Girma Berhanu (Professor)
Ethiopia’s Crisis and the Paradox of Civil Resistance: Where Is the Collective Outrage?
Ethiopia is confronting a profound national crisis characterised by widespread poverty, devastating armed conflicts, mass displacement, political repression, economic deterioration, and the destruction of communities and livelihoods. Millions of families have experienced the loss of loved ones; millions have been displaced; and countless citizens struggle to survive amid uncertainty, insecurity, and despair. The country’s social fabric is increasingly fractured, while the institutions entrusted with protecting citizens often appear incapable of guaranteeing their security, dignity, and fundamental rights.
Yet, amid this extraordinary suffering, one question continues to haunt the Ethiopian political landscape: Why has civil resistance not emerged with the breadth, intensity, and national coherence that the magnitude of the crisis would seem to demand?
This is not a question intended to blame victims of repression or to underestimate the courage of those who have resisted injustice. Ethiopia has witnessed remarkable acts of resistance, protest, and political courage. Nevertheless, the persistence and scale of the national crisis raise serious questions about the structural, political, social, and psychological barriers that impede the emergence of sustained, inclusive, and transformative civil resistance.
A Personal Reflection: The Politics of Youth Mobilisation
I sometimes reflect on my own political experiences during my youth. At the time, I was responsible for an underground movement within the Youth Vanguard section of the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party (EPRP). I probably had around 200 young people under my command, some of whom were organised into what were referred to as urban guerrilla active groups. Many of these young people were between 12 and 15 years old.
What remains particularly striking in my memory is the extraordinary level of passion, commitment, and political engagement among these young people. Their dedication was remarkable. They were prepared, quite literally, to risk their lives in carrying out the movement’s directives. We were engaged in clandestine and subversive activities, although not in armed struggle. We wanted action—real action. There was an almost overwhelming determination to challenge and overthrow the military junta, which we regarded as a fascist regime.
Of course, we were children. We did not fully understand the political, ideological, and historical complexities of the struggle in which we were involved. We were deeply influencedby the revolutionary ideology and political environment of the time, and, in many respects, profoundly indoctrinated. Our activities were also constrained by the circumstances surrounding the gradual disintegration of the EPRP itself.
Looking back, I am struck by the intensity of our political consciousness, collective commitment, and willingness to engage in resistance, even under extremely dangerous circumstances. This is not to romanticize our involvement or the recruitment of children into clandestine political activities. Rather, it is to reflect on the extraordinary capacity of young people to become politically mobilized, particularly when they believe that their society is facing an existential crisis.
This personal recollection inevitably leads me to a difficult and uncomfortable question: What explains the apparent political passivity of significant sections of the younger generation in Ethiopia today, despite the extraordinary levels of suffering, deprivation, subjugation, violence, and injustice surrounding them?
People are starving. Communities are being destroyed. Homes are demolished, sometimes with devastating consequences for entire families. Ethnic hatred and political violence have become deeply embedded in everyday life. Consider, for example, the heartbreaking account of a child reportedly eaten by hyenas while the child’s single mother had gone back to retrieve whatever belongings she could salvage following the demolition of their home. Such accounts are almost impossible to comprehend, yet they illustrate the extreme vulnerability and human suffering experienced by ordinary citizens.
How should we understand the apparent absence of a broad-based, sustained, and coordinated collective response to such conditions?
Perhaps the comparison between my generation and today’s youth is not entirely fair. The political, social, technological, and institutional contexts are fundamentally different. Moreover, what appears to be passivity may, in fact, conceal fear, exhaustion, fragmentation, political disillusionment, or forms of resistance that are less visible and less organised. Decades of authoritarian rule, surveillance, repression, ethnic polarisation, and the fragmentation of political opposition may have profoundly weakened the possibilities for collective mobilisation.
Nevertheless, the question remains important. Understanding this paradox requires us to look beyond individual courage or the apparent absence of political will. We must examine the structural conditions that shape collective action: the erosion of trust, the fragmentation of social identities, the absence of credible political leadership, the costs of resistance, and the psychological consequences of prolonged exposure to violence and insecurity.
Understanding this paradox is essential not only for confronting Ethiopia’s present crisis but also for imagining a different political future—one in which citizens can reclaim their agency, dignity, and collective capacity to shape the society in which they live.
Resilience, Dignity, and the Possibility of Rising Again
In reflecting on resistance, I am reminded of the words and political legacy of StokelyCarmichael (Kwame Ture), the African American civil rights activist and prominent Black Power leader. His reflections on the limitations of nonviolence under conditions of oppression raise difficult questions about the relationship between resistance, power, and the conscience of those who exercise it.
I am also reminded of Maya Angelou’s celebrated poem Still I Rise. Its message of resilience, dignity, and defiance in the face of oppression speaks powerfully to societies and individuals subjected to humiliation, hatred, injustice, and suffering.
Angelou’s poem reminds us that adversity does not have to define the human spirit. Lies, hatred, and humiliation may inflict profound wounds, but they need not determine one’s worth or future. To rise is to reclaim one’s dignity, confidence, freedom, and hope. It is to refuse to allow oppression and suffering to have the final word.
For Ethiopia, this message has particular significance. The challenge is not simply to endure suffering or demonstrate individual resilience. It is to transform individual experiences of injustice and despair into a shared commitment to human dignity, solidarity, justice, and a more inclusive political future.
Ultimately, the question is not merely why people are not resisting more visibly. It is also what political, social, and psychological conditions would make collective resistance possible, sustainable, and transformative. How can a deeply fragmented and traumatisedsociety recover its collective agency and rediscover the courage to imagine and struggle for a different future?
The Paradox of Suffering Without Collective Transformation
Political history repeatedly demonstrates that widespread suffering does not automatically translate into collective resistance. Poverty, oppression, and political exclusion may generate anger and resentment, but anger alone does not create a movement capable of transforming political power. Civil resistance requires something more: collective consciousness, organizational capacity, political trust, strategic coordination, shared objectives, and a belief that meaningful change is possible.
In Ethiopia, these conditions have been repeatedly undermined by repression, political fragmentation, ethnic polarization, economic vulnerability, and the historical predominance of armed struggle. Consequently, national suffering has often produced fragmented resistance rather than a unified movement capable of confronting the underlying structures of political injustice. The tragedy is that a society experiencing extraordinary collective hardship may remain politically divided precisely when unity becomes most necessary.
Fear as an Instrument of Political Control
One of the most powerful explanations for the limited scale of sustained civil resistance is the pervasive climate of fear. In contexts where political dissent can expose individuals to arrest, imprisonment, intimidation, violence, or even death, resistance becomes an extraordinarily risky personal and collective undertaking. When I have asked people in Ethiopia why they do not resist their suffering and the injustices they experience, a recurring response has been fear of retaliation—not only against themselves but also against their relatives and next of kin. Many fear that the consequences of political opposition could extend to their families, making the personal cost of resistance almost unbearable. Through such practices, the regime has succeeded in cultivating a climate of deep-seated fear and political intimidation among citizens.
This climate of fear also extends into the Ethiopian diaspora. Even abroad, many people remain reluctant to express open opposition to the regime. Some are primarily concerned with protecting their personal interests, maintaining access to their homeland, and being able to visit relatives without attracting unwanted attention or interrogation from the authorities. In my observation, this has become one of the dividing lines within the diaspora: between those willing to speak out despite the potential consequences and those who choose silence, caution, or accommodation. This division reflects not only the effectiveness of political intimidation but also a deeper problem of political opportunism and self-preservation that has become embedded in aspects of our social and political culture.
What is particularly troubling is that fear can persist even in relatively free societies, where individuals theoretically enjoy the freedom to condemn human rights violations and political atrocities. Fear is often amplified through propaganda, intimidation, surveillance, and deliberate narratives about the consequences of dissent. The regime actively cultivates and reproduces this atmosphere, extending its influence beyond national borders. The result is a disturbing situation in which political resistance becomes increasingly fragmented, muted, and, in some instances, almost invisible—even among communities living outside the country.
My own position has always been grounded in the principle that injustice and political oppression must be confronted before they become irreversible. I strongly believe in the necessity of resisting tyranny rather than passively waiting for its destructive consequences. This does not mean embracing violence or retaliation; rather, it means refusing to surrender the moral, political, and civic space to those who govern through intimidation and fear. Political courage, solidarity, and collective action are essential if a society is to reclaim its dignity and freedom.
Fear does not necessarily eliminate political opposition. Instead, it can prevent opposition from becoming visible, coordinated, and sustained. Citizens may privately reject political repression while publicly remaining silent. Communities may recognize injustice while lacking the security or organizational capacity to challenge it. Individuals may desire political transformation but hesitate because the consequences of participation could extend to their families, livelihoods, and communities.
This is precisely how repression undermines collective action: not necessarily by convincing people that injustice is acceptable, but by making resistance appear prohibitively dangerous.Therefore, the absence of mass mobilization should not be confused with public consent.
Silence under repression is not necessarily consent; it may be the expression of a society living under the calculated consequences of fear.
Fragmented National Identity and the Crisis of Solidarity
Perhaps one of the most consequential obstacles to sustained civil resistance in Ethiopia is the fragmentation of political identity and national solidarity. Ethnic federalism, historical grievances, competing nationalist narratives, and unresolved questions of political power and territorial belonging have contributed to deep divisions within Ethiopian society. These divisions increasingly shape how citizens interpret political violence, injustice, and human suffering. The suffering of one community may attract widespread attention, while that of another is minimized, justified, or dismissed. Political allegiance can take precedence over the fundamental principle that all civilian lives deserve equal protection.
The recurring massacres of civilians and worshippers in Arsi Zone, Oromia, which have reportedly intensified in recent weeks, illustrate this troubling pattern. More broadly, the suffering of the Amhara population has often been marginalized, underreported, or silenced. In some instances, victims are even blamed for the violence perpetrated against them. I find particularly distressing the apparent silence of significant sections of the Oromo community in response to the atrocities in Arsi. The absence of stronger public condemnation and cross-community solidarity raises serious questions about the erosion of a shared moral responsibility. Such selective empathy undermines the ethical foundations of a genuinely national movement.
Civil resistance cannot become transformative if it mobilizes people exclusively around the grievances of one ethnic group, region, or political constituency while disregarding the rights and suffering of others. Nor can national solidarity be built on selective recognition of victims or the politicization of human suffering.
The central challenge, therefore, is not simply to organize resistance against a particular government or political leadership. It is to cultivate a shared commitment to equal citizenship and the principle that no Ethiopian should be subjected to violence, discrimination, or political exclusion because of their identity. Without such solidarity, collective resistance risks reproducing the very divisions and exclusions that sustain political instability. A genuinely national struggle for freedom must recognize the suffering of all communities, reject selective compassion, and defend the dignity and rights of every citizen without exception.
A Crisis of Political Leadership and Organizational Credibility
Civil resistance does not emerge spontaneously from public suffering. It requires credible leadership and organizational structures capable of transforming individual grievances into collective political action. Civil resistance is a long-standing and widespread phenomenon in human history. Several works on civil resistance adopt a historical approach to the analysis of the subject.Cases of civil resistance, both successful and unsuccessful, include tens. My observation is that those which suceed had a great organisational skills and strong political leadership. Ethiopian opposition movements have frequently been weakened by ideological disagreements, personal rivalries, organizational fragmentation, competing political mbitions, and insufficient coordination.
In some instances, political organizations have struggled to articulate a vision that transcends ethnic and regional constituencies. This fragmentation has contributed to public skepticism about whether existing political actors can genuinely deliver democratic transformation.Citizens may oppose the prevailing political order without necessarily trusting those who claim to represent its alternatives. The resulting crisis of credibility is particularly damaging because successful civil resistance requires confidence that participation serves a meaningful collective purpose.
Civil Resistance: An Alternative to Endless Destruction
Civil resistance offers Ethiopia an important possibility: achieving political transformation through organized, collective, and nonviolent action rather than perpetuating cycles of armed confrontation and destruction. Nonviolent resistance is neither passive nor politically insignificant. It can challenge the legitimacy of oppressive institutions, mobilize public participation, expose injustice, and generate pressure for meaningful political change. Its strength lies in the ability of ordinary citizens to withdraw their cooperation from unjust systems and collectively assert their political agency.
In the long run, I see little prospect of sustainable political transformation in Ethiopia without well-organized civil resistance, a coherent political vision, and an inclusive strategy for implementation. Ethiopia’s transition from the Tigrayan-dominated EPRDF leadership to the Prosperity Party illustrates how political change can emerge from the interaction of internal power struggles and mass popular mobilization. However, leadership changes alone do not necessarily produce democratic transformation or dismantle authoritarian structures.
Civil resistance should not, however, be romanticized as an automatic solution. Its effectiveness depends on organizational capacity, strategic discipline, broad public participation, solidarity across social divisions, and the ability to sustain collective action despite repression. It also requires a clear political vision of what should follow the transformation of the existing order. A movement that mobilizes against injustice but fails to establish credible democratic alternatives risks reproducing the same patterns of exclusion, political domination, and authoritarianism.
The objective, therefore, must be more ambitious than simply replacing political leaders. It must be to fundamentally transform the relationship between political power and the people, establishing accountable institutions, equal citizenship, democratic participation, and respect for human rights.
Conclusion
Ethiopia is experiencing a profound national catastrophe marked by armed conflict, mass displacement, political repression, economic deterioration, and widespread human suffering. Yet, despite the magnitude of this crisis, sustained and inclusive civil resistance has not emerged at a scale commensurate with the suffering of the population. Why?
This article argues that the answer lies not simply in fear of state repression, but also in fragmented political identities, weakened national solidarity, selective empathy, political opportunism, and the absence of a shared democratic vision. A pervasive climate of intimidation discourages collective action, while ethnic and political divisions undermine the possibility of a unified response to injustice. The suffering of some communities is publicly acknowledged, while that of others is marginalized, rationalized, or silenced. Such selective solidarity weakens the moral foundations of collective resistance.
The central argument is that Ethiopia cannot escape its destructive political cycles through armed confrontation or changes in political leadership alone. What is urgently needed is organized, inclusive, and strategically grounded civil resistance built on equal citizenship, mutual recognition, democratic accountability, and respect for human dignity. Ultimately, the absence of mass resistance should not be mistaken for public consent. It reflects a society constrained by fear, fragmentation, and political uncertainty. Ethiopia’s path out of catastrophe requires not merely resistance to those in power, but the emergence of a shared national commitment to freedom, justice, and the protection of every citizen, irrespective of ethnicity, region, or political affiliation.
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