Girma Berhanu (Professor)
Introduction
This paper examines the challenges faced by Ethiopians of mixed ethnic and linguistic backgrounds under the ethnic federalism implemented since 1991. Drawing from personal experience and ethnographic research on interethnic marriages, it explores the lived realities of individuals forced to adopt singular ethnic identities in a deeply plural society. Historically, Ethiopian identity was shaped by birthplace, multilingualism, and social integration. However, the post-1991 system, which institutionalized ethnicity as the core axis of governance, enforces rigid classifications that obscure complex identities and foster exclusion. These imposed categories affect access to education, employment, political representation, and services, reinforcing structural inequality and polarization. Through qualitative reflection and policy critique, the study calls for a more inclusive framework that reflects Ethiopia’s pluralistic reality and affirms intersectional identity.
The Forgotten Ethiopians: Mixed-Ethnicity People and the Crisis of Belonging
A recent study has shed light on one of the most overlooked injustices in Ethiopia: the silent suffering of people with mixed ethnic backgrounds. Despite living in the country for generations—often embodying the potential for unity in a deeply divided society—millions of Ethiopians with mixed heritage find themselves erased from the national narrative and excluded from systems of recognition, protection, and representation.
Their marginalization took a formal turn in the early 1990s, when the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) introduced ethnic federalism. This system, solidified in the 1995 Constitution, divided the country into ethnolinguistic regions—or Kilils—and legally assigned identity based primarily on the father’s ethnicity. In doing so, the state institutionalized a patrilineal identity structure, effectively rendering mothers invisible in the ethnic equation and treating mixed ethnic identity as a bureaucratic inconvenience.
The result? Fragmented families. Lost identities. Millions of people left to navigate a country that sees them as less than whole.
For those of mixed heritage, daily life can feel like walking a tightrope—never fully accepted by either side of their ancestry. They face what W.E.B. Du Bois famously called “double consciousness”: a fractured sense of self caused by the pressure to choose one identity while denying the other. This emotional and social toll is compounded by the practical consequences of being unrecognized: lack of political representation, increased risk of displacement, and limited access to rights and protections afforded to members of “official” ethnic groups. This isn’t just a flaw in administrative design—it’s a violation of dignity and belonging. It turns human complexity into a liability. As researcher Asfaw (2022) powerfully argues, Ethiopia urgently needs a more inclusive and flexible political framework—one that acknowledges the full spectrum of ethnic identities, respects both maternal and paternal lineages, and moves beyond rigid classification. Without such reform, Ethiopia risks deepening the very divisions ethnic federalism was meant to resolve.
The lived experience of mixed-ethnicity Ethiopians must no longer be sidelined. Their stories are not just cautionary tales—they are blueprints for a future Ethiopia that embraces diversity not as a threat, but as a strength. The question is: will the nation listen?
Ethnic identity is not always singular or fixed. For many of us, it’s layered, fluid, and shared. Recognizing this complexity is key to building a more inclusive and just future for all Ethiopians.
Understanding Ethnicity: A Scientific Exploration of Its Dynamic and Fluid Nature
Three key points shape my perspective:
- I approach this topic from a scientific background, not a political one. My study of identity is multi-disciplinary, drawing insights from psychology, neuroscience, and philosophy.
- I fully acknowledge the profound emotional resonance of kinship, patriotism, and the need for belonging, and sense of coherence.
- My thinking does not originate from a place of hatred, antagonism, or any complex of inferiority or superiority. Instead, it stems from a foundation of sincerity and pragmatism – a kind of a scout mindset.
The strong attachment that ethno-nationalists show toward their narrow group identities, even to the point of calling for secession, isn’t fundamentally different from my own commitment to a united, multi-ethnic Ethiopian nation. Both sentiments are shaped by deeply embedded psychological mechanisms. The trouble begins, however, when we justify our emotions by rewriting history and politicizing identity.
The Science of Kinship and Identity
Kin selection, a well-established principle in evolutionary biology, suggests that we prefer our relatives as a natural process in evolution’s self-preserving logic. It explains why individuals prioritize the welfare of close kin over unrelated others. This process inevitably produces in-groups and out-groups, but without necessarily inciting direct conflict between them. This instinctive affinity can, as seen in many cultures, even extend into institutionalized practices like cousin marriage – although controversial in some societies, but not inherently irrational. In fact, one can say, emotional and social proximity often guide human behavior more than abstract universalism. This is why factors like similarity, proximity, attractiveness, and reciprocity matter more for love and partner selection than IQ or wisdom. So, it’s no wonder that tribes and clans are bonded. No wonder in-groups and out-groups are formed.
However, recognizing how emotions influence decisions does not mean endorsing ethnocentrism, parochialism, or fixating on what separates us. Instead, it helps us recognize that the human tendency toward in-group preference isn’t inherently malicious; it’s only a starting point. The political challenge is to develop that basic instinct into a broader civic identity, one that honors diversity, our shared humanity and history while acknowledging our differences. In Ethiopia’s case, the goal shouldn’t be to eliminate group identities, but to prevent them from fragmenting the nation. Nothing good ever comes from hatred and vengeance. A multi-ethnic national framework offers a more inclusive and sustainable path forward, where the natural bonds of kinship are woven into national unity, not weaponized against it. This is underscored by geography- we live together and amplified by the realities of globalization- which demands cooperation across cultures, identities, and borders.
This understanding aligns seamlessly with my own sense of identity. I don’t feel compelled to conform to the narrow categorizations imposed by ethnic essentialism. My identity doesn’t fracture simply because I refuse to be confined by simplistic tribal labels, or because it extends beyond the tangible, embracing the abstract ideal of Ethiopian-ness. Besides, I am a product of love, not hatred, a fusion of diverse genetic threads, not a distortion born of fear or rage.
To illustrate further, consider Ethiopia’s long and complex history. Over the centuries, the country has endured countless wars, ordinary people perished, some minority nations vanished, and new identities were forged. While tragically destructive, war also leaves behind social and demographic consequences. One often-overlooked outcome is how it forces populations to mix, resettle, and intermarry. Over time, this results in deep genetic blending, to the point where, as genetic studies suggest, internal variation within so-called ethnic groups can be greater than the variation between them.
In global perspective, from the Romans to the Greeks, the Persians, and the great religious traditions of Christianity and Islam, history is filled with war and conquest. But it is equally a story of ideas, of cultures, philosophies, and beliefs that outlast empires. The victors on the battlefield did not always define the future. In the long run, history tends to favor resilience over force, vision over victory. It unfolds not through direct confrontation alone, but through currents that are often subtle, surprising, and nonlinear.
Uniqueness, in fact, can be found in every identity, and this holds true for the concept of Oromo uniqueness as well. Perceived uniqueness can be artificially constructed and still generate real conflict, as the Robbers Cave experiment illustrates. Thus, this line of thought and sentiment is understandable, reflecting the logic often heard from nationalist wings too, who depict Ethiopia as a unique, unparalleled nation. Yet, it is not their uniqueness that most profoundly defines the Oromo, the Amhara, or Ethiopia as a whole; rather, it is the pervasive poverty and never-ending conflicts. This, paradoxically, is the shared reality that unites us, far more than any perceived distinction. When elites overlook the deeper patterns of history, they tend to magnify the supposed uniqueness of their group, reinforcing divisive biases. In doing so, they construct artificial identities, manipulate cultural narratives, invent dogmas, and recast history to suit their own ends. These manifestos reflect not depth, but a shallow, egocentric view of the world. Genuine strength lies not in clinging to perceived distinction, but in embracing the shared humanity that binds us together.
Of course, ethnic identity is more than genetics; in many ways, it has little to do with biology at all. It’s a social construct, often shaped by language, culture, and shared narratives. But more crucially, it’s a political construct, frequently crafted and manipulated by elites who stand to gain from division. In this sense, the concept of race and ethnicity, as it is politicized today, is not a reflection of deep-rooted truths, but a fabrication, a chimera, a manufactured illusion sustained for ego, power, or fear.
Tragically, the world is full of such examples: Palestinians and Israelis, Indians and Pakistanis, Eritreans and Ethiopians, peoples with shared bloodlines, languages, and histories now divided by hardened borders and inherited animosity. The same could be said of North and South Koreans, Serbs and Croats, Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda,
or even Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland. Kinship, it seems, is no shield against hatred when identity is politicized and difference is exploited.
Asefa Chabo once recounted a powerful story that illustrates this dynamic: a group of Oromos, having been thoroughly assimilated over generations, had lost awareness of their Oromo heritage. Ironically, they came into conflict with fellow Oromos, perceiving and treating them as “others.” This anecdote is not an isolated case —it serves as a poignant reflection of the absurdity and malleability of ethnic identities, especially when shaped or distorted by political agendas. The account can be found in his writings and interviews.
Nation-Building and Exclusion
The next point concerns nation-building. Here too, I understand the emotional weight involved, because fundamentally, it mirrors my own reaction to the exclusionary politics implemented by groups like the TPLF and OLF. These organizations helped craft a constitutional framework designed to marginalize the Amhara, effectively erasing their rightful place in Ethiopian political life. This exclusion isn’t abstract or emotional; it’s institutional, codified in law, and built upon false historical narratives.
Yet, it’s important to recognize that not all experiences of exclusion are the same. The sense of marginalization that some groups express often stems from cultural dynamics, a perceived absence from the “national spotlight,” shaped by the presence of a dominant culture. While that too is painful and politically consequential, it’s categorically different from exclusion by legal design. The former is social and symbolic; the latter is structural and deliberate, pernicious.
Dominant cultures, however, are not fixed destinies; they are historical accidents. They emerge from particular moments of power, geography, and influence, not from intrinsic superiority. Who could have predicted, for instance, that English, a language once spoken by a small island population, would become the most widespread language on Earth? Or that Western cultural norms would achieve global penetration, eclipsing civilizations with far older and richer traditions, such as those of China, India, Greece, or Persia?
This reminds us that cultural dominance is often a consequence of history’s ebbs and flows, not a justification for political exclusion, nor a valid ground for dismantling nations or eradicating current generations. The challenge for nation-building, then, is not to erase difference or avenge past imbalances, but to build inclusive structures that honor complexity and shared destiny, without succumbing to the zero-sum logic of ethnonationalism. Neither the Woyane/OLF atrocities of yesterday and today, nor Menelik’s expansion in the 1870s can be resolved through vengeful hatred with new killings – such approaches offer no solution.
One point worth remarking upon in this hatred-fueled action is the adoption of the Latin alphabet for writing the Oromo language. This decision, made in the early 1990s during Ethiopia’s political reorganization along ethnic lines, marked a turning point. Rather than developing and embracing the indigenous Geʽez (Ethiopic) script, a system with deep roots in liturgical, historical, and administrative contexts, short-sighted political elites opted for a foreign alternative. This choice, strikingly, aligned with the insidious advice of racist Europeans, whose design was to effectively dismantle Black unity and power. Advocates of the Latin script argued it was more neutral or easier to use, but in practice, it reflected a deeper rejection of shared cultural heritage, and whoever thinks English spelling (or at all, in any aspect) is easier than Ge’ez! Instead of indigenizing modernity, this choice symbolized a kind of retaliatory break with the past. In an act of vengeful recalcitrance, some effectively cast aside local continuity and threw themselves into the arms of real colonizers, aligning with the global dominance of English and Western norms under the guise of cultural liberation. With our country’s resources already constrained, can we not transcend hatred and collectively embrace a pragmatic path forward? Wouldn’t you like millions of Ethiopians who can already write in the Ethiopic language benefit from learning Oromo language? We owe it to ourselves to question whether any alternative is truly wise?
The Campaign Against the Amhara
To understand the roots of exclusion more fully, we must examine the long-standing campaign against the Amhara. This campaign didn’t begin with domestic grievances alone; its ideological origins can be traced back to the colonial era, when European powers, particularly fascist Italy and certain imperialist thinkers, viewed Ethiopia’s independence and sovereignty as a direct challenge to their racial hierarchies and colonial ambitions.
Among these thinkers were those who were not only bewildered but deeply threatened by the image of a sovereign Black nation defeating a European army, as Ethiopia famously did at the Battle of Adwa. For them, the existence of an uncolonized African state with diplomatic sophistication, religious traditions, and historical legitimacy posed a symbolic and strategic threat. In response, they sought to undermine Ethiopia’s unity from within. Their strategy: to racialize and fragment the Ethiopian polity by portraying the Amhara as oppressors, a kind of internal colonizer over “captive” nations. Does this scheme sound familiar in African history?
This narrative was later adopted, often uncritically, by postcolonial Marxist and leftist intellectuals, including some within Ethiopia, whose misguided positions are now quoted endlessly, as if they were scripture handed down by Moses or Jesus. What began as colonial propaganda was repackaged in revolutionary rhetoric: the Amhara were recast not as one among many historically contributing groups to Ethiopian civilization, but as an imperial hegemon to be dismantled. The irony is staggering: those who once resisted European domination became targets of a narrative originally designed to serve colonial interests. The class conflict that once affected the entire nation has now been co-opted by fanatics as a tool for division. There is no meaningful difference between an Oromo oppressor class and an Amhara or Tigrayan one, just as there is no difference between an Amhara tenant and an Oromo tenant. An Oromo peasant cannot be oppressed, let alone colonized, by an Amhara peasant; both are victims of the same exploitative system.
This deliberate distortion laid the ideological groundwork for Ethiopia’s ethnic federalism, which enshrined division and exclusion in law. The 1995 Constitution, engineered under TPLF dominance, absorbed these twisted premises. It sidelined the Amhara politically and symbolically, even as Amhara farmers and workers continued to toil for the nation as they always had, not as overlords, but as citizens among others. It is also surprising that the Amhara of ancient times have become a controversial topic, while the atrocities committed recently by the TPLF across Ethiopia, including against the Oromo, are largely forgotten. The cruelty of this narrative lies in its tragic success: it erased nuance, severed shared histories, destroyed the robust bridges between communities, and sowed enduring distrust among people who had long intermingled through kinship, language, and daily life.
To me, it evokes the biblical story of Solomon’s judgment—except in this case, the child was truly split in two, and no one stepped forward to stop it. Yet, truth endures. The Amhara are not oppressors by nature or by design; they are among the foundational architects of Ethiopia. The path forward cannot be built on narratives rooted in resentment, fear, or foreign manipulation. It must be grounded in justice, truth, and a shared commitment to rebuild a common home—without scapegoats, without exclusion, and without myths disguised as liberation.
Conclusion
As fate would have it, we once again find ourselves facing a common adversary, a tyrannical leader who deceived us all, skillfully manipulating our divisions and weaponizing the very polarization sown by the liberation movements. Today, your vision of a Great Oromia lies betrayed, and my dream of Mother Ethiopia lies shattered. If we have learned a lesson and come to our senses, despite the wounds and betrayals, what binds us should prevail. This will make those who profit from polarization and conflict irrelevant. Otherwise, the very uniqueness you have conjured up may isolate you in a cycle of ceaseless wars, with friends turning foes, and neighbors becoming permanent enemies. We have, regrettably, traversed the full spectrum of extremism and retribution – perhaps the time has come to reclaim the wisdom of the middle path? Nothing good comes out of hatred.
Geography holds us together; we inhabit the same land, drink from the same rivers, and face the same geopolitical predicament. Our shared history, marked by cycles of war, shifting dominance, and uneasy alliances, has forged a collective psyche, probably with scars but resilient. We have to realize a wider sense of coherence.
Poverty unites the people in struggle, while decadence unites the ruling class and their aids. And the forces seeking to dismantle our cohesion, both internal and external, are not resting.
The path forward is also clear: justice first. The atrocities of the last half-century must not be buried or ignored. Only then can genuine collaboration emerge, collaboration not built on illusions or temporary alliances, but on accountability, shared purpose, and a sober understanding of our interconnected destiny.
As a concluding observation, Asfaw’s (2022) findings underscore the extent to which the Ethiopian government’s ’relational system’ is chiefly responsible for the structural exclusion of mixed-ethnicity individuals and their mothers from full participation in sociopolitical and spatial domains. The institutionalization of a rigid, patrilineal framework of identity fails to account for the fluid and complex nature of mixed heritage, thereby rendering maternal lineages and individuals of dual or multiple ethnic backgrounds socially and politically invisible. This exclusion extends beyond cultural marginalization; it constitutes a systemic injustice embedded within constitutional provisions and administrative practices. Asfaw (2022) further argues that the existing framework effectively classifies mixed-ethnicity individuals as an “erasable” category, depriving them of legal recognition, political representation, and spatial belonging. In light of this, the author calls for urgent constitutional amendments and institutional restructuring aimed at redressing these injustices. Such reforms are deemed essential to emancipate mixed-ethnicity individuals and their mothers from a system that perpetuates their marginalization and denies their rightful place within Ethiopia’s socio-political fabric.
Given the limited scholarly attention afforded to mixed ethnic identities in Ethiopia, there is a pressing need to investigate this phenomenon. Such inquiry is essential to illuminate the complex and often precarious sociopolitical spaces individuals with mixed heritage are compelled to navigate within a politicized landscape that is frequently devoid of empirical and scientific grounding.
Professor Girma Berhanu teaches in the Department of Education and Special Education, Gothenburg University. He can be reached at : girma.berhanu@ped.gu.se
Editor’s Note : Views in the article do not necessarily reflect the views of borkena.com
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