Caleb Ta (Dr.)
Independent Researcher in African Political Affairs; Human Rights Advocate
Part II — The Parking-Lot Controversy: Humiliation or Dignity?
In Part I, we examined the political career of Gedu Andargachew—from his years as President of the Amhara Region to his service as Ethiopia’s Minister of Foreign Affairs and later as Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s National Security Adviser. We also examined the larger question surrounding his public image: what remains of a public official’s legacy after the office, title, and political power are gone?
That question has taken on a new and deeply personal dimension following the circulation of a video on social media reportedly showing Gedu working at a parking lot in the United States.
For some, the video has been presented as an attempt to ridicule a former senior Ethiopian official. For others, however, the images tell an entirely different story. They show a former regional president, foreign minister, and national security adviser doing something that millions of ordinary people do every day: working for a living.
The controversy, therefore, is about much more than a parking lot.
It raises a fundamental question about how Ethiopians measure dignity. Is dignity attached to a government title, an official vehicle, a ministerial office, and political influence? Or can dignity also be found in putting on a work uniform, earning an honest income, and supporting oneself after leaving public office?
This is where the story of Gedu Andargachew becomes particularly significant.
The video may have been circulated with the intention of humiliating him. Yet the same images can be interpreted in the opposite way. They can be seen as a reminder that a person who once occupied some of the highest offices in the Ethiopian state can leave political life and still be willing to work rather than depend on the privileges of a former office.
Work does not diminish a person. Dishonesty does.
A political position eventually ends. A ministerial title eventually disappears. Governments change, and the people who once held powerful offices eventually become private citizens. What remains is the record of how that person used power—and how that person conducted himself after power was gone.
That is the connection between the political story examined in Part I and the controversy explored here in Part II.
The question is not simply where Gedu is working.
The more important question is what his willingness to work says about the kind of life he chose after leaving power.
The parking-lot controversy: humiliation or dignity?
The social media video allegedly showing Gedu working at a parking facility has been interpreted by some as an attempt to humiliate him.
I believe the opposite interpretation deserves greater attention.
If the video is authentic and correctly contextualized, what exactly is humiliating about it?
A former regional president, minister, or national security adviser working honestly should not be a source of shame.
Work does not bring shame.
What brings shame is corruption.
What brings shame is stealing public resources.
What brings shame is unexplained enrichment through public office.
What brings shame is abusing the authority entrusted to a public servant.
Honest labor is none of these.
The irony is that a video apparently intended by some to embarrass Gedu may instead have highlighted something very different: the ability of a former senior official to work without political privilege.
I can disagree with Gedu politically and still respect his integrity
This is perhaps the most important point.
I do not have to agree with every decision Gedu Andargachew made.
I do not have to endorse every political position he has taken.
I do not have to rewrite Ethiopian political history to praise him.
And I do not believe responsible journalism should turn political figures into saints.
But disagreement over politics is different from evidence of corruption.
If Gedu made political mistakes, those mistakes should be discussed.
If his policies failed, they should be criticized.
If his political judgments were wrong, history should say so.
But where there is no credible evidence establishing personal corruption, we should not manufacture it.
That is the standard I would apply to every Ethiopian politician.
What does “clean hand” really mean?
A clean hand does not mean perfection.
It means something more practical.
It means not treating public office as a personal bank account.
It means recognizing that government resources belong to citizens.
It means understanding that a minister’s office is not a family inheritance.
It means knowing that political access should not automatically become commercial opportunity.
It means leaving office without being terrified that an audit will reveal a hidden fortune.
And perhaps most importantly, it means being able to return to ordinary life without believing that ordinary work is beneath you.
That is the deeper meaning of a clean hand.
The Ethiopian proverb that politics desperately needs to remember
There is a powerful Ethiopian idea embedded in the phrase:
“ሲሾም ያልበላ” — the one who did not consume/steal when appointed to office.
For generations, Ethiopians have understood that public office creates temptation.
The exceptional official is therefore not necessarily the one who becomes wealthy.
The exceptional official is the one who leaves office without having used the public treasury for private gain.
In a political culture where citizens increasingly worry about corruption, such a reputation becomes extraordinarily valuable.
A clean reputation cannot be purchased in Dubai.
It cannot be hidden in an overseas bank account.
It cannot be manufactured through social-media propaganda.
It has been built over the years.
And once destroyed, it is extremely difficult to recover.
Gedu’s greatest political asset may be what he did not take with him
Perhaps the most striking way to look at Gedu’s post-political life is to ask a simple question:
What did he take out of the office?
Did he take the government vehicle? No. Did he take the ministerial office? No.
Did he take the national security position? No. Did he take the regional presidency? No.
Those belonged to the state.
What remains is his name.
His reputation.
His conscience.
His professional knowledge.
His education.
His ability to work.
And, if the public record continues to reveal no credible evidence of illicit enrichment, the absence of a demonstrated corruption legacy.
That is something far more important than a government title.
A warning to today’s ministers
Gedu’s story should not only be about Gedu.
It should be a warning to everyone currently holding public office.
To today’s ministers:
Your ministry is temporary.
To today’s regional presidents:
Your regional office is temporary.
To today’s security officials:
Your security position is temporary.
To today’s parliamentarians:
Your seat is temporary.
To today’s political businessmen:
Your access to government is temporary.
One day, all of it ends.
And when it ends, you will have to live with what you accumulated—not merely financially, but morally.
You may leave the office with millions.
Or you may leave with nothing except your name.
History will decide which one was the greater wealth.
Ethiopia needs leaders who can survive without power
A healthy political system should produce leaders who can leave office and return to ordinary society.
That is one of the fundamental tests of political maturity.
If someone believes that losing office means losing the ability to survive, then the temptation to remain in power at any cost becomes enormous.
But if politicians know they can leave government, work, teach, conduct business lawfully, farm, practice their profession, or perform ordinary labor and still live with dignity, political power becomes less dangerous.
A democracy needs leaders who know how to leave.
And it needs citizens who understand that leaving office is not humiliation.
The irony of the viral video
Those who circulated the video with the intention of humiliating Gedu may have unintentionally highlighted one of the most important lessons Ethiopian politics can offer.
A former president working is not a scandal.
A former minister working is not a scandal.
A former national security adviser working is not a scandal.
Corruption is a scandal.
The theft of public resources is a scandal.
Unexplained enrichment through public office is a scandal.
Abuse of power is a scandal.
Honest labor is none of these.
A final word about Gedu Andargachew
Gedu Andargachew’s political record should remain open to historical examination. His decisions, alliances, policies, successes, failures, resignation from the Amhara presidency, service as foreign minister, and subsequent role as national security adviser all deserve serious scrutiny.
But so does another part of his story.
What happens when the power is gone?
If the reported footage genuinely shows him working honestly, then the appropriate response should not be ridicule.
It should be a reflection.
Because in a country where Afrobarometer found that 64% of citizens believed corruption had increased and where public trust in major political institutions was substantially lower than trust in religious and traditional leaders, Ethiopia desperately needs examples of public service associated with integrity and accountability.
We should not confuse a lack of luxury with failure.
We should not confuse manual labor with humiliation.
We should not confuse political disagreement with corruption.
And we should not confuse wealth with success.
The true wealth of a public servant is the ability to leave office with his conscience intact.
If Gedu Andargachew can stand outside the gates of political power and earn his living honestly, then the parking lot is not a symbol of his downfall.
It may be one of the clearest symbols of his independence from power.
The chair was temporary.
The title was temporary.
The convoy was temporary.
The political influence was temporary.
But the reputation of a clean hand can last much longer.
Gedu Andargachew’s story should therefore not be remembered as the story of a former president working in a parking lot
When the Office Is Gone, What Remains?
In the end, the significance of the video is not whether Gedu Andargachew was working in a parking lot, nor should a person’s dignity ever be measured by the title written on a business card or the position once held in government.
The more important question is what a person carries with him after leaving power.
A political office can provide a title. A government position can provide influence. A ministerial appointment can provide prestige. But none of these things lasts forever. The office ends. The title disappears. The political power changes hands. What remains is the person’s name, reputation, conscience, and the choices made along the way.
That is why I do not see Gedu’s image as something worthy of humiliation. I see a former public official doing something that millions of ordinary people do every day: working for a living.
There is no shame in honest labor.
If the video was intended by some to embarrass him, it may have produced the opposite effect. It has instead opened a much larger conversation about what we should expect from people who have served in public office. Should a former leader be ashamed to work with his hands? Or should we be more concerned about officials who leave office surrounded by unexplained wealth, luxury, and privileges that ordinary citizens could never afford?
The distinction matters.
Ethiopia does not lack people who have occupied powerful positions. What the country desperately needs is public servants who can leave those positions without losing their integrity.
Gedu Andargachew’s story, therefore, deserves to be considered beyond political party lines and beyond personal loyalties. One may agree with him politically or disagree. One may support or criticize his decisions. But disagreement should not prevent us from recognizing the value of honest work and personal dignity.
Perhaps that is the most important lesson from this entire episode.
A person does not become smaller by doing honest work after leaving power. A person becomes smaller by believing that honest work is beneath him.
And a former leader who can exchange a government office for ordinary work, provide for himself through his own labor, and continue living without surrendering his dignity offers a lesson that extends far beyond Gedu himself.
For those still sitting in government offices today, the question should be simple:
When your office is gone, what will remain?
The answer will not be the convoy, the title, the government vehicle, or the chair behind the desk.
It will be your record, your name, your conscience—and the way you treated the people while you had power.
Work is not shameful. Honest labor is not humiliation. Power is temporary. Integrity is what remains.
It should be remembered as a question to every Ethiopian public official:
When you finally leave power, what will your hands be carrying?
Public wealth—or your own dignity?
That is why, for me, the parking-lot video did not diminish my respect for Gedu Andargachew.
Editor’s Note: Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com
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