At the same time, such a characterization must be approached with care and balance. Having spent over two decades intermittently in South Africa, I have encountered a society marked not by inherent hostility, but by remarkable warmth and human dignity. Ordinary South Africans, in my experience, are among the most generous and humane individuals one may encounter globally. The problem, therefore, does not lie in the moral disposition of the people, but rather in the narratives that shape perception and public consciousness.

Afrophobia as a Symptom of a Failing Transnational African Project

The Myth of Inherent Hostility

Afrophobia, in this sense, is not merely a social manifestation, it is a symptom of a deeper failure within the transnational African project. It reflects a breakdown in the collective imagination that once sustained Pan-African solidarity. Misleading narratives about the rest of Africa, and about African migrants in particular, have contributed significantly to this condition.

These narratives often portray non-South African Africans as burdens on public resources, particularly in health and education. Yet such claims are frequently overstated or inaccurate. Refugees, for instance, are often supported through international mechanisms, including the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, which provides financial contributions to host states.

The second erroneous narrative pertains to the claim that non-South African nationals are taking jobs from South Africans. In reality, a significant portion of the South African population of African descent remains unemployed, a persistent concern that the government routinely highlights. For individuals who are not South African citizens, securing employment in the formal corporate or financial sectors is virtually unattainable.

Historically, the primary avenue available to other African nationals was access to education sector particularly tertiary education. However, that pathway has since been effectively closed, owing to a combination of leftist ideologies, nationalist sentiments, internal factional dynamics within the ruling party, and related political dispositions. As matters currently stand, African nationals are predominantly confined to participation in the informal trading sector. Even in this limited sphere of opportunity, however, they would likely face considerable challenges were fuller access ever to be extended.

Perhaps the most problematic discourse is the pervasive notion of South African exceptionalism relative to the rest of the continent. Such a narrative is not only ethically tenuous but also analytically flawed. Fundamentally, South Africa is indistinguishable from its continental peers regarding its endowment of human and natural capital.

While South Africa undoubtedly possesses a more advanced physical infrastructure, a historical legacy rather than an inherent superiority. It is essential to recognize that this developmental potential is latent across all African regions. In fact, a persuasive argument exists for the “advantage of the latecomer,” where other African nations may leverage contemporary technological applications and job-creation strategies more agilely than established economies. Consequently, no country or group is in a position to adopt a posture of superiority or complacency.

Equally problematic narrative is the persistent labelling of African nationals as “foreigners” within Africa itself. This terminology is not neutral; it carries the residue of colonial classifications that divided the continent into artificial being and belonging. To describe an African as a foreign national on African soil is to reproduce a conceptual framework that undermines continental unity. Language, in this regard, is not merely descriptive, it is constitutive. It shapes perception, and in doing so, can either reinforce or challenge exclusionary attitudes. The use of the term “foreigner,” as a dominant narrative, is problematic and warrants critical review and appropriate regulatory consideration, not only in South Africa but across the continent.

The nature of Afrophobia is not just about jobs or resources, but an attack on the “African identity” itself

The persistence of such narratives suggests that Afrophobia cannot be reduced to economic competition alone. While concerns about employment and service delivery are real, they do not fully explain the intensity or symbolic nature of the hostility. Rather, what is at stake is a deeper contestation over identity, over who belongs, and on what terms. In this sense, Afrophobia represents not only a social tension but a philosophical crisis of African identity.

The Infrastructure Illusion and The Shadow of Coloniality

South Africa’s economic success is often measured by the proliferation of high-net-worth individuals and a world-class infrastructure, vestiges of a settler-colonial history that meets European standards. Yet, these achievements have failed to trickle down to the majority. This creates a dangerous vacuum where ordinary citizens, struggling under the weight of inequality, are misled into believing they are exceptional compared to their continental peers.

When citizens are conditioned to believe they occupy a superior economic tier, they begin to view fellow Africans not as brothers, but as competitors for a shrinking plate. The reality is that South Africa’s struggles with poverty and governance are inherently African. The “exceptionalism” is an architectural illusion that obscures our shared vulnerability.

To understand the current surge in Afrophobia, we must evaluate it within the “long shadow of coloniality.” There is a stinging irony in the fact that an African immigrant in the United States, Canada, or Australia often finds it easier to assimilate and attain political office than a fellow African in South Africa. In the West, the path to becoming a representative is paved by law, whether systemic abhorrence exists or not. In South Africa, even after obtaining citizenship, running for an office as simple as that of a local councillor remains both a bureaucratic and a social nightmare.

“Postcolonial unfulfilled promise created a paradox: some nations still use the same exclusionary tactics as the colonial regime.”

It is intellectually inconsistent to condemn Western racism while our own “backyard is full of dust.” We cannot champion the rights of the global oppressed while turning a blind eye to the African bodies falling in broad daylight on our own streets. Charity, and justice, must start at home.

South Africa’s own historical trajectory adds further complexity. The country’s democratic transition carried with it a powerful vision of Pan-Africanism and continental leadership. Yet the gap between this normative aspiration and present realities has become increasingly apparent. The tension between national priorities and continental commitments remains unresolved, revealing an internal contradiction within the post-apartheid project.

Migration, often cited as a central issue, must also be situated within a broader structural context. Population movements across the continent are driven by multiple factors, including conflict, governance challenges, and economic disparities. No individual leaves their home without compelling reasons. At the same time, South Africa itself is undergoing economic strain, and like many countries, faces the challenge of balancing domestic priorities with regional responsibilities.

“The contradiction between South Africa’s Pan-African rhetoric and its local realities requires careful examination”

Empirically, migrants constitute a relatively small proportion of the population in South Africa, to be specific, less than three percent  Their participation in the formal economy is often constrained by regulatory and institutional barriers. The perception that they are displacing local workers is therefore not always supported by evidence. More importantly, the informal sector, where many migrants operate, reflects both resilience and marginalization, rather than dominance.

The broader paradox is unmistakable. Across the continent, African states continue to pursue integration through frameworks such as the African Union and the African Continental Free Trade Area. These initiatives envision a future defined by mobility, cooperation, and shared prosperity. Yet, at the societal level, divisions persist, often along lines that mirror the very boundaries these frameworks seek to transcend.

This contradiction is not unique to South Africa, but it is particularly visible there. It invites a deeper reflection on the unfinished project of decolonization. The postcolonial state, in some instances, has inherited not only the structures but also the exclusionary logics of the colonial order, policing borders, categorizing identities, and defining belonging in narrow terms.

At the same time, it is important to recognize that South Africa’s challenges are neither isolated nor exceptional. Across the continent, governance deficits, inequality, and social fragmentation continue to shape migration patterns and public sentiment. Responsibility, therefore, is collective. Afrophobia is not solely a South African issue; it is a continental concern that reflects broader failures of political leadership and institutional coherence.

Moving Beyond the Rhetoric

A necessary shift in discourse is the rejection of narratives that demonise one African country while appreciating another. Such rhetoric resembles President Trump’s remark about so-called “shithole” African countries. This framing is analytically unsound and diplomatically harmful. No African country is inherently beautiful or unattractive. Every nation on the continent possesses its own distinct form of beauty. Economic disparities exist, of course, between poorer and richer nations.

These differences often arise from the degree to which natural resources have been utilised. Africa cannot be meaningfully understood through binaries of “successful” and “failed” states; rather, each country embodies distinct historical trajectories, structural conditions, and developmental potentials that must be engaged with nuance and intellectual responsibility.

In this regard, it is important to recognize that no African country is inherently deficient or exceptional in isolation. Variations in economic performance often reflect differing degrees of resource utilization, governance capacity, and external constraints, rather than intrinsic national shortcomings.

For instance, Somalia possesses significant strategic and economic assets, including one of the longest coastlines on mainland Africa, approximately 3,293 kilometres, alongside substantial arable land and considerable untapped offshore oil and gas reserves. Estimates suggest the potential of up to 30 billion barrels, positioning the country for future energy development, contingent upon stability and effective governance. These untapped resources coexist with industrious and hardworking entrepreneurial communities.

Beyond material resources, however, the most consequential asset lies in human potential. The resilience, adaptability, and entrepreneurial spirit of African societies remain underappreciated dimensions of development discourse. To assess countries solely through the lens of present economic hardship is to overlook both latent capacity and the broader structural forces that shape such conditions. More importantly, such judgments risk dehumanizing populations and reinforcing reductive stereotypes.

A more constructive approach, therefore, is to foreground the intellectual and creative agency of African peoples, the capacity to redefine narratives, generate solutions, and transform constraints into opportunities. Even in contexts marked by fragility, the human imagination retains the power to reconstitute possibility.

It is this dimension, rather than the mere inventory of resources, that should anchor a more balanced and forward-looking discourse on Africa’s place in the world. Even in the most challenging environments, including what might be called “no man’s land,” that capacity endures. Therefore, discourse should move away from hierarchical judgements of African nations. A more constructive approach recognises the potential and dignity inherent in every African society.

The Crisis of Leadership and Accountability

The expectation that the African National Congress (ANC) would serve as a permanent torchbearer for Pan-Africanism has met a grim reality. Since 1994, the ideological clarity and charisma of the liberation movement have faded, replaced by internal contradictions where nationalism frequently stifles continental collectivism.

This leads to a fundamental question of accountability: Who will hold the perpetrators of bad governance in Africa responsible? While African leaders often play leading roles in global diplomatic dramas, many ignore the mass murderers walking freely within our own borders.

Addressing this challenge requires more than rhetorical condemnation. It demands a recalibration of discourse, a re-examination of policy, and a reinvigoration of Pan-African ideals. Civil society, religious institutions, community leaders, and governments must work collaboratively to rebuild trust and foster dialogue. Equally important is the need to listen, to understand the concerns of ordinary citizens while resisting narratives that dehumanize others.

Ultimately, the question is not only how to respond to Afrophobia, but how to prevent it. This requires confronting uncomfortable truths: about governance failures in sending countries, about economic pressures in receiving societies, and about the fragility of continental solidarity. It also requires a commitment to principle, that the dignity of Africans must be upheld everywhere on the continent.

Calling the phenomenon by its proper name is a necessary first step. But naming alone is insufficient. The deeper task is to align practice with principle, and to ensure that the vision of a united Africa is not confined to institutional declarations, but realized in the everyday interactions of its people.

Context Matters for a Balanced and Holistic Understanding

It is important not to overlook the historical context through which South Africans have lived, a history marked by both profound trauma and remarkable resilience. Within this context, the recent legacy of apartheid included systemic isolation, discrimination, and racial and ethnic labelling.

The post-apartheid era has introduced its own complexities policy frameworks such as affirmative action, while intended to redress past injustices, are perceived by some as a continuation of systemic exclusion. This dynamic evokes the principle of “an eye for an eye,” reminiscent of the ancient Babylonian Code of Hammurabi (c. 1790 BCE). Given these deep-seated historical grievances, holding ordinary South Africans to a different moral or behavioural standard may be disconnected from reality.

Conversely, a reciprocal accountability is required from the broader African continent. African countries are not necessarily in a morally superior position to criticize South Africa’s situation. When pointing a finger at South Africa, it is worth remembering that the remaining fingers often point back at oneself. Beyond their professed Pan-African rhetoric, many African nations remain largely isolationist and protectionist.

More concerning still, some African countries practice discrimination, not only against non-nationals but also against their own citizens, through vague forms of ethnic and language-based federalism. Such domestic inconsistencies justify a degree of scepticism regarding the efficacy of frameworks like the AfCFTA, which require a fundamental shift in political and cultural mindset to succeed. When all these factors are considered, by any reasonable measure, South Africa emerges as a relatively safe haven, far from being a place of unmitigated hardship.

Conclusion: Toward a Diplomacy of Dignity

The migration we witness today is a symptom of failed states and fundamental injustice in most African countries. No conscious human being leaves their home unless the environment becomes untenable. African immigrants and displaced persons remain vulnerable to violence and injustice both within Africa and beyond its borders. A recent report indicates that the government of Saudi Arabia has decided to punish over 100 African immigrants by public beheading with a sword.

These African nationals face capital punishment in a legal and cultural environment alien to them. They originally fled persecution within Africa, only to encounter it again in a foreign jurisdiction. In that jurisdiction, they do not speak the local language. They face significant cultural barriers. Their prospects for survival remain uncertain. Silence in the face of such events undermines the very principles of continental solidarity and the protection of African lives everywhere.

If we are to transform the dream of “Africa for Africans” into a reality, we must first recognize that an African national cannot be a foreign national on African soil. We must stop policing the victims of our shared history and start dismantling the colonial mentalities that keep us divided. Only then can we move from a politics of fear to a diplomacy of dignity.

In post-apartheid South Africa, issues of xenophobia and Afrophobia will recur. This will continue unless the government and concerned citizens take collective, pragmatic action. Civil society, elderly communities, religious leaders, the government, AU agencies, and the international community must work together for lasting solutions. The agency of Pan Africanism is not the sole responsibility of South Africa. The African continent at large should shift from a blaming game and act accordingly.

Seife Tadelle Kidane (PhD) serves as Director of the Centre for Governance and Intra-Africa Trade Studies (CGIATS) and President of Africa Speaks with Special Consultative status with the UN-ECOSOC. He can be reached at cdeofthemovement@gmail.com

Contributed by Seife Tadelle Kidane (PhD)

At a time like this, the greatest mistake we can make is trying to do everything at once. Not all problems are equal. Some are foundational. Some are enabling. And some, if ignored, will make every other effort irrelevant.

Food Is Not Just a Sector, It Is the System

We often repeat that food, shelter, and clothing are basic human needs. But in Ethiopia today, food is not just one of many priorities it is the highest priority. It underpins stability, health, productivity, and even peace. When food systems fail, everything else follows: economic collapse, migration, conflict, and disease. Yet we continue to treat food as if it were someone else’s responsibility, something for farmers, or for the Ministry of Agriculture. That approach is no longer adequate for the challenges we face.

Food security must become a national agenda, owned by every sector, every institution, and every level of leadership. Until Ethiopia reaches a safe and stable threshold, nothing else should distract from this central task. This requires a shift not only in focus, but in how we approach agricultural transformation: more attention alone will not solve the problem. Poorly directed attention can be as damaging as neglect.

If Science Does Not Lead, We Will Keep Failing

Ethiopia does not suffer from a lack of effort. It suffers from a lack of alignment and direction. The country must shift decisively toward knowledge-driven, science-led agricultural transformation. This is not a technical preference; it is a necessity. Without it, we will continue to recycle the same approaches and expect different results.

I recently attended the annual research review of the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research (EIAR). What I saw was encouraging: dedicated researchers, committed professionals, and real intellectual energy. The potential is there. But potential does not produce results on its own. Without a system that allows science to lead, that potential will remain unrealized. If we are serious about transformation, three priorities are non-negotiable.

Integration: Ethiopia’s agricultural system exhibits important gaps in coordination both across sectors and within the Ministry of Agriculture itself – from research and policy to implementation, utilization of scientific outputs, and extension. These disconnects are not merely inefficient; they significantly limit impact. Research findings do not consistently reach farmers, policies are not always grounded in operational realities, and promising solutions struggle to scale. For example, improved crop varieties and practices often remain confined to research stations rather than reaching widespread adoption at farm level. Addressing this requires a shift toward systems thinking – where each stage, from conceptualization to delivery and use, is better connected, aligned, and oriented toward measurable impact.

Human Capital: Agriculture cannot be transformed with average capacity. It requires the best minds the country has to offer. Yet the sector often struggles to attract and retain top talent. This must change. Ethiopia must invest in building, attracting, and retaining highly capable, interdisciplinary professionals. Critically, this includes repurposing and retraining talented individuals from other fields who may have no formal background in agriculture but possess strong analytical, technical, and problem-solving skills. There is a vast pool of underutilized talent across disciplines such as data science, engineering, economics, and environmental sciences that can be redirected toward agricultural transformation with the right training and orientation. This requires deliberate programs to transition and equip such professionals with applied agricultural knowledge, while leveraging their existing strengths. Equally important is creating the right motivation and incentive structures – competitive compensation, clear career pathways, and a strong sense of national purpose – to attract and retain the country’s brightest minds. Without mobilizing and redirecting this breadth of talent, science cannot effectively lead agricultural transformation.

Funding: This is where rhetoric must end, and real commitment must begin. Agricultural research must become one of the most well-funded sectors in Ethiopia, not symbolically, but substantively. And not in fragments, but across the entire chain. Funding must cover everything: from conceptualization and design to field implementation, validation, scaling, and ultimately delivery and use by farmers and policymakers. Laboratories, field trials, data systems, and extension services must be properly financed. Researchers must be competitively paid and supported. Without this end-to-end investment, even the best ideas will die before they make an impact.

This Is Not Just Reform, It Is a Reset

The problem is not only technical; it is structural.

The human resource base of agriculture must change. A system dominated by outdated structures cannot deliver modern results. Ethiopia must actively bring in younger generations, educated farmers, and practically trained professionals, particularly through strengthened TVET systems that connect knowledge with real-world application.

Leadership must also evolve. It cannot remain trapped in routine administration while the system it oversees struggles. What is needed is leadership that thinks in systems, acts strategically, and focuses on long-term impact. This leadership must also be supported, not constrained, by independent, high-level thinking bodies composed of the country’s best minds, free from bureaucratic inertia.

Ethiopia’s future will not be decided in abstract debates or policy documents. It will be decided by the choices made now. We can continue to spread our attention thin, reacting to symptoms. Or we can confront the foundation of the problem and act decisively. If there is one area where failure is not an option, it is agriculture. Not just more attention, but focused, science-driven, system-wide transformation. Because if agriculture fails, the foundation of Ethiopia’s future is at risk.

Taddese Alemu Zerfu (PhD) is a research fellow at the International Food Policy Research Institute (IFPRI). He is also an Adjunct Associate Professor at the University of Gondar (UoG).

Contributed by Taddese Alemu Zerfu (PhD)

There is a specific form of treachery that operates under the guise of the very individuals it devastates. The TPLF Central Committee’s April 19th decision to reject the federal government’s extension of Tadesse Werede’s (Lt. Gen.) mandate and to announce the restoration of the pre-2020 illegal regional council, whose democratic legitimacy is roughly equivalent to that of the Derg’s final parliament, exemplifies such betrayal. It is dressed up in the language of constitutional principle. In essence, a faction says that its own survival is more important than Tigray’s.

Getachew Reda, who was the president of the Tigray Interim Administration and one of the main architects of the Pretoria Agreement, said the decision was part of a “well-established pattern” in which the TPLF’s “political imagination begins and ends with the preservation of its parochial interests.”

He’s right. But Getachew’s accuracy shouldn’t lead us into the easy trap of thinking this is just a story about one person. Many people and factors led to the end of the Pretoria Agreement, and it will take more honesty from more people than anyone has been willing to give so far to fix it.

The agreement, which was critically ill and ceased on April 19, was never a comprehensive peace accord. It was an intentionally incomplete framework, strategically vague on its most controversial parts, and it relied on the continued political will of the parties that signed it, driven by military exhaustion rather than genuine political agreement. Its disarmament and the return of federal services were well organized and followed. It had no rules about Western Tigray, transitional justice, or the long-term political future of Tigrayan governance.

Every peace deal does this: it leaves the hardest questions open and gets people to sign off on the easier ones. The trade only works if both sides use the time they bought with the agreement to build trust and address what was put off. They did not do this in this case.

The group this analysis calls the Sebhat Nega dynasty is most directly responsible for that failure. It comprises figures such as Getachew Assefa and Alem Gebrewahid and is backed by the military groups that call themselves “Core and Above.”

This is not a description made from a safe distance. It is a conclusion demanded by a documented record of 10 discrete acts of sabotage: preemptive opposition to the agreement at the moment of its signing; a four-month delay in forming the Interim Administration, calibrated to ensure a factional rather than a societal composition; systematic obstruction of the DDR process required by the accord’s implementation; a venomous internal smear campaign that branded pragmatic Tigrayan leaders as traitors and CIA agents; the military units’ decisive support for the hardliner coup of April 2025; the calculated installation of a TIA president whose mandate extension could later be weaponized as a constitutional pretext; an illicit alliance with the Eritrean regime, whose forces committed genocide against Tigrayans; the acceptance of Eritrean intelligence direction to eliminate from Tigrayan political life precisely the leaders least susceptible to Asmara’s manipulation; and documented plots to physically neutralize prominent political and military figures, including Tsadkan Gebretensae (Gen.).

Since the power grab in April 2025, the “Core and Above” formations that supported this faction have ceased to function as recognizable military units. They are now criminal organizations that run illegal gold mining and smuggling operations across porous borders; run networks that traffic people and prey on Tigrayans desperate enough to pay high fees to escape the conditions these same units have helped create; rob banks in the region; and, in the most morally abhorrent of their operations, use systematic sexual violence against Tigrayan teenage girls to control factions.

 The reasoning is the same as that of Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army: sexual violence as punishment, to scare people, and to show power over a civilian population kept in line by fear. It is not surprising that forces claiming to act in Tigray’s name are doing this to Tigrayan civilians. It is the end of a politics that was always about power for its own sake.

But being honest with your mind means assigning blame fairly, rather than simply going after the easiest target. The Ethiopian federal government does not have the records it claims to have. PM Abiy Ahmed’s government has formally pledged to the Pretoria framework, yet it has consistently failed to meet the most pressing humanitarian needs.

The agreement requires that Western Tigray remain under Amhara control until it is returned to Tigrayan administration, a condition for IDP repatriation. But Addis Ababa lacks the political will to enforce the agreement’s territorial provisions and the willingness to face Amhara constituencies that regard Western Tigray as a non-negotiable nationalist demand. Hundreds of thousands of Tigrayan IDPs are still living in tents, and there have been documented deaths from starvation.

This is a daily reminder of the federal government’s failure to fulfill its obligations under the Pretoria framework.

The April 2026 mandate extension was a unilateral administrative decision, not a political process that involved all of Tigrayan civil society. This gave the hardliner faction the constitutional language it needed to commit a highly irresponsible act. The result is the same, whether it was careless or planned.

President Isaias Afwerki of Eritrea, on the other hand, never accepted that Tigrayan political power would survive the war. He said after the signing in Pretoria that “our mission has been thwarted.” This was not a diplomatic mistake. It reflected Asmara’s strategic assessment.

The Eritrean government wanted not just to defeat Tigray but to destroy it as a political society. Pretoria, despite its flaws, maintained the conditions necessary for the continuation of Tigrayan political life. The Tsimdo rapprochement, in which TPLF hardliners joined forces with those who committed the worst documented atrocities during the genocide war, shows that the dynasty was willing to put Eritrean strategic interests ahead of Tigrayan political independence. It is not just a rumor that Asmara’s intelligence services led the purge of Tigray’s best leaders; it is a conclusion based on a documented pattern.

This leads us to the question that the Pretoria Agreement was meant to answer, and any new process must be held accountable. The Tigray war was not a typical armed conflict, and the atrocities that occurred could not be seen as unfortunate byproducts of military operations.

The coming together of federal Ethiopian forces, Eritrean National Defense Forces, and Amhara regional militias led to a pattern of mass atrocities. These included the systematic killing of civilians in Axum, Mai Kadra, and Dengelat; the use of sexual violence as a weapon on a scale that multiple international investigators have called a deliberate tool of ethnic terror; the creation of famine conditions by blocking food and medical access for millions of people; and the targeting of Tigrayan civilians, as shown by the language used by perpetrators and the patterns of victim selection that meet the legal definitions of war crimes and crimes against humanity under the Rome Statute and that a growing body of expert legal and historical analysis has called genocide.

For Tigray to achieve lasting peace, those who committed these crimes must be held accountable, and that accountability must include everyone involved. This includes Eritrean military leaders whose troops have been caught committing mass killings and systematic rape. It includes leaders of the Amhara militia who took part in these acts in Western Tigray. It includes Ethiopian federal officials. It also includes TPLF leaders who were involved in killing civilians in Amhara and Afar during the southern phases of the conflict, as well as those in charge of the “Core and Above” criminal and sexual violence operations today.

A tribunal that examines some of these issues and not others is not a way to bring about transitional justice; it is a political tool that looks like a legal one. The international community’s repeated failure to impose existing Magnitsky framework sanctions on documented offenders from all parties is not a matter of diplomatic caution. Impunity is what keeps this pattern going, and it is the oxygen of impunity.

A subsequent peace process must earnestly address a critical issue that proponents across all factions have sought to evade: the genuine and perceived security concerns of Amhara civilians in Western and Southern Tigray.

This analysis fully supports the legitimate claim to Tigrayan territorial sovereignty, grounded in both the historical record and the terms of the Pretoria Agreement. It does not eliminate the protective responsibilities owed to civilian inhabitants, whose apprehensions, though exacerbated by political figures, are grounded in substantiated TDF atrocities in Amhara and Afar. These fears cannot be dismissed as fabrications; doing so only helps those who have used civilian presence to justify permanent occupation.

Western and Southern Tigray need a governance framework under Tigrayan authority that includes clear, enforceable constitutional protections for the safety, property rights, and political representation of Amhara residents.

There should also be independent international monitoring during the transition and structured community reconciliation processes led by neutral third parties. This is not giving in to the occupation. It shows what real sovereignty is about. A Tigray whose government protects the rights of everyone in its territory, including those from historically rival communities, demonstrates the political vision that distinguishes statehood from factional control.

The Sebhat Nega dynasty will not protect anyone in Tigray, whether Tigrayan or not. Guarantees of minority rights do not weaken the case for Tigrayan territorial integrity; they strengthen it.

The window for effective intervention is narrowing in real time. The African Union and the United Nations don’t need another framework agreement focused on the same groups, whose track record of following through is now clear. It is a wide-ranging consultation of Tigrayan society that includes genuine groups not affiliated with the TPLF, youth movements, women’s groups, religious leaders, civil society, intellectuals, the diaspora, and reformist political figures. It separates the issue of who owns guns from the issue of who truly represents Tigrayan society.

The hardliner faction should be given a clear choice: either take part in a process based on real accountability and civilian-oriented governance or be excluded from any transitional governing role because their documented actions, such as criminal enterprises, sexual violence, assassination plots, and following Eritrean orders, make them unfit for any position of public trust.

A group that put its own survival ahead of the well-being of the people it claimed to represent killed the Pretoria Agreement from the inside.

There is no doubt this is true; the evidence is too strong and specific to allow for reasonable disagreement. The question is whether the international community and the broader Ethiopian political system have the moral clarity to call it what it is, the institutional ability to act on that naming, and the political will to build what will take the place of the agreement that was killed.

History will determine whether the response is sufficient to the necessity. Today, the need is urgent in Tigray.

Hailai Weldeslassie Abera is an independent researcher in development, peace, and security, affiliated with the University of KwaZulu-Natal in Durban, South Africa. He can be reached at addeyagoza@yahoo.com

Contributed by Hailai Weldeslassie Abera

This article sets out to explain that failure. It argues that the shortfall is not principally one of moral clarity or analytic skill among youth and reformers; rather, it is the predictable outcome of interacting historical legacies, coercive control, elite fracture, war fatigue, external interventions, and pragmatic calculations about survival.

Its objective is threefold: to diagnose the structural and contemporary drivers that raise the cost of collective action in Tigray; to propose realistic, staged measures for peaceful democratic transformation; and to map both plausible positive and negative scenarios that could follow depending on whether those measures are pursued with credible external facilitation.

To be concrete from the outset: the period since the Pretoria agreement (November 2022) has shown both openings and hard constraints. Despite the hardliners apparent self‑defeating acts, among others, accusations of corruption and luxury amid widespread hunger, suspected alignments with Eritrean actors, and maneuvers that many youth read as prioritizing power over recovery epitomized by the Debretsion‑aligned hardliners retaining de facto control of much of Tigray’s interim administration and security apparatus as of April 2026.

The party faced formal setbacks: federal deregistration of the TPLF in May 2025, internal coups and ousters, and the public emergence of rival armed and political formations as the offshoot of the yet no unified youth‑led political struggle.

The numbers matter: the war in 2020–2022 resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands, the deliberate rape and dissemination of HIV/AIDS among innocent women, girls, men, and boys, the displacement of millions, overwhelming mental health psychosocial disorder and inheritable collective trauma, and famine-level deprivation. Such trauma conditions explain why large swathes of the population seek stability even when the stability is imperfect.

Unraveling the Problem, not Cutting the Gordian knot

Understanding why “enlightened” youth have not dislodged hardliner power requires attention to five interacting logics. I recognize the strong temptation among many elites and youth to seek a single bold, decisive remedy—a “cutting the Gordian knot” solution—that promises rapid relief. Yet such an instinctive turn toward dramatic or unconventional action, rather than a careful, staged untangling of entrenched problems, risks reinforcing the same dynamics it seeks to overturn: strengthening either a repressive central state or the TPLF’s politico‑military oligarchy, and thereby prolonging Tigray’s suffering.

For this reason, the puzzle must be analyzed through the structural constraints that elevate the costs of collective action; these underlying logics are set out in the following major factors.

First, historical contingency has shaped political identity and loyalties. Tigray’s modern political culture is a product of recurrent existential threats: imperial centralization, the Derg’s violence, and the TPLF’s long rule, which have made organized force and the rhetoric of defense core elements of legitimacy.

 For many Tigrayans, the TPLF’s self‑presentation as guarantor of survival is not merely propaganda but a plausible claim rooted in recent memory. That residual legitimacy means that anger at elite betrayal (for example, criticisms that leadership sacrificed youth through mass conscription or that some leaders retained conspicuous wealth amid scarcity) does not automatically translate to mass delegitimization when the alternative promises uncertainty.

Second, the coercive capture of security institutions is decisive. The Tigray Defense Forces (TDF), once a broad resistance formation, have been repurposed in many areas into an instrument that enforces hardliner priorities after internal shifts that followed the March 2025 takeover of Mekelle offices and the ouster of cooperative figures such as Getachew Reda in April 2025.

The emergence of rival armed groups, notably the Tigray Peace Force (TPF) in 2025,  itself composed of disgruntled ex‑TDF fighters, illustrates fissures, but the effective monopoly of organized violent capacity in the hands of factions aligned with Debretsion raises the practical cost of public dissent. Arrests, labeling of critics as federal proxies, and targeted repression have been reported. These raise personal stakes and deter mass mobilization, particularly when defections from the security apparatus are insufficient to alter force balances.

Third, elite fragmentation and the co‑option of youth energy into factional contests have splintered the possibility of a unified civic front. The salient divide is not simply youth versus the TPLF but intra‑Tigrayan elite fault lines: Debretsion hardliners; pragmatic military moderates (embodied in figures like Tadesse Werede (Lt. Gen.), who by mid‑2026 had been placed in hybrid roles combining military and interim administrative authority); and reformist exiles/parties (Getachew Reda’s camp, Simret, the Tigray Democratic Solidarity, TLDP).

These divisions mean urban intelligentsia often rally to new parties while rural constituencies remain tied to defender narratives; federal engagement with reformists further creates a proxy dynamic that hardliners exploit to discredit opponents as “Addis puppets.” The result is fragmentation of coalition energy rather than its concentration into a mass civic movement like those seen in Oromia or Amhara between 2015–2018.

Fourth, war fatigue and a rational preference for survival are potent constraints. When populations have endured catastrophic loss—famine, displacement, and sustained violence—the calculus tilts toward risk aversion.

Many populations, including pro‑reform youth, thus prefer the “lethargic stability” associated with a pragmatic military‑moderate order (Tadesse’s posture of deterrence and cautious governance) over the existential gamble of renewed large‑scale fighting that hardliner escalation might engender. This preference falsification—public acquiescence to imperfect authorities to avoid perceived greater harm—impoverishes the pool of visible dissenters and aggravates the classic free‑rider problem in collective action theory.

Fifth, external actors and modern informational tools have reshaped opportunity structures. Hardliner alignments with Eritrea and alleged tacit understandings with other regional actors provide material lifelines, intelligence, and narrative cover that frame critics as endangering Tigray’s survival by weakening its defenders.

Federal measures—party deregistration, exclusionary electoral moves, and economic restrictions—raise the cost of political contestation without offering secure alternative pathways. Social media amplifies grievances and documents abuses but simultaneously accelerates surveillance, propaganda, and polarization, enabling hardliners to control the narrative of existential threat.

These dynamics explain why grievance and awareness—the components that make a context “ripe” for change in many theoretical models—have not sufficed here. Political science suggests that mass democratizing exits occur when internal elite splits align with broad popular pressure and external openings. In Tigray that alignment remains elusive because coercive advantage, elite veto power, and fear of catastrophic backlash continue to limit the viability of a non‑violent transition.

A staged, realistic roadmap for non‑violent transformation

Moving from diagnosis to a pragmatic, non‑violent roadmap, if the aim is democratic transformation without further bloodshed, reformers and international partners must pursue a staged, institutionally grounded strategy that addresses the structural constraints above.

Four interlocking measures are essential.

First, a verifiable security deconcentration process must be negotiated and externally monitored conditioned to primarily addressing Tigray’s genocide-imposed predicaments on the part of the Federal Government.

This would involve staged demobilization or separation of factional forces, neutral monitoring (ideally under African Union or UN auspices), confidence-building releases of detainees, and a transparent timeline for transferring policing authority to impartial local bodies.

Sequencing is vital: meaningful political competition requires a credible reduction in hardliners’ coercive capacity before elections or open contests.

Second, political engineering must be inclusive and move beyond personality politics. An interim, broadly representative council, including civic leaders, youth councils, diaspora actors, rural elders, moderate security figures, and reformist parties like Simret could provide an institutional vehicle to oversee transitional measures.

Drafting a charter guaranteeing civil and territorial rights, setting a clear disarmament timetable, and managing local administrations until free political competition is feasible.

Such institutional architecture counters the narrative that reforms are merely elite swaps or Addis‑driven impositions.

Third, economic stabilization and civic reintegration are non‑negotiable.

Humanitarian relief tied to transparent reconstruction projects, youth employment and demobilization‑to‑civilian pathways, and targeted support for communities devastated by famine and displacement reduce immediate incentives to accept militarized governance as the only way to survive.

International donor conditioning—rewards for verifiable de‑escalation and penalties for obstructionists—can create incentives aligned with civilian well‑being rather than factional power.

Fourth, a strategic civic coalition and communication plan is required. Youth and intellectual elites must expand outreach beyond urban networks into rural constituencies and community intermediaries by addressing everyday security and livelihood concerns and by offering credible anti‑retribution guarantees.

A communications strategy should prioritize verifiable gains and legal protections and demonstrate incremental progress to generate social proof that stepping into civic politics is less existentially risky.

Positive scenarios

If these measures are taken seriously and implemented with credible external facilitation, several plausible positive scenarios could follow.

The most probable near‑term outcome is a managed stalemate that evolves into gradual political opening: with Tadesse’s pragmatic interim posture sustained by federal and regional mediation, hardliners may be contained in parallel structures while reformers build institutional legitimacy through local governance gains and diaspora advocacy.

This scenario produces slow recovery, expanded civic space, and incremental erosion of hardliner influence over time as visible improvements reduce fear‑driven support for militarized politics.

A second, higher‑risk scenario is that partial implementation, for example, security steps without robust monitoring or economic incentives without political inclusion could provoke hardliner backlash and renewed clashes.

If hardliners interpret partial concessions as weakness, or if external mediation is perceived as biased, the result may be escalation, renewed intra‑Tigrayan fighting, and a replay of the worst dynamics of 2020–2022, compounding humanitarian catastrophe and further polarizing youth choices.

A third scenario depends on successful de‑centralization of coercive structures: fractures within the TDF and defections by key commanders, especially if coupled with impartial international verification and targeted incentives could create a tipping point enabling reformists to assume effective civilian control. This would immediately broaden civic space and make democratic transition plausible; however, it requires rapid, coordinated action and a credible guarantee against external intervention, notably from Eritrean actors or proxy forces that hardliners might mobilize.

A fourth, optimistic long‑run scenario is gradual erosion through non‑violent civic consolidation.

If reformers and youth succeed in building durable local institutions, expanding employment and services, protecting minority rights, and isolating obstructionist elites through sustained diplomatic and economic pressure, TPLF hardliner power could atrophy without large‑scale violence.

This pathway requires patience, sustained international discipline, and visible, irreversible gains that reduce the existential fears that currently lock many Tigrayans into defensive choices.

Negative scenarios

If measures are not taken or lack credible facilitation, or if these staged measures are not pursued seriously or lack impartial external verification, a range of negative outcomes is probable and severe.

One immediate risk is hardliner consolidation. Absent credible deconcentration, hardliners could tighten coercive control, escalate repression, and marginalize reformists further, deepening fear and eroding civic space. This would demoralize youth, discredit non‑violent activism, and accelerate brain drain as the most able emigrate.

A second risk is intra‑Tigrayan civil war. Continued factional jockeying and proxy backing (external actors or irregular militias) could transform low‑intensity clashes into a multi‑front war.

The humanitarian consequences of mass displacement, renewed famine, and catastrophic mortality would be cataclysmic and could spill across borders, drawing in regional actors.

A third negative trajectory is the radicalization of disempowered youth. When non‑violent avenues appear closed and repression is systematic, some young people may turn to clandestine armed resistance or align with opportunistic militias (for example further growth of TPF‑like formations).

Such radicalization deepens cycles of vengeance, makes negotiated settlements harder, and seeds long‑term instability.

A fourth outcome is regional destabilization and international isolation. If external proxies deepen involvement and war spreads, diplomatic isolation, sanctions, and punitive measures may increase, further constraining reconstruction and incentivizing hardline intransigence.

Finally, failure to implement credible measures risks permanent fragmentation of political life in Tigray, entrenching parallel administrations, protracted stateless zones, and durable erosion of civil society and institutional capacity.

Conclusion

Pragmatic hope should be framed by caution. The tragedy of the present juncture is that Tigrayan youth and pro‑reform elites clearly perceive the self‑sabotaging behavior of hardliners, the alleged Ximdo alliances with Eritrea, the politicization of the TDF, post‑Pretoria territorial losses, and the conspicuous gap between elite luxury and public hunger as suicidal for the intransigent rulers and an opportunity for change has come.

Yet, the structural conditions render immediate displacement of coercive power extremely costly.

Rekindling confidence among youth and elites is therefore not a matter of moral exhortation but of engineering verifiable, staged changes that reduce existential risk. This requires impartial external facilitation, calibrated incentives and penalties, and an insistence on transparent sequencing: security deconcentration before open competition, inclusive institutions before partisan control, and economic stabilization tied to civic reintegration.

Absent those calibrated interventions, the risks are profound: hardliner entrenchment, renewed mass violence, radicalization, humanitarian collapse and regional spillover.

With disciplined, patient, and well‑sequenced policies, however, the hard problem of converting awareness into agency becomes tractable over time through institutional consolidation, visible improvements in everyday life, and demonstrable safety guarantees.

For Tigray’s youth and elite, whose sacrifices and insights have already kept the question of democratic transformation alive, the path forward will be incremental, often frustrating, but potentially irreversible if anchored in verifiable gains that lower the existential stakes of civic engagement.

The moral and political lesson is sobering but actionable: rekindling the confidence of Tigrayan youth and elites is less about exhortation and more about producing verifiable, staged changes that lower the costs of civic engagement.

In a stage where the Pretoria agreement of November 2022 altered but did not settle power balances, and where the May 2025 deregistration and the March–April 2025 confrontations demonstrated both fragility and resilience, any roadmap must be realistic about constraints even as it creates pathways out of them.

If security deconcentration, inclusive political engineering, economic stabilization, and coalition‑building are pursued in a coordinated, externally verified manner, the possibility of a peaceful democratic transition shifts from aspiration to plausible policy.

Without such calibrated measures, the tragic logic of survival and coercion already evident in Tigray’s recent history will continue to stymie the very youth and elites who most acutely desire change and historical progress.

Muauz Gidey (PhD) is a researcher specializing in political science, peace, security, and conflict, currently serving as a senior researcher at the Tigray Institute of Policy Studies. He is also an Assistant Professor of Political Science at Aksum, Wollo, and Mekelle Universities.

Contributed by Muauz Gidey (PhD)

At a time like this, the greatest mistake we can make is trying to do everything at once. Not all problems are equal. Some are foundational. Some are enabling. And some, if ignored, will make every other effort irrelevant.

Food Is Not Just a Sector, It Is the System

We often repeat that food, shelter, and clothing are basic human needs. But in Ethiopia today, food is not just one of many priorities it is the highest priority. It underpins stability, health, productivity, and even peace. When food systems fail, everything else follows: economic collapse, migration, conflict, and disease. Yet we continue to treat food as if it were someone else’s responsibility, something for farmers, or for the Ministry of Agriculture. That approach is no longer adequate for the challenges we face.

Food security must become a national agenda, owned by every sector, every institution, and every level of leadership. Until Ethiopia reaches a safe and stable threshold, nothing else should distract from this central task. This requires a shift not only in focus, but in how we approach agricultural transformation: more attention alone will not solve the problem. Poorly directed attention can be as damaging as neglect.

If Science Does Not Lead, We Will Keep Failing

Ethiopia does not suffer from a lack of effort. It suffers from a lack of alignment and direction. The country must shift decisively toward knowledge-driven, science-led agricultural transformation. This is not a technical preference; it is a necessity. Without it, we will continue to recycle the same approaches and expect different results.

I recently attended the annual research review of the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research (EIAR). What I saw was encouraging: dedicated researchers, committed professionals, and real intellectual energy. The potential is there. But potential does not produce results on its own. Without a system that allows science to lead, that potential will remain unrealized. If we are serious about transformation, three priorities are non-negotiable.

Integration: Ethiopia’s agricultural system exhibits important gaps in coordination both across sectors and within the Ministry of Agriculture itself – from research and policy to implementation, utilization of scientific outputs, and extension.

These disconnects are not merely inefficient; they significantly limit impact. Research findings do not consistently reach farmers, policies are not always grounded in operational realities, and promising solutions struggle to scale. For instance, improved crop varieties and practices often remain confined to research stations rather than reaching widespread adoption at farm level.

Addressing this requires a shift toward systems thinking – where each stage, from conceptualization to delivery and use, is better connected, aligned, and oriented toward measurable impact.

Human Capital: Agriculture cannot be transformed with average capacity. It requires the best minds the country has to offer. Yet the sector often struggles to attract and retain top talent. This must change. Ethiopia must invest in building, attracting, and retaining highly capable, interdisciplinary professionals.

Critically, this includes repurposing and retraining talented individuals from other fields who may have no formal background in agriculture but possess strong analytical, technical, and problem-solving skills. There is a vast pool of underutilized talent across disciplines such as data science, engineering, economics, and environmental sciences that can be redirected toward agricultural transformation with the right training and orientation. This requires deliberate programs to transition and equip such professionals with applied agricultural knowledge, while leveraging their existing strengths.

Equally important is creating the right motivation and incentive structures – competitive compensation, clear career pathways, and a strong sense of national purpose – to attract and retain the country’s brightest minds. Without mobilizing and redirecting this breadth of talent, science cannot effectively lead agricultural transformation.

Funding: This is where rhetoric must end, and real commitment must begin. Agricultural research must become one of the most well-funded sectors in Ethiopia, not symbolically, but substantively. And not in fragments, but across the entire chain.

Funding must cover everything: from conceptualization and design to field implementation, validation, scaling, and ultimately delivery and use by farmers and policymakers. Laboratories, field trials, data systems, and extension services must be properly financed. Researchers must be competitively paid and supported.

Without this end-to-end investment, even the best ideas will die before they make an impact.

This Is Not Just Reform, It Is a Reset

The problem is not only technical; it is structural.

The human resource base of agriculture must change. A system dominated by outdated structures cannot deliver modern results. Ethiopia must actively bring in younger generations, educated farmers, and practically trained professionals, particularly through strengthened TVET systems that connect knowledge with real-world application.

Leadership must also evolve. It cannot remain trapped in routine administration while the system it oversees struggles. What is needed is leadership that thinks in systems, acts strategically, and focuses on long-term impact. This leadership must also be supported, not constrained, by independent, high-level thinking bodies composed of the country’s best minds, free from bureaucratic inertia.

Ethiopia’s future will not be decided in abstract debates or policy documents. It will be decided by the choices made now. We can continue to spread our attention thin, reacting to symptoms. Or we can confront the foundation of the problem and act decisively. If there is one area where failure is not an option, it is agriculture. Not just more attention, but focused, science-driven, system-wide transformation. Because if agriculture fails, the foundation of Ethiopia’s future is at risk.

Taddese Alemu Zerfu (PhD) is an Adjunct Associate Professor at the University of Gondar (UoG). He is also a Research Fellow at the International Food Policy Research Institute (IFPRI).

Contributed by Taddese Alemu Zerfu (PhD)

Despite adopting the 2050 Africa’s Integrated Maritime Strategy, the Lomé Charter, and the African Standby Force Roadmap III, Africa still lacks the naval capability required to protect more than 47,000 kilometers of coastline stretching across the Atlantic Ocean, Indian Ocean, Mediterranean Sea, and Red Sea, as well as its vast Exclusive Economic Zones. This gap has serious consequences.

The temporary closure of the Strait of Hormuz during the recent Iran–US/Israel conflict demonstrated how distant maritime crises can severely disrupt African economies through higher fuel prices, delayed shipments, fertilizer shortages, and rising insurance costs. Africa urgently needs stronger maritime capacity. A continental navy would strengthen the African Standby Force, combat piracy and trafficking, protect the blue economy, and enhance Africa’s strategic independence in an era of growing geopolitical competition.

Africa possesses one of the world’s most resource-rich maritime domains. Its waters contain immense potential in fisheries, shipping, tourism, offshore energy, marine biotechnology, and digital infrastructure such as undersea cables. More than 90 percent of Africa’s trade moves by sea. Maritime security is therefore directly connected to economic growth, food supply, industrialization, and continental integration.

Yet these same waters remain vulnerable to piracy, armed robbery at sea, illegal fishing, crude oil theft, drug trafficking, arms smuggling, human trafficking, maritime pollution, and attacks on offshore infrastructure. These threats weaken states, reduce revenues, discourage investment, and harm ordinary citizens.

The African Union has already adopted several important maritime frameworks. The 2050 AIM Strategy promotes a secure and sustainable blue economy. The Lomé Charter seeks to fight piracy, trafficking, illegal fishing, and other maritime crimes. The African Standby Force Roadmap recognized that Africa’s security cannot depend on land forces alone. However, implementation has remained weak.

Ratification of the Lomé Charter has been slow (Ratified by only Benin, Senegal and Togo), and many member states have not translated continental commitments into national law. Existing arrangements encourage cooperation among national navies but stop short of creating an African Union naval force capable of acting collectively. As a result, Africa has maritime strategies without sufficient maritime power.

The African Standby Force was designed mainly for land-based crises such as civil wars and insurgencies. But Africa’s current realities demand sea-based capability as well. The continent has thirty-eight coastal states and several island states whose security depends on maritime access. Countries such as Comoros, Madagascar, Seychelles, and Mozambique illustrate the importance of sea transport, coastal defense, humanitarian assistance, and maritime peacekeeping.

Previous African Union interventions have often depended on external naval assistance. That dependence limits Africa’s ability to respond quickly and independently. A continental navy would enable rapid transport of troops, vehicles, and supplies. It would support disaster relief when roads are damaged, protect coastal infrastructure, and strengthen peace support missions. It would also improve maritime surveillance through radar systems, patrol aircraft, drones, satellites, and vessel tracking networks.

The 2026 Strait of Hormuz crisis showed how vulnerable Africa remains to disruptions far beyond its shores. Closure of one of the world’s key energy chokepoints interrupted flows of petroleum, fertilizer, machinery, and consumer goods. Shipping costs and insurance premiums rose sharply. Some African ports benefited from rerouted trade, but many countries faced inflation, supply shortages, and currency pressure.

Oil producers gained temporarily, while import-dependent economies suffered most. The lesson is clear: maritime security is economic security. Similarly, the Gulf of Aden, Red Sea, Gulf of Guinea and other passages of African waters can also be closed because of proxy wars of great powers. Africa should enhance its bargaining power during global crises that affect sea routes. A credible African naval presence could help protect shipping, reassure markets, reduce insurance costs, and strengthen the continent’s voice during international emergencies.

Africa’s waters, especially the Gulf of Guinea and Gulf of Aden, remain exposed to piracy and organized crime. Piracy in West Africa is closely linked to oil theft and criminal networks. These crimes increase transport costs and discourage investment. Illegal fishing by foreign fleets is another major threat. It deprives African communities of income, weakens food security, and drains national revenues.

Many coastal states lack the patrol vessels and surveillance systems needed to protect their waters. Drug trafficking routes through West and East African waters are also increasing. Human smuggling networks continue to exploit migrants seeking passage to Europe and the Arabian Peninsula. A continental navy would strengthen maritime law enforcement, improve intelligence sharing, and help dismantle criminal networks operating across borders.

Global powers increasingly compete in African maritime spaces. Naval bases in Djibouti and elsewhere show the strategic importance of Africa’s sea lanes. While foreign forces may contribute to anti-piracy operations, they primarily serve their own national interests. This creates risks for Africa: reduced control over strategic waters, dependence on outside security guarantees, and competition among major powers inside African spaces. Africa needs greater strategic autonomy. A continental navy would not end partnerships, but it would allow Africa to defend its interests independently and negotiate from a position of strength.

Developing a continental navy requires investment, but the cost would be far lower than the enormous losses Africa already suffers through piracy, illegal fishing, trafficking, and maritime insecurity. Funding options could include member state contributions, maritime security levies, public-private partnerships with ports and shipping industries, and regional burden-sharing mechanisms. African island states may also offer valuable experience in financing maritime security systems.

The African Union should establish a legally binding maritime security protocol that creates the foundation for a continental navy. Member states should contribute vessels, personnel, training capacity, and financial support. The proposed navy should be integrated into the African Standby Force command structure while maintaining operational independence. Member states should also ratify and implement existing maritime agreements and impose strict penalties on foreign vessels operating illegally in African waters.

Africa can no longer afford to remain strategically exposed at sea. Its maritime resources, trade routes, and coastal populations face growing threats that individual states cannot manage alone. A continental navy would strengthen peace and security, protect the blue economy, combat piracy and trafficking, and reduce dependence on external powers.

Most importantly, the cost of building such a force would be far less than the price Africa continues to pay through the unchecked exploitation of its maritime domain. The time has come for Africa to secure its waters and shape its own maritime future.

Melaku Mulualem K. is the Director General for Training and Consultancy at the Institute of Foreign Affairs. He can be reached at melakumulu@yahoo.com.

Contributed by Melaku Mulualem K.

That is why questions of legal design are never merely technical. When the signaling function of law is coherent, industrial policy can align private calculation with public purpose. When it is not, even well-intentioned rules can pull in another direction. This is especially important in a country like Ethiopia, where industrialization is not a secondary concern but a practical necessity. The challenge is not only to attract investment but to ensure that investment is directed toward productive activity rather than toward positions that stand around production and derive advantage from it.

Against that background, a recent ministerial directive deserves scrutiny. The directive grants an income-tax exemption to investors operating in Free Trade Zones who import goods from abroad and supply them to the local market. That is already a consequential policy choice. What follows is not a political attack, nor an attempt to impute bad faith. The issue is one of policy and legal coherence. The directive is tethered to Regulation No. 586, the regulation governing tax and customs incentives for investment. That choice is not incidental. It is the question from which the rest of the problem unfolds.

Why Regulation 586?

The central question is not simply whether the directive’s policy is wise. It is why Regulation No. 586 was chosen as its legal basis at all. One possible explanation is convenience: the drafter needed a vehicle that speaks in the language of tax incentives, exemptions, and ministerial implementation. Regulation No. 586 offers exactly that. But convenience is not the same thing as legal fit. If the directive is truly meant to advance a Free Trade Zone policy, one must ask whether Regulation No. 586 is being used because the activity being favored actually sits within the logic of that regulation, or because the drafter needed an available legal hook through which to route a tax preference.

Law and Hierarchy

Not every public instrument occupies the same place in the hierarchy of law. A proclamation establishes the broader framework. A Council of Ministers regulation gives that framework specific content. A ministerial directive exists to implement what has already been established above it. That distinction is not formalism. It is what keeps public power from sliding from execution into reinvention.

Whatever discretion a minister may have under a regulation is still bounded by the purposes, structure, and limits of that regulation. A directive may operationalize, clarify, and facilitate administration. What it cannot do, without raising a serious legal question, is use a lower-level instrument to create a substantively broader regime than the one from which it claims authority. That principle matters here because the directive is tethered to Regulation No. 586. Discretion does not erase that discipline. Even a plausible policy objective does not erase it.

What Regulation 586 Actually Rewards

Regulation No. 586 is not a general support scheme for any activity that may help the economy. It is an investment incentive regime, and the kind of investment it is built to reward is not difficult to identify. Its language, structure, and conditions point toward production, value addition, and the expansion of domestic productive capacity rather than toward commercial activity in the abstract. It speaks of manufacturing investment, import substitution through domestic production, technology transfer, and employment creation.

The regulation ties incentives to investments that create additional production capacity or generate value addition. The definition of manufacture reinforces the same point: the processing or transformation of raw materials or inputs in Ethiopia into goods with new characteristics or new value. The emphasis is on transformation. That draws a line between making and merely circulating. 

Once Regulation No. 586 is invoked, the preference being created must be judged against that center of gravity—which lies in production, not circulation.

What the Directive Actually Says

The directive begins by invoking Article 12(1) of Regulation No. 586/2018, which allows the Minister of Finance, by directive, to grant appropriate investment incentives to investors engaged in other sectors not listed in the regulation, provided that doing so serves the purpose of the regulation and is supported by sufficient economic justification. The directive then offers its rationale: investors engaged in import activities within Free Trade Zones, it says, “play a significant role in ensuring that inputs for manufacturing investors and other products are supplied to the market without disruption, thereby preventing interruptions in the supply of products.”

But the operative rule that follows is broader than that justification. The directive states that “investors operating in Free Trade Zones who import goods from abroad and supply them to the local market shall be exempt from income tax on the income derived from the goods they have imported and supplied to the market.”

That is where the first major tension appears. The justification speaks in the language of manufacturing continuity and uninterrupted supply of inputs. The operative rule speaks in the language of imported goods supplied to the local market. It does not distinguish between raw materials and finished goods. It does not say that the goods must be supplied to manufacturers. And it does not tie the benefit to any act of local value addition.

The Wrong Beneficiary

The mismatch becomes even clearer when one asks who, under this directive, appears to receive the cleaner benefit. Manufacturers already import many of the raw materials, components, and spare parts they need in order to produce. When they do so, they import not to circulate goods through the market but to transform those inputs locally into something new.

Yet the directive places the tax advantage elsewhere. By its own wording, the exemption is granted to investors in Free Trade Zones who import goods and supply them to the local market. The result is a two-tier structure. The manufacturer imports in order to make. The intermediary imports in order to supply onward. The first bears the burdens of production; the second appears to receive the more direct fiscal privilege.

That inversion is difficult to defend within an industrial incentive regime. An intermediary may perform a useful commercial function, but that does not make it the more natural beneficiary of a tax preference justified in the name of industrial continuity. The problem is not merely that the directive blurs the line between production and trade. It is that the cleaner reward begins to lie not in making but in standing between making and the market.

The Wrong Instrument

Supply-chain problems can arise from many sources: foreign-exchange shortages, customs delays, logistical weakness, inventory gaps, or regulatory friction. A tax preference for an intermediary does not necessarily solve those problems. At best, it may create another channel through which goods can move. At worst, it may simply insert a more lightly burdened commercial layer between the producer and the input, allowing that layer to earn margin without removing the underlying obstacle.

That is why the directive’s policy logic remains incomplete. If the state believes manufacturers need help securing inputs, it must explain why privileging a broader import-and-supply function is the appropriate response. Unless that choice is defended more clearly than the directive defends it, the concern remains: the instrument chosen may be not only overbroad but fundamentally misdirected.

A Legal Overreach?

The legal question is no longer about policy wisdom or economic distortion. It is about whether the directive exceeds the legal authority on which it claims to rest.

That question arises because the directive does not merely specify procedures, evidence, or tightly defined categories of industrial support. By its own terms, it grants tax relief to investors in Free Trade Zones who import goods from abroad and supply them to the local market. That is a much broader formulation than one tied to raw materials, industrial inputs, actual manufacturers, or identifiable acts of local value addition.

To be sure, the directive invokes Article 12(1) as the source of discretion. But discretion is not the same thing as license. A power to extend incentives cannot be read as a power to detach those incentives from the regulation’s own center of gravity.

That is the legal concern in its simplest form. Regulation No. 586 may be doing legal work here that it was not designed to do. If Regulation No. 586 does not authorize a preference of this breadth, then the directive is not implementing the regulation—it is exceeding it. In a hierarchy of law, that would place its validity in serious doubt. If that is correct, then the difficulty lies not only in the preference created but in the use of a directive to carry a policy result that the underlying regulation does not clearly authorize.

The Distortions

Bad legal fit rarely remains a legal problem for long. It becomes an economic one. Once a tax preference is attached to a category of activity that does not sit cleanly within the logic of the underlying regulation, the effects spread outward through prices, margins, and competitive position.

The first distortion concerns firms outside the favored channel. A local trader or distributor operating under the ordinary tax regime may find itself competing against a Free Trade Zone importer performing a commercially similar function under preferential treatment. The law need not openly discriminate to create uneven ground. It is enough that it alters relative costs in favor of those organized around the favored route.

A second distortion is institutional. Once intermediation becomes fiscally attractive, firms have reason to reorganize around it. Instead of asking how to deepen productive capacity, they begin asking how to qualify for the cleaner tax position. That is how incentives drift from public purpose: not because actors misunderstand them but because they respond rationally to the reward structure the law has created. 

This is also where abuse risk enters. A rule that does not clearly distinguish between industrial inputs and finished goods, does not require proof that manufacturers are the actual recipients, and does not tie the benefit to measurable productive contribution creates room for shell arrangements and related-party intermediation.

The deeper cost is one of credibility. Industrial policy depends on the confidence of producers that the legal system is designed to strengthen production rather than reward those who stand around it. If that confidence weakens, firms may conclude that the more rational position lies closer to tax-favored intermediation than to the harder work of making. Once that happens, the distortion is no longer confined to one directive. It begins to shape the direction of the industrial system itself.

A Better Path

A defender of the directive might argue that this reading misunderstands the role of Free Trade Zone operators. They are not mere intermediaries, the argument would go. They provide warehousing, inventory management, risk-bearing, and just-in-time logistics that manufacturers cannot efficiently perform for themselves. In a context of foreign-exchange shortages and customs delays, a well-capitalized FTZ operator may be the only reliable channel through which inputs reach the factory gate. On that view, the tax preference is not a reward for standing between making and the market. It is a necessary subsidy for supply-chain infrastructure that manufacturers depend on.

That argument deserves to be taken seriously—but it does not rescue the directive as drafted. Even if one accepts that specialized logistics firms play a legitimate role, the directive does not limit its benefit to such firms. It does not require warehousing, inventory maintenance, risk-bearing, or any logistics function beyond the act of importation and supply. It does not distinguish between a sophisticated supply-chain operator and a simple trading intermediary. And it does not tie the tax preference to performance of the very functions that would justify it. The problem, in other words, is not that FTZ operators can never be useful. It is that the directive rewards the category regardless of whether it performs that useful work.

The first and most obvious alternative would have been to support the manufacturer directly. If firms engaged in local production are struggling to import the inputs they genuinely need, the natural response is to ease that bottleneck at the level of the producer: clearer customs treatment for productive inputs, streamlined procedures for licensed manufacturers, or narrowly defined relief tied to inputs used in domestic production. That would keep the benefit closest to the point of value creation.

Second, if the state believes that some specialized supply function must be performed by firms operating in Free Trade Zones, then eligibility should be limited to clearly identified industrial inputs and conditioned on proof that those goods were actually supplied to licensed manufacturers or industrial enterprises—not to the local market in general. The intermediary would then be rewarded not for trade as such but for a specific and verifiable industrial support function.

Third, the benefit should be tied to measurable obligations. A firm receiving tax relief in the name of industrial continuity should have to demonstrate that continuity: by maintaining inventories of designated inputs, serving registered manufacturers on verifiable terms, meeting reporting duties, and remaining subject to monitoring and revocation where the productive purpose is not being served.

Fourth, any such arrangement should be bounded in time and disciplined against abuse, with sunset clauses, review points, substance requirements, and anti-avoidance provisions designed to prevent shell intermediaries and related-party structures from capturing a privilege meant to serve production.

At the end, the issue is almost archetypal. There is always a difference between the one who makes and the one who positions himself around making. The first transforms, creates, and bears the cost of bringing something new into the world. The second may handle, move, distribute, or profit from that process—sometimes usefully—but without carrying its central burden. A serious industrial policy must never lose sight of that distinction. The moment it begins to reward those who live by attaching themselves to production more generously than those who undertake production itself, it starts to reverse its own purpose. And once that reversal sets in, the economy is slowly reorganized around those who feed on value rather than those who create it.

Tsegaye Nega (PhD) is a Professor Emeritus at Carleton College in the United States and the Founder and CEO of Anega Energies Manufacturing.

Contributed by Tsegaye Nega (PhD)

But this time, the cost of neglect may be irreversible.

Nearly three years into this devastating war, Sudan is no longer simply in conflict. It is in the process of disintegration. Millions have been displaced. Famine is spreading. Civilians are systematically targeted. The institutions of the state are collapsing in real time.

And yet—precisely at this moment of global distraction—a narrow but real window of opportunity has opened.

Paradoxically, the very crises drawing attention away from Sudan may also be creating space for movement. The middle powers deeply entangled in Sudan’s war are now increasingly preoccupied with conflicts closer to home in the broader Middle East.

And yet, importantly, they have not disengaged.

Indications suggest that cooperation within the Quad framework continues. The United States remains actively engaged, working to secure a humanitarian truce through direct engagement with the belligerents and within the United Nations Security Council framework.

There are other encouraging developments.

The United Nations has appointed a new envoy, bringing renewed diplomatic energy. Multilateral coordination mechanisms are aligning better, even if more is expected. International NGOs engaged in Track II diplomacy continue their support. Sudanese civic formations are sustaining their organizing for peace.

All of these strands are now converging.

They converge at the international conference on Sudan in Berlin on April 15. This is why Berlin matters. It is not just another diplomatic meeting. It is a moment where Sudanese political coherence and international convergence may finally meet.

The central question is not whether the world will save Sudan—it will not—but whether Sudanese themselves can rise to this moment with the clarity and courage required to save their country.

It should be recalled that South Sudan seceded because of the failure of the Sudanese to agree on a governance framework that would ensure inclusivity, equality of citizenship and dignity for all Sudanese. But even with the secession of South Sudan, that failed vision has inspired marginalized regions of the country and patriotic Sudanese throughout the country. The failure that led to the secession of South Sudan threatens to repeat itself. That  must be prevented.

Sudan’s war has gone too far to be treated as business as usual. It is no longer a conventional civil war. It has evolved into a regionalized system of conflict. Diplomacy that treats it as purely internal has failed. But external convergence alone is not enough. Without Sudanese political coherence, every diplomatic effort will fail.

Berlin must not become a stage for political theater. What is required is a minimum national consensus anchored in survival.

This demands operational patriotism. Not rhetorical patriotism. Not symbolic patriotism.
Operational patriotism.

A patriotism that places the survival of the state above factional interests and prioritizes civilian protection.

At its core, this means three commitments:

First, an immediate humanitarian truce. Second, guaranteed humanitarian access and civilian protection. Third, a serious political pathway toward civilian-led transition within a constitutional framework that ensures inclusivity and equality for all citizens  without discrimination..

These are the minimum conditions for Sudan’s survival. Without them, Sudan will not hold.

The international community must also confront its failures: too many actors, too little coordination. Berlin must mark a break. But even a coordinated effort will fail without Sudanese convergence.

This must change. Now.

Sudan is at a moment where delay equals defeat.

What is being lost is not only lives, but the idea of Sudan as a shared political community. Berlin is a dividing line between two futures. The difference will not be decided in conference rooms alone. It will depend on whether Sudanese actors act with unity of purpose.

That is the challenge. That is the opportunity. The war must end. Not someday. Not eventually. Now.

Francis Deng (PhD) is a former UN Special Representative on Internally Displaced Persons. Abdul Mohamed is a former senior UN official who has been involved in mediation efforts in the Horn of Africa for many years.

Contributed by Francis Deng & Abdul Mohamed

Scholars have also approached infertility through different lenses: whether it is self-reported or clinically diagnosed; how long it takes to achieve pregnancy; and whether social circumstances—such as being single or in a same-sex relationship—should qualify individuals for infertility services. These variations underscore a central point: infertility is not merely a biological condition, but also a social and clinical construct shaped by context.

Clinically, infertility is categorized as primary (the inability to conceive at all) or secondary (the inability to conceive after a previous pregnancy). It may also be described as lifetime or periodic, and further classified by sex as male or female infertility.

Globally, infertility is far from rare. An estimated one in six people experience it at some point in their lives. Regional disparities are stark. Lifetime prevalence reaches as high as 23.2 percent in the Western Pacific and 13.1 percent in Africa. Periodic infertility—measured over shorter time frames—is also significant, particularly in Africa.

Male infertility accounts for a substantial share of cases. Roughly one in four men are affected, and male-related factors contribute to about half of all infertility cases among couples. Causes of male infertility range from hormonal imbalances to structural and genetic conditions. Female infertility, meanwhile, is associated with ovulatory disorders, endocrine dysfunction, infections, uterine abnormalities, and genetic factors.

In sub-Saharan Africa, primary and secondary infertility occur at nearly equal rates. Yet prevalence varies widely across countries, reflecting differences in health systems, social conditions, and data quality. Estimates suggest rates as high as 30 percent in Nigeria, 21.2 percent in northwest Ethiopia, and 9 percent in Gambia.

Ethiopia presents a similarly complex picture. Analysis of the 2016 Ethiopian Demographic and Health Survey indicates that as many as one in four Ethiopians may experience infertility, with the highest reported prevalence in the Afar region. More recent studies in Addis Ababa suggest that roughly 27.6 percent of individuals are affected.

 The consequences extend well beyond the clinical. Infertility can strain marriages and relationships, often leading to psychological distress marked by anxiety, depression, social withdrawal, and, in severe cases, suicidal behavior. In many settings, it fuels stigma and blame—frequently directed at women—while contributing to marital instability and divorce. The financial burden is also significant, as couples pursue often costly and prolonged treatments.

Addressing infertility is therefore integral to broader health and development goals. Sustainable Development Goal 3 calls for ensuring healthy lives and promoting well-being, including access to reproductive health services and the ability to make informed decisions about family planning.

In Ethiopia, the Ministry of Health has taken steps to expand access to infertility diagnosis and treatment. Yet despite its prevalence and profound social impact, the national and subnational burden of infertility—particularly among women—has not been comprehensively documented over time.

This article draws on data from the Global Burden of Disease Study 2021, produced by the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation at the University of Washington in collaboration with Ethiopian health authorities. It seeks to shed light on the distribution and long-term trends of female infertility in Ethiopia from 1990 to 2021—an area that has remained underexamined for far too long.

Prevalence of Female Infertility

In Ethiopia, the age-standardized prevalence of female infertility among women ages 15 to 49 rose markedly between 1990 and 2021. Estimated cases increased from approximately 625,100 (95% uncertainty interval [UI]: 111,805 to 318,796) in 1990 to 992,154 (95% UI: 180,469 to 476,708) in 2021—an increase of roughly 367,000 cases over three decades.

Regional variation is pronounced. Oromia consistently recorded the highest burden, with an estimated 199,126 cases (95% UI: 101,218 to 358,468) in 1990, rising to 351,411 (95% UI: 169,027 to 624,058) in 2021. At the other end of the spectrum, Harari reported the lowest prevalence in 2021, with an estimated 1,298 cases (95% UI: 2,705 to 4,963), though the uncertainty bounds suggest potential underestimation.

In Addis Ababa, the trend is less linear but still indicative of a substantial burden. Estimates suggest a shift from approximately 32,038 cases (95% UI: 16,399 to 56,772) in 1990 to 49,551 (95% UI: 23,521 to 92,260) in 2021.

Overall, the age-standardized prevalence of female infertility increased by approximately 58 percent between 1990 and 2021, despite a modest decline during the 1990–2000 period. This trajectory broadly aligns with findings from the 2016 Ethiopian Demographic and Health Survey, which estimated national infertility prevalence at 24.2 percent—suggesting that roughly one in four individuals is affected. It is also consistent with global estimates indicating that one in six people experience infertility during their lifetime.

The higher prevalence observed in this analysis, compared with survey-based estimates, likely reflects methodological differences. This study draws on Global Burden of Disease data, which integrates multiple data sources over time, rather than relying solely on cross-sectional surveys. It also focuses exclusively on female infertility and reports absolute case numbers rather than percentages, capturing cumulative and longitudinal trends rather than a single point-in-time snapshot.

Regional disparities observed in this analysis differ somewhat from earlier findings. While prior studies based on survey data identified Afar as having the highest prevalence and Addis Ababa among the lowest, this study finds Oromia and Harari at the respective extremes. Population size may partly explain these differences, though variations in measurement approaches and data sources are also likely contributors.

Trends of Female Infertility

The trajectory of female infertility in Ethiopia over the past three decades reveals a brief period of decline followed by sustained growth. After a slight reduction between 1990 and 2000, prevalence increased sharply, resulting in an overall rise of more than one-third—approximately 37 percent—by 2021.

By 2021, the leading drivers of female infertility in the country reflected a complex interplay of infectious and noncommunicable conditions. The top contributors included noncommunicable diseases; communicable, maternal, neonatal, and nutritional disorders; HIV/AIDS and other sexually transmitted infections; polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS); chlamydial infections; and endometriosis.

Clinically, infertility is categorized into two types: primary and secondary. Both have increased substantially in Ethiopia over the past three decades, though their trajectories and underlying causes reveal important distinctions.

Primary infertility—defined as the inability to conceive at all—rose from an estimated 140,554 cases (95% uncertainty interval [UI]: 55,089 to 302,209) in 1990 to 201,723 (95% UI: 78,933 to 438,909) in 2021. Its causes are diverse, spanning communicable maternal and nutritional conditions, gynecological disorders, and a range of noncommunicable diseases. Specific contributors include sexually transmitted infections (excluding HIV), HIV/AIDS, Turner syndrome, chlamydial and gonococcal infections, congenital urogenital abnormalities, and endometriosis. Notably, all major categories of causes associated with primary infertility have shown an upward trend over time.

Secondary infertility—defined as the inability to conceive following a previous pregnancy—accounts for a larger share of the burden. Among women ages 15 to 49, estimated cases increased from 651,349 (95% UI: 370,532 to 1,136,098) in 1990 to 1,076,286 (95% UI: 617,883 to 1,809,989) in 2021. The causes of secondary infertility largely overlap with those of primary infertility but are more strongly associated with acquired conditions. These include noncommunicable diseases, maternal sepsis and other maternal complications, polycystic ovarian syndrome, chlamydial infections, and sexually transmitted infections excluding HIV.

The prominence of PCOS is particularly notable. Global estimates indicate that infertility associated with PCOS has more than doubled, rising from approximately 6 million cases in 1990 to 12.3 million in 2019. Ethiopia’s trajectory appears to mirror this broader pattern.

Health Losses

Female infertility in Ethiopia carries a measurable and often underappreciated burden of disease, captured through two key indicators: disability-adjusted life years (DALYs) and years lived with disability (YLDs). Together, these metrics reflect both the duration and severity of health loss associated with the condition.

Infertility imposes both immediate and long-term consequences. These impacts translate into significant health losses over time.

In 2021, the age-standardized DALYs attributable to female infertility among women ages 15 to 49 in Ethiopia were estimated at 5,082 (95% uncertainty interval [UI]: 1,703 to 12,481). This figure is lower than estimates reported in several other African countries, including Djibouti (8,540), Eritrea (7,366), the Central African Republic (9,177), and Comoros (7,255). These differences may reflect variations in data years, methodologies, or underlying health system conditions. They may also indicate relative differences in the burden itself, though such comparisons should be interpreted cautiously.

At the subnational level, disparities are again evident. Oromia recorded the highest burden, with 1,922 DALYs (95% UI: 635 to 4,616), while Harari reported the lowest, at just 15 DALYs (95% UI: 5 to 35). Addis Ababa accounted for an estimated 268 DALYs (95% UI: 87 to 666).

Years lived with disability present a different picture. In 2021, age-standardized YLDs due to female infertility reached 5,419 (95% UI: 1,812 to 12,945), marking an increase of nearly 2,000 cases from 1990, when YLDs stood at 3,433 (95% UI: 1,157 to 8,500). This upward trend suggests that while infertility may not be a leading cause of premature mortality, it contributes substantially to prolonged disability and reduced quality of life.

Compared with other African countries such as Cameroon, Guinea, and Senegal—where YLD estimates are significantly lower—Ethiopia’s higher burden may be driven by several factors. Population size is one: Ethiopia is the second most populous country in Africa, which amplifies absolute case numbers. Another likely factor is differential access to diagnosis and treatment. Limited availability of specialized infertility services may prolong untreated conditions, increasing years lived with disability.

Comparisons with higher-income settings further underscore these disparities. While studies from countries such as China report a substantial burden of infertility-related disability, the overall impact appears lower than in Ethiopia—likely reflecting more advanced treatment options and broader access to reproductive health services.

The findings underscore a clear and concerning trend: female infertility has risen steadily in Ethiopia over the past three decades. Both primary and secondary infertility have increased, driven by a mix of infectious diseases, noncommunicable conditions, and reproductive health complications.

Primary infertility is associated with a wide range of factors, including gynecological disorders, congenital anomalies, sexually transmitted infections, Turner syndrome, chlamydial and gonococcal infections, and endometriosis, as well as broader noncommunicable diseases. Secondary infertility, while overlapping in some respects, is more strongly linked to acquired conditions such as polycystic ovarian syndrome, maternal infections including sepsis, and other reproductive health complications.

The burden is unevenly distributed. Oromia accounts for the highest prevalence of age-standardized female infertility, while Harari reports the lowest. At the same time, the growing number of years lived with disability and disability-adjusted life years attributable to infertility highlights its profound, long-term impact—not only on physical health, but also on social and psychological well-being.

Recent efforts to expand infertility care—including the introduction of assisted reproductive technologies such as in vitro fertilization, advances in diagnostic techniques, and the emergence of specialized fertility centers—represent important progress. But these interventions remain limited in reach and accessibility.

A more comprehensive response is needed. Public health efforts must move beyond treatment alone to include prevention, early detection, and education. Expanding community awareness about the causes of infertility—and, critically, its potential reversibility—could encourage earlier care-seeking and improve outcomes. At the same time, addressing the underlying drivers of both primary and secondary infertility requires strengthening reproductive health services more broadly, including infection prevention, maternal care, and management of chronic diseases.

Policy responses should be grounded in robust, up-to-date evidence, with greater investment in national and subnational research. Equally important is the integration of psychosocial support into infertility care, recognizing the emotional and social toll borne by affected individuals and couples.

Evidence suggests that outcomes improve significantly when individuals seek care early, particularly at younger ages. Ensuring timely access to affordable and effective services, therefore, is not only a clinical priority but a public health imperative.

Bedilu Abebe is a public health lecturer, specialist, researcher, and PhD candidate at Jimma University.

Contributed by Bedilu Abebe

It is early morning, around 7:30. The workers next door have already started. I can hear the concrete mixer turning, the hammer striking, the loud conversation that accompanies the work. As I sit at home and write, a new building is rising beside me. It is an assembly of reinforced mass: columns, slabs, and beams stacked with the density of a bunker. Watching the workers pour the gray slurry into the molds, it does not feel like a house is being built. It feels like a fortress being cast.

On the drive to my factory, the pattern is relentless. Every construction site along the road follows the same heavy logic. There is no distinction between structural necessity and incidental form—everything is a full, monolithic pour. We build as if every garden wall and every storefront must withstand a siege.

Inside the industrial park where I work, the logic reaches its limit. Factories are not merely enclosed; they are sealed behind continuous concrete walls. These are not boundaries that breathe; they are barricades.

From home to factory, the language is identical: build solid, build heavy, build as if the earth itself cannot be trusted.

Seen once, it is a construction project. Seen a hundred times along a single road, it becomes a pattern. And when a pattern repeats across every new development in a growing city, it is no longer a series of individual decisions. It is a logic—unspoken, shared, and self-reinforcing.

The Scale of Change

None of this is to deny the scale or importance of the transformation Addis Ababa is undergoing. The changes are visible and, in many ways, long overdue. Roads are being expanded and reorganized. River corridors are being cleared and rehabilitated. Public spaces—parks, walkways, and open areas—are being created where disorder once prevailed.

For a city that has grown rapidly and often informally, this effort carries real significance. It signals coordination, intent, and the capacity to act at scale. It also restores a sense of order and dignity to the urban environment—something that matters not only functionally, but psychologically. A capital city, especially one that represents a country with Ethiopia’s history and ambitions, cannot remain indefinitely in a state of neglect.

There is also a practical dimension. Infrastructure must be built. Public space must be organized. Circulation must be improved. The question is not whether Addis Ababa should build—it must.

But acknowledgment of necessity should not obscure a second question: how the city is being built, and whether the material logic that now dominates this transformation is the only way such renewal can occur.

When in Doubt, Build Heavy

What the transformation reveals, however, is not just a series of projects, but a consistent underlying approach. Across buildings, infrastructure, and public space, a single material logic appears to dominate: cement and steel as the default solution.

This is not a matter of isolated choices. The same construction pattern repeats across different sites, scales, and functions. Roads, walkways, river edges, buildings, and boundaries are all treated with a similar assumption—that solidity, continuity, and mass are the safest and most appropriate forms of construction.

In principle, these materials are indispensable. They enable strength, durability, and scale. In practice, however, they are being applied with little visible distinction between where such strength is required and where it is not. What should be a matter of engineering judgment—matching material to function—begins to appear as a habit.

The result is not simply a city that is being built, but a city that is being built according to a shared, unexamined logic: when in doubt, build heavy.

The Error

At the center of this logic is a simple but consequential error: the city is being built as if every element must carry load.

In any built environment, there is a fundamental distinction between what is structural and what is not. Columns, beams, and foundations must bear weight and resist forces; they justify the use of reinforced concrete and steel. But much of what makes up a city—walkways, boundary walls, public surfaces, embankments, and even portions of buildings—does not operate under the same structural demands.

Yet this distinction is increasingly blurred. Surfaces that could be light are made heavy. Elements that could be modular are cast monolithically. Boundaries that could define space are built to resist intrusion. The result is a systematic overextension of structural logic into areas where it is not required.

This overextension rests on a set of implicit assumptions. Strength is equated with mass. Permanence is equated with solidity. Order is equated with continuous, unbroken construction. These assumptions are rarely stated, but they shape decisions across projects and scales. The issue, then, is not the presence of cement and steel. It is the absence of restraint in their use.

The Consequences — Carbon, Heat, and Water

The consequences of this construction logic are measurable. They are not abstract.

Start with carbon. Cement production emits roughly 0.6 tons of CO₂ per tons produced and accounts for about seven percent of global emissions. At the scale of a single building, this may appear marginal. At the scale of a city-wide transformation—roads, embankments, walkways, buildings, and public spaces—it becomes a large, front-loaded carbon burden embedded into the urban fabric for decades.

The thermal effects are already visible in Addis Ababa. Satellite-based studies show that land surface temperatures in the city have increased by approximately 7.9°C between 1990 and 2020, driven largely by the expansion of built-up areas and the decline of vegetation. Nearly 46 percent of the city now falls into the highest thermal stress category. Built-up surfaces contribute roughly +4.3°C to local temperatures, while vegetation offsets this by about −2.6°C. A five percent increase in built-up intensity raises temperature by about 1.6°C, while a five percent increase in vegetation reduces it by about 1.4°C.

An increase of this magnitude does not simply register on a thermometer. It changes how the city feels. This is already visible in everyday behavior: people walk under umbrellas—not because of rain, but to shield themselves from both the direct sun and the heat rising from tarmac and concrete surfaces. What was once a simple walk has become an exercise in avoiding exposure. The heat is no longer only overhead; it is reflected upward and radiated outward. Surfaces that were once warm become hot to the touch, and spaces that once cooled after sunset retain heat late into the night. As hard surfaces expand, more of the city begins to feel like exposed pavement at midday.

The hydrological consequences follow the same logic. Flood-prone areas in Addis Ababa have expanded dramatically—from about 80 km² in 1984 to nearly 288 km² in 2020, with projections reaching over 360 km² by 2030. During the same period, impervious surfaces increased sharply, while vegetation declined. What is striking is that this increase in flood risk has occurred without a strong historical increase in rainfall. The primary driver has been urban form: the replacement of permeable ground with hard, continuous surfaces.

This is not only visible in projections; it is already experienced. Even after relatively light rain, roads fill with water, shallow ponds form along streets, and movement slows as drainage systems are quickly overwhelmed. What was once absorbed into the ground now remains on the surface. This means the city is already becoming more flood-prone because of how it is built. Climate change will intensify rainfall in the future, but the underlying vulnerability is being constructed in the present. The same surfaces that trap heat also accelerate water.

Taken together, these effects point to a single conclusion. The issue is not simply that Addis Ababa is building with cement. It is that the prevailing construction logic is reshaping the city’s thermal and hydrological systems in ways that increase long-term risk.

Unequal Burden — Who Lives With This

These consequences are not evenly distributed, and the scale of exposure is growing.

Addis Ababa’s population has expanded rapidly over the past decades, from well under two million in the early 1990s to roughly four–six million today, with projections approaching eight million by 2030. Much of this growth has not been absorbed through planned, serviced expansion, but through informal and semi-formal settlement.

Estimates suggest that a substantial share of the city’s residents—often cited in the range of 60–70 percent—live in informal or underserved conditions. These areas are not randomly distributed. They are frequently located along riverbanks, in low-lying zones, or in parts of the city where land is available but infrastructure is limited. These are precisely the areas where the effects described earlier are most acute.

Flood exposure provides a clear illustration. Recent assessments indicate that 67 percent of Addis Ababa’s population lives in flood-prone areas, and that exposure is projected to increase as both population and built-up area expand. At the same time, about 10 percent of new development in the past decade has occurred within the existing 100-year floodplain, further concentrating risk.

Heat follows a similar pattern. In dense, low-income neighborhoods, where vegetation is limited and construction materials retain heat, the urban heat island effect is amplified. Buildings trap and re-radiate heat, and the absence of shaded public space increases exposure for those who rely on walking and outdoor activity.

The capacity to adapt is also uneven. Access to shaded streets, well-drained infrastructure, and thermally moderated buildings is not evenly distributed across the city. Those with fewer resources depend more directly on the immediate environment, and therefore experience more directly the consequences of its design.

The result is a form of uneven urban exposure. The same construction logic that produces visible improvement at the scale of the city concentrates risk at the scale of everyday life. Heat and water do not distribute themselves evenly; they accumulate where the city is least able to absorb them. The city may be improving in appearance while becoming harsher in lived experience for those least able to absorb its risks.

A Different Design Principle

If the problem lies in treating every element of the city as if it must be built heavily, the alternative begins with a simple distinction: not everything is structural.

This is not an argument against cement or steel. These materials are essential where strength, durability, and safety demand them. Foundations, load-bearing elements, and critical infrastructure require precisely this level of robustness. The issue arises when the same logic is extended indiscriminately to surfaces, boundaries, and spaces that do not carry comparable structural demands.

A different approach begins by restoring that distinction. Build heavily where necessary; build lightly everywhere else.

This principle does not reduce ambition. It redirects it. It asks that material be matched to function, rather than applied by default. It replaces uniformity with judgment. In practice, this means asking a set of simple questions at the point of design: Does this element need to carry load? Does it require continuous, monolithic construction? Can the same function be achieved with less material, more permeability, or a combination of structural and non-structural systems?

Where the answer is no, lighter approaches become not a compromise, but a more appropriate solution. The shift is therefore not from one material to another, but from material substitution to material minimization. It is a shift from standard forms to function-based design, and from the assumption of maximum load to the discipline of sufficient performance.

Such an approach does not stand apart from Ethiopia’s broader direction; it aligns with it. The country’s Green Legacy initiative and related urban greening efforts emphasize expanding vegetation, improving environmental quality, and restoring ecological balance. Extending these principles into the material logic of urban construction—reducing unnecessary hard surfaces, increasing permeability, and integrating vegetation as infrastructure—moves these initiatives from surface-level greening to structural transformation.

At the scale of a city, this distinction accumulates. Applied consistently, it reduces embodied carbon, lowers heat retention, improves water absorption, and creates spaces that are more adaptable over time. The question, then, is not whether Addis Ababa should continue to build, but whether it can begin to build with greater precision—using weight where it is required, and restraint where it is not.

What This Looks Like in Practice

At its core, the alternative is simple: work with natural systems rather than attempting to override them. Not command and control, but adaptation.

This shift becomes most visible in housing. There is no structural reason for most houses to be built entirely out of reinforced concrete—from foundation to columns to walls to every partition, and even to the perimeter walls that enclose them. Structural strength is required in specific elements: foundations, columns, beams. But walls, especially internal and non-load-bearing ones, do not need to carry that same burden, and boundary walls are rarely load-bearing at all. Yet the prevailing approach extends structural material to the entire building and its enclosure, turning what could be a selective system into a fully hardened mass.

An alternative is straightforward: build the structure where it is needed, and build lightly where it is not. A reinforced frame can provide strength, while walls can be constructed from lighter, more adaptive materials—block, stabilized earth, timber systems, or other locally appropriate solutions. This reduces material use, lowers heat retention, and creates buildings that respond better to their environment rather than storing and radiating heat throughout the day.

There is also a temporal dimension to this choice. When buildings are constructed as continuous, monolithic systems, any modification—whether to expand, repair, or adapt—often requires demolition. Walls cannot be easily removed or reconfigured without affecting the whole. By contrast, when structural and non-structural elements are clearly separated, change becomes possible without destruction. Openings can be introduced, spaces reconfigured, and extensions added incrementally. This reduces the cost of change and allows households to adapt their homes over time rather than rebuilding them entirely.

The same principle applies beyond the building itself.

Take water. Instead of treating rainfall as something to be removed as quickly as possible, parts of the urban surface can be allowed to absorb and slow it. Even small interruptions—unsealed edges, planted strips—reduce runoff and prevent the immediate pooling that is now common after light rain.

Take heat. Rather than relying on fully exposed hard surfaces, spaces can be structured around shade as a primary element—trees, covered walkways, and surface variation that reduce heat at the point of experience and allow the city to cool.

Take boundaries. Instead of continuous, sealed concrete walls, edges can define space without fully enclosing it—using lighter systems or vegetation that allow airflow and reduce heat buildup while still providing separation.

These examples are not exhaustive. They illustrate a broader shift: the city does not need to be built as a fully controlled environment to function effectively. In many cases, allowing permeability, shade, and material variation produces better outcomes than complete enclosure and continuous hardening. The question, then, is not which specific alternative to adopt, but whether the underlying approach can change—from building against natural processes to building in alignment with them.

From Principle to Policy

If the issue is not the absence of rules but the logic embedded within them, then the response cannot be limited to more regulation. It must begin with changing what the system encourages by default.

At present, the implicit standard is clear: build continuously, build heavily, and build permanently. This is not always mandated explicitly, but it is reinforced through approval processes, design norms, and risk-averse decision-making. The result is predictable—overbuilding becomes the safest choice.

A different approach does not require abandoning standards. It requires adjusting what those standards prioritize.

First, introduce a clear distinction between structural and non-structural elements in building codes and approvals. Where load-bearing performance is not required, designs should not default to reinforced concrete. Allowing and legitimizing lighter wall systems, modular construction, and mixed-material approaches would immediately reduce unnecessary material use without compromising safety.

Second, move from requiring continuous hard surfaces to allowing—and in some cases requiring—interrupted surfaces. Road edges, walkways, public spaces, and non-critical surfaces can incorporate permeability as a standard design feature. This is not an aesthetic choice; it is a functional requirement tied to drainage and heat.

Third, integrate water absorption and retention into urban design criteria. Instead of evaluating projects solely on their ability to remove water, include their capacity to absorb and slow it. This shifts drainage from a purely engineering problem to a design consideration.

Fourth, recognize adaptability over time as a policy objective. Building systems that allow modification without demolition should be encouraged through permitting and design guidelines. This reduces long-term costs and aligns with how households and businesses actually evolve.

Finally, align these shifts with existing national priorities. Ethiopia’s Green Legacy and urban greening initiatives already emphasize vegetation, environmental quality, and resilience. Extending these principles into construction standards and approval processes ensures that greening is not limited to planting, but embedded in how the city is built.

None of these changes require a complete overhaul of the system. They require a recalibration of what is considered normal. The question for policy, then, is not whether to build more or less, but whether the rules of building can shift—from reinforcing uniform heaviness to enabling selective, adaptive construction.

Building With Restraint

I return to the image that began this piece. A house rising next door, poured in layers of reinforced concrete, dense and immovable. A factory enclosed behind continuous walls. A city taking shape through repetition—solid, sealed, and unyielding.

Seen individually, each of these choices makes sense. They promise strength, permanence, and order. But seen together, across the length of a road, across neighborhoods and new developments, they reveal something else: a way of building that has become automatic.

That is the real issue.

Addis Ababa does not suffer from a lack of effort, investment, or ambition. The ongoing transformation of the city reflects all three. The question is whether the logic guiding that transformation is aligned with the environment in which the city exists.

A city cannot cool itself while continuously hardening its surface. It cannot absorb water while sealing the ground beneath it. It cannot adapt over time if every element is built as if it must never change.

(Tsegaye Nega (PhD) is a Professor Emeritus at Carleton College in the United States and the Founder and CEO of Anega Energies Manufacturing.)

Contributed by Tsegaye Nega (PhD)