From Mekelle to Beshasha: The Shifting Centers of Gravity in Ethiopia

By Daniel Kassahun

They say all parts of a country are treated equally—but we all know that’s not how it plays out on the ground. Some places get the roads, the hospitals, the schools… while others are left in the shadows, waiting. Sometimes it’s deliberate favoritism. Other times, it’s just the way political alliances and priorities fall. It’s like that famous line from Animal Farm: all regions are equal, but some end up more equal than others.

In many countries, power and resources tend to cluster—not evenly across the map, but around one dominant group, one city, or one class of elites. Sure, capital cities wear the crown, but the real center of gravity—that invisible force where decisions are made and influence flows—often lies somewhere else.

Take Paris in France, for instance. It’s not just the capital; it’s the nerve center, leaving other regions feeling sidelined. In the UK, London’s dominance has long stirred resentment in the North. Nigeria even moved its capital from Lagos to Abuja in an attempt to level the playing field. And in the U.S., while Washington, D.C. is where Congress meets, it’s the Sun Belt states like Texas and Georgia that are fast becoming new engines of political energy. The official capitals don’t always match the true centers of influence.

Ethiopia: A Moving Target

Unlike some countries where the capital city has been the undisputed seat of power for generations, Ethiopia’s center of gravity has been on the move. Power here has never stayed rooted in one spot—it shifts, gets pulled, even fractured by dynasties, revolutions, and ethno-political winds.

In the late 19th century, Emperor Yohannes IV ruled from his northern capital in Mekelle. However, despite his authority, the gravitational center of Ethiopian political power was gradually shifting southward toward Shewa, driven by the rising prominence of King Menelik. This realignment gained momentum as external threats—particularly the Mahdist invasions from Sudan—strained Yohannes’ administration, weakening his position and diminishing the prospects of a Tigrayan succession. This historic displacement of power continues to evoke a sense of grievance among some Tigrayan elites to this day.

Following Emperor Yohannes’ death, Menelik II ascended to the imperial throne and established Addis Ababa as the new capital. This decision decisively anchored the political and administrative center of gravity in Shewa—both geographically and sociopolitically. At the time, northern highlanders from Tigray, Gojjam, Gondar, and Wollo quietly expressed unease over the southward shift of imperial authority. Even Empress Taytu Betul, the formidable consort of Menelik and herself a member of the northern aristocracy, was reportedly unsettled by the rising influence of Shewan elites—a political dynamic that eventually contributed to her own marginalization within the imperial court.

Shewan Consolidation and Bulga’s Symbolism

During Emperor Haile Selassie’s reign, the center of gravity continued to tilt subtly toward Shewa, with political and military leadership increasingly dominated by Amhara and Oromo elites from the region. In his book የሻምላው ትውልድ, Fassika Sidelil highlights the disproportionate influence of individuals from the Bulga district in Shewa. Notably, three brothers—Mekonnen Habte-Wold, Aklilu Habte-Wold, and Akalework Habte-Wold—simultaneously held key ministerial positions. Similarly, another trio from the same district—Aemro Enku-Selassie, Tsehayu Enku-Selassie, and Worku Enku-Selassie—served concurrently as provincial governors. In a related account, Yasin Yusuf emphasized how Bulga emerged as a symbol of elite power, a status even echoed in popular songs of the time:

ቡልጋ ዝናሽ ብዙ፤
አቤት አበዛዙ፤
ጸሐፊ ትዕዛዙ።
(Source: Yusuf Yassin፡ አሰባሳቢ ማንነት በአንድ ሃገር ልጅነት – ዩሱፍ ያሲን 2009 ዓ.ም)

Fassika further noted that, despite the prominence of Bulga elites, the area itself saw little to no preferential state investment. No major roads were constructed during Haile Selassie’s reign, and ironically, the district’s first hospital was not built until much later—under Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, a Tigrayan from Adwa.

For many northern elites, especially from Tigray, this historical southward drift left a lasting scar. By the 1960s and 70s, a growing number of Tigrayan intellectuals and activists felt excluded—not only politically, but also symbolically and culturally. This sense of marginalization contributed to the formation of the TPLF, which would eventually reshape Ethiopia’s political order.

Derg: Unity in Name, Division in Practice

In 1974, the Derg seized power under the banner of “Ethiopia First,” promising a new beginning. Early land reform initiatives gained popular support, particularly among the rural poor. But optimism quickly faded as the regime descended into authoritarianism—most infamously through the Red Terror.

Though it claimed to project national unity, the Derg was unable to secure legitimacy and authority in many regions, especially the north. Resistance movements like the TPLF, EPLF, and others mobilized with military resolve. In the east, the regime faced Somali-backed war in the Ogaden.

Though Addis Ababa remained the capital, the regime increasingly turned southward. Southern Ethiopia—long viewed as peripheral—became a new strategic zone, benefiting from investment in industry and infrastructure. This was as much tactical as ideological: the south offered a more loyal population. In the early 1990s—especially after the large swath of northern Ethiopia fell in the hands of the rebels, some say Mengistu even considered building a defensive barrier around this southern core but by then it was too late.

EPRDF: A Northern Compass, Southern Drift

When the TPLF-led EPRDF took power in 1991, it governed from Addis Ababa, but its ideological compass pointed north—toward Adwa. Favoritism toward Tigray became evident. The Amhara were branded “chauvinists,” and the Oromo were labeled “narrow nationalists.” Peripheral regions—Gambella, Benishangul-Gumuz, Afar, Somali—were informally sidelined, commonly known as “አጋር”, despite federalist rhetoric.

Even Addis Ababa was treated with suspicion—seen as a hub of opposition. It suffered prolonged neglect. Meanwhile, southern Ethiopia, perceived as politically safe, was integrated into the ruling coalition. Its ethnic diversity became a symbol of federal inclusion—but also gave rise to a quiet counterbalance to Adwa’s centrality.

Despite ideological efforts to reorient power northward, economic development steadily drifted south. In the 2000s, Hawassa—the capital of the Southern Region—emerged as a key political and industrial hub. It also gained prominence as a regional MICE (Meetings, Incentives, Conferences, and Exhibitions) destination, attracting summits and gatherings while offering a blend of business and leisure opportunities rooted in its rich cultural landscape. However, its prominence declined sharply after the Sidama Zone gained separate statehood in 2019. This political realignment undermined Hawassa’s symbolic role as a showcase of diversity and significantly eroded its strategic relevance.

Post-2018: The Ground Keeps Moving

The 2018 reforms marked a turning point. Abiy Ahmed’s rise ended the TPLF’s dominance, and like in the Derg’s early days, the public hoped for a more balanced field. But that hope soon faded. Critics say power shifted again—this time toward Oromo elites, in a “now it’s our turn” (ተረኝነት) moment, known as የኬኛ ፖለቲካ.

While Addis Ababa remained the capital, it became vulnerable to both political and spatial marginalization. On one hand, the city saw major beautification and infrastructure upgrades. On the other, the construction of Sheger City—a doughnut-shaped urban belt—was widely seen as an effort to strangle and suffocate Addis Ababa’s growth and symbolically dilute its centrality.

Unsurprisingly, the TPLF resisted its marginalization. In response, the federal government— determined to prevent any resurgence—launched a military campaign. The result was a devastating war that not only set Tigray back by decades but also inflicted widespread suffering in the Amhara region. In the aftermath, Tigray’s symbolic role within the federation was profoundly diminished. When Prime Minister Abiy declared, “Mekelle is no different from Abi Adi, Sheraro, or Beshasha,” many saw it as a definitive message: the north no longer enjoys any special status.

Some saw this as an attempt to elevate Beshasha—Abiy’s birthplace—as a symbolic center. But as with Adwa, it’s more rhetorical than real. Beshasha lacks the geographic, infrastructural, and economic capacity to function as a national gravity center.

With Hawassa’s prominence waning, attention has shifted to Debre Birhan. Once a historic capital, it is strategically located, historically significant, and increasingly favored by Amhara elites and investors. This renewed interest is partly driven by worsening security conditions in the Amhara interior and a broader climate of instability and targeted attacks in other parts of Ethiopia. As a result, some now view Debre Birhan as a potential secondary—or even alternative—center of gravity.

Why Geography Still Matters

Power may shift—but geography endures. You can attempt to build influence on the periphery—like Adwa or Beshasha—but if a place is too distant from the geographic and infrastructural core, its gravitational pull inevitably weakens. That’s why Addis Ababa continues to reassert itself. Centrally located and ethnically diverse, it remains Ethiopia’s most natural fulcrum of power.

Ironically, residents of former centers of gravity—whether Adwa or Bulga—seldom benefited from their symbolic elevation. Instead, they often became targets of suspicion and resentment, perceived as privileged by association. These experiences should serve as cautionary tales for today’s leadership: using Beshasha as a symbolic centerpiece risks repeating past missteps. Symbolic prominence without inclusive development deepens societal divisions and alienates local communities rather than empowering them.

The government must move beyond symbolic politics and invest in making Addis Ababa a genuinely inclusive national capital—while ensuring that economic growth and opportunity extend equitably across all regions.

The real challenge isn’t picking winners—north, south, east, or west. It’s achieving fairness. It’s about ending spatial inequality, ensuring no region monopolizes development, and no community is left behind.

That requires more than political slogans. It demands spatially informed, equitable planning.

Shifting the center of gravity is like defying gravity itself. But if Ethiopia is to build a more just and united future, it must think geographically—not to diminish Addis Ababa’s significance, but to extend its promise to every corner of the country.

As the African adage reminds us: “When the center tilts, the rim wobbles.”

Editor’s Note : Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com      

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