system has developed a federation substantially organized around language and ethno-national identity. The Constitution does more than recognize diversity. It gives the constituent Nations, Nationalities and Peoples sovereignty and ultimately recognizes their right to leave the federation.
This raises an unavoidable question: How is Ethiopian unity constitutionally manifested?
A federation requires recognition of difference. But surely it also requires an equally powerful expression of what cannot be divided.
There must be a constitutional space where an Oromo and an Amhara, a Somali and a Tigrayan, an Afar and a Sidama meet not principally as representatives of separate sovereign peoples, but simply as equal citizens of one country.
Otherwise, we risk constructing the state very strongly around the principle: “We are different and have the right to separate,”
without expressing with equal force: “We are also citizens of a common political community that we have chosen to build together.”
Unity cannot survive only as geography, a flag or an anthem. It must have political and constitutional meaning.
This does not require denying the right to language, culture, identity or meaningful regional self-government. But a viable federation must cultivate both diversity and common citizenship.
The Constitution is exceptionally explicit about the former. I believe Ethiopia still needs a deeper conversation about the latter.
Once sovereignty, territory, language and political representation become closely associated, politics can easily begin with: “Which people do you belong to?” Rather than: “What rights do you possess as a citizen?”
Then political competition can become competition among communities.
“Our people need representation.”
“Our territory is threatened.”
“Our people are losing power.”
“Our sovereignty is being violated.”
The struggle for government can consequently become existential. Losing power no longer feels like losing an election; it can feel like one’s community is losing protection.
This does not mean the Constitution created Ethiopia’s ethnic conflicts. That would ignore history. The federal system also corrected genuine injustices by recognizing languages, cultures and communities previously denied adequate recognition.
But constitutional arrangements also create political incentives. We should be willing to examine them.
Consider an Amhara living in Oromia, an Oromo living in the Somali Region, a Tigrayan in Addis Ababa, someone from a smaller community living outside the territory associated with that community, or millions of Ethiopians of mixed heritage.
There is also the citizen who simply says: “I do not want ethnicity to define my political identity.” Surely this too must be constitutionally legitimate.
I should be free to say: I am Oromo. I am Amhara. I am Somali. I am Ethiopian. I am several of these. Or simply: I am a citizen. None should give me greater or lesser political standing.
There is another difficulty. A Nation, Nationality or People cannot literally speak. Political organizations and individuals inevitably speak in its name.
But who represents “the Oromo”? Who represents “the Amhara”? Who represents “the Tigrayans”? No community thinks with one mind.
Once political organizations claim to embody entire peoples, disagreement within communities becomes difficult. An Oromo must be able to reject an Oromo political party without becoming less Oromo. An Amhara must be able to disagree with an organization claiming to represent Amhara interests without being accused of betraying his people.
The citizen must remain larger than the political identity assigned to him.
The end of the National Dialogue cannot mean that every fundamental question has been settled. A national dialogue is an important process, but no commission can permanently close questions that society has not adequately resolved.
This issue therefore remains open.
I am not proposing that Ethiopia abolish federalism, collective rights, cultural autonomy or linguistic self-government. The choice need not be between individual and community, or between diversity and unity.
The challenge is to constitutionalize both more clearly. One could imagine language such as:
“Sovereign power resides in the citizens of Ethiopia, individually and collectively, who constitute the Nations, Nationalities and Peoples of Ethiopia and together form one federal political community.”
The precise formulation can be debated. The principle is what matters.
It would place the citizen before the category while preserving the community. It would recognize diversity while affirming a common political home. And it would establish that Ethiopia is not merely an arrangement among groups that may one day separate, but also a shared republic of citizens who have reasons to remain together.
For more than three decades, Ethiopia has debated who its peoples are, which territory belongs to whom, who governs whom and how power should be distributed.
Those questions matter.
But perhaps two simpler questions now deserve equal attention:
What does it mean simply to be an Ethiopian citizen? And Beyond our differences, what constitutional principle expresses our determination to remain one country?
I believe Ethiopia will eventually have to answer both.
Editor’s Note : The article appeared first on the personal SM page of the author.
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