“A ruler’s character is revealed not by how he treats his opponents, but by how he treats the innocent who stand in his path.” Mahatma Gandhi
By: Habte H.
On a cold night in rural Amhara – Ethiopia, a mother sat awake beneath a sheet of torn plastic stretched over four sticks. Her youngest child slept beside her, coughing through the darkness. The older children lay silently on the bare ground. A few months earlier, they had a home. They had farmland. They had neighbors whose families they had known for generations. Now they had nothing. She did not know who would protect them. She did not know when they would return home. She did not know whether the next morning would bring food, safety, or another journey into uncertainty. What she did know was that somewhere far away, speeches were still being made, promises were still being repeated, and officials were still insisting that progress was being achieved.
“Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees.” Isaiah 10:1
Her story is not unique. Across Ethiopia, millions of citizens carry similar stories – stories of displacement, loss, imprisonment, fear, and uncertainty. They are the stories rarely told in official celebrations and political slogans. Yet they tell us more about the state of a nation than any government report ever could. And they raise a difficult question: after eight years in power, what does the suffering of ordinary Ethiopians tell us about the leadership of Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed?
The Silence of a Leader: Words That Never Came
Death, injury, abduction, church burnings, the killing of Christians, and mass displacement have become Ethiopia’s daily bread. We wake to another village razed, another family fleeing with nothing, another church reduced to smoke. This is a nation held hostage by a leader whose heart has turned to stone. When a nation bleeds, a compassionate leader speaks. When churches burn, a merciful leader mourns. When women are dragged from postpartum beds and thrown into jail, a humane leader act. Abiyot Ahmed has shown none of this. His condolences are as rare as rain in the desert. When they come, they are driven by calculation, not empathy. He watches displacement camps swell, churches burn, families flee – and says nothing. Or worse, he blames the victims. “A tree is known by its fruit,” the proverb teaches. Look at the fruit of eight years. This is not leadership. This is cruelty wearing a tailored suit.
The Arrests: A Pattern of Vengeance
Forget the propagandized screen. Look at what happens in shadows. Under Abiy’s direct order, dozens of political opponents have been scooped up like fish in a net, imprisoned without charge, left to rot in cells that have become tombs of the living. Christian Tadele: arrested without reason. Still in jail. No charge. No court dates. Vanished into the belly of the system. Yohanes Boyalew: one of the most prominent Amhara political figures. Snatched from public life. Silenced. Hidden as if he never existed. And Meskerem Abera. A journalist. A political figure. A woman who had just brought new life into the world. Arrested from her postpartum recovery bed—dragged away while still bleeding, while still weak, while still holding the memory of her newborn’s first cry.
“The greatness of a man is measured by how he treats the powerless.” By that measure, Abiot Ahmed stands naked and small.
Playing with Justice: The Teddy Afro Case
No episode better illustrates Abiy Ahmed’s contempt for the rule of law than the jailing of innocent friends of the beloved artist Teddy Afro. These young men have no connection to any crime. Their only offense? Friendship with a musician. Teddy Afro himself has not been charged. Yet his friends rot in cells—pawns held hostage to silence an artist and send a chilling message to anyone who dares to sing of freedom. They are pawns—hostages sent to deliver a chilling message: I can take anyone, anytime, anywhere, and there is nothing you can do. Abiy is not merely ignoring Ethiopia’s legal system. He is openly mocking it, dancing on its ruins, laughing at those who still believe in justice. “There are none so blind as those who will not see.” The justice system has become a toy in his hands. He plays with it when it amuses him. He discards it when it does not.
The Betrayal of Lemma Megersa: When Loyalty Means Nothing
Watch how a leader treats his closest allies. Lemma Megersa was not an enemy. He was Abiy’s most trusted partner—the man who stood beside him as he rose to power. And when Lemma no longer served his purpose, when he began to ask uncomfortable questions, Abiy discarded him like a torn shoe. Betrayed him. Jailed him. Erased him. “A man who betrays his closest ally will betray anyone,” the elders say. A leader who shows no loyalty to friends will show no mercy to enemies. He is not a leader. He is a tyrant. And tyrants always fall—but not before leaving a trail of tears wide as a river.
The Evidence Does Not Lie
Some still consider Abiy merciful. They remember the hope of 2018—that electric, intoxicating hope that swept Ethiopia like a spring breeze. They want to believe the man who promised a new dawn is still somewhere inside the leader who has brought the nation to its knees. But evidence does not care about hopes. Evidence is cold, hard, and unforgiving.
The evidence shows mass displacement on a scale unseen in generations. Families under plastic sheets. Children drinking muddy water. Mothers watching their babies waste away. The evidence shows churches burning and Christians slaughtered in houses of worship, their blood mixing with the dust where they came to pray. The evidence shows a postpartum woman dragged from her hospital bed. A musician’s innocent friends rotting in cells. A trusted ally betrayed and erased. And above all, the evidence shows a body count that grows by the day—a river of grief that will not dry.
A Final Question
Abiy Ahmed may go down as one of the cruelest leaders in African history. Not because he inherited a broken nation, many have. But because he was given something priceless. He was given trust. He was given power. He was given the hope of 120 million Ethiopians. And he responded with jails, bombs, displacement, and the silence of a man who stopped listening to the cries of his own people. The question remains: How much more will we tolerate? How many more women dragged from their beds? How many more churches burned? How many more young men are rotting without charge? How many more tears before someone says “enough”? We have done nothing for eight years. Eight years of suffering. Eight years of silence. It is time to speak. It is time to act. It is time to say that this is not who we are. This is not what Ethiopia means. We will not rest until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
Editor’s Note: Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com
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