“A tree that cannot bend will break.”
By Habte H
I write this from a place of both exhaustion and hope.
Like many Ethiopians, I have seen leaders and public figures rise on the back of trust, only to crumble over what seem like small things: a careless word, a flash of vanity, a slow but steady chain of compromises. The snake hidden in the grass will bite, we say, yet I too trusted blindly. I believed in biographies polished for public admiration. I believed in words delivered with conviction, and I silenced critics because faith felt safer than doubt.
But today, I am left wondering – are we doomed to keep trading slogans for substance? Are we fated to watch power corrupt even those who once inspired us? Is our political soil so shallow that no roots can hold?
The Broken Trust
He who is absent is always wrong. I write this not to shame, but because honesty demands I name my grief. There were public figures I admired – Birhanu Nega, Daniel, and Sisay – men I once saw as unshakable. Perhaps my hopes were too high; perhaps the weight of power is heavier than we on the outside can imagine. But, as the saying goes, the hyena’s child still knows its father’s laugh – patterns repeat themselves, no matter how many times we think we have found the exception.
The gap between what was promised and what was practiced widened until trust could no longer leap across. At first, I told myself they were navigating complexity. Later, I realised they had simply settled into the comfort of position, losing the fire that had once made them fight. Trust is not something that snaps in a single moment; it rots slowly, like grain left damp in the storehouse.
Why Good Men Stumble?
A dry leaf follows the wind. Why do men and women of principle in Ethiopia or Ethiopia origin lose themselves the closer they get to power or being a public figure? I believe the answer lies in imbalance. A strong leader needs five anchors: mind, resources, moral compass, community, and health. These are like the roots of a tree – neglect one, and the whole structure weakens. Many of our leaders grow lopsided: clever but economically desperate, socially connected but morally untested, physically resilient but emotionally brittle.
An empty sack cannot stand upright. When temptation blows against such a frame, the person bends and eventually topples. They begin to cling to power not to serve, but to survive.
This is not only a personal flaw; it is a national inheritance. A hungry child forgets his father’s house. Malnutrition robs more than health – it steals patience, resilience, and the ability to imagine a better future. A nation raised in scarcity becomes a nation that craves quick fixes. We trade tomorrow’s institutions for today’s applause, just as the starving man will eat the seed meant for planting.
The Traps We Set for Ourselves
When spiders unite, they can tie down a lion. We know this, yet our politics often rewards division. Poverty teaches us to chase spectacle over substance. The loudest rooster owns the yard, so our leaders learn to perform rather than to serve. The crowd cheers a bold speech but ignores the quiet labour of reform.
We also treat compromise as shameful. Two bulls cannot drink from one cup, we say, and too often we would rather burn the field than share it. A leader who sees concession as surrender will turn every disagreement into a purge. And a people who demand purity will end up with nothing but ashes.
Meanwhile, the honest voices retreat. The tongue has no bones, yet it breaks backs. Why speak truth when lies and vanity are rewarded more richly? The genuine keep their heads low, and the stage is left to those most willing to flatter, provoke, or manipulate.
The result is a vicious circle: the system produces the leaders it rewards, and the people learn to expect nothing else.
The Way Forward
A fool’s path is paved with wise men’s silence. But silence is not destiny. We are not cursed – our condition is shaped by choices, and choices can be changed. The leader Ethiopia needs is not a saint untouched by the world, but a human being who resists the hunger to be worshipped. The wise admit they are wrong; the foolish double their bets.
We cannot keep waiting for such leaders to drop from the sky; you cannot harvest millet you did not sow. We must raise them. That means teaching our children to think critically, to value service over show, to see concession not as weakness but as wisdom. It means investing in their full growth – feeding their bodies, training their minds, nurturing their morals, strengthening their community ties, and protecting their health.
It also means changing how we choose. We must learn to listen to critics even when we like the candidate. One finger cannot lift a stone. We must resist the temptation to trade our long-term future for the short-term hunger of the present. The patient eater gets the ripe fruit. And we must reward those who build systems, even if they are not the best performers on the stage. Actions are the seed; words are just the husk.
The axe forgets; the tree remembers. Our country remembers every betrayal, even if the betrayer does not. Let us choose leaders whose private lives match their public speeches – those who stand straight when no one is watching, those who can lose a battle without losing their soul.
Only then will our politics stop converting the good into the compromised. Only then will we see the slow, patient growth of leaders who are not merely heroes in the moment, but custodians of the generations to come.
Editor’s Note : Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com
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