Hundreds gather to honor fallen heroes, raise banned flag, and renew calls for justice and peace on Ebla 15

By Maatii Sabaa
GULLALLE, FINFINNE – April 15, 2026 (Ebla 15)

GULLALLE – Hundreds of Oromo men, women, and youth gathered today at the Head Office of the ABO (Arsi, Bale, Oromo organization) in the Gullalle district of Addis Ababa to observe Guyyaa Gootota Wareegamtoota Oromoo (Oromo Martyrs and Heroes Day), an annual commemoration held on Ebla 15 (April 15).

The event, which lasted from 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM, included a minute of silence for the fallen, the reading of hundreds of names of martyrs, cultural performances, and the raising of the Oromo flag – a symbol repeatedly banned in public spaces over the years. No violence or security incidents were reported.

The gathering was peaceful but emotionally charged. Attendees included elderly community members, mothers with young children, and large numbers of Qeerroo and Qarree (Oromo youth activists). Organizers described the event as a “people’s holiday” – not sanctioned by any government but observed annually by Oromo communities both inside Ethiopia and in the diaspora.

A banner at the venue read:
“Guyyaa Gootota Wareegamtoota Oromoo – Ebla 15, 2026 – Hin Irraanfatnu. Hin Lolti Dhaabnu.”
(Translation: “Oromo Martyrs and Heroes Day – We will not forget. We will not stop struggling.”)

One of the most powerful moments came when a list of martyrs’ names was read aloud. The names included individuals killed in protests between 2014 and 2026, as well as historical figures from the 19th century. After each name, the crowd responded in unison: “Nu jirra. Hin irraanfatne.” (“We are here. We have not forgotten.”)

An elderly woman, who identified herself only as the mother of a son killed in 2018, held up a faded photograph and told the crowd: “I did not come to speak. I came to show you his face. Do not let his memory die.”

At exactly 12:00 noon, two young women raised the Oromo flag at the ABO compound. The flag – which has been banned at various times in modern Ethiopian history – flew for approximately three hours before being lowered and stored in a wooden box.

Witnesses described an elderly man falling to his knees as the flag rose, weeping and saying: “Forgive us. We are still fighting. We have not given up.”

A senior ABO official, who spoke on condition of anonymity for security reasons, delivered the keynote address. He outlined five core values that he said Oromo martyrs died for:

• Nageenya (Justice / Peace / Well-being)
• Misooma (Development)
• Badhaadhina (Progress)
• Dimokiraasii (Democracy)
• Nagaa (True Peace / Safety)

“These five words are not decorations,” the speaker said. “They are debts. Our heroes paid with their lives. We must pay with our actions.”

The newspaper spoke with several attendees:

Bontu, 23, university student:
“I was not born when many of these heroes died. But I carry their names in my phone. I read them every morning.”

Jirenya, 58, farmer (traveled three hours by bus):
“My brother was killed in 2015. No one was arrested. No one apologized. Today, I am his memory.”

Marga, 19, high school student:
“The next heroes are not dead yet. They are standing right here.”

Hundessa, 72, retired teacher:
“Each year, there are new names. That breaks my heart. But each year, there are also new young faces. That gives me hope.”

Ebla 15 (which corresponds to April 15 in the Gregorian calendar) has become a significant date in Oromo collective memory. While not recognized as an official public holiday by the Ethiopian government, it is widely observed by Oromo communities as a day to honor both historical figures (including 19th-century horseback warriors who fought colonialism) and contemporary martyrs killed in protests and political violence.

The ABO (Arsi, Bale, Oromo – a prominent Oromo civil society and cultural organization) has organized commemorative events on Ebla 15 for several years, though the scale and location have varied due to security constraints.

A visible but low-key security presence was observed in areas surrounding Gullalle throughout the day. No arrests or confrontations were reported. The event ended peacefully at approximately 3:00 PM, after a collective vow in which attendees raised their right hands and recited a pledge to continue the struggle for justice, democracy, and peace.

Organizers declined to provide an official estimate of crowd size, but eyewitnesses placed attendance between 300 and 500 people.

As of press time, the Ethiopian government had not issued an official statement regarding the commemoration.

The ceremony concluded with the Oromo anthem sung by the entire crowd, followed by a slow dispersal. Many attendees lingered to take photographs with the flag and exchange contact information for future organizing.

A young Qeerroo shouted as the crowd began to leave: “Ebla 15 next year – where will we be?”
The crowd responded: “Stronger! More! Free!”

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The Fire and the Flag

On Ebla 15, 2026, at the ABO headquarters in Gullalle, Oromo martyrs and heroes were not just remembered. They were summoned back to life.

By Oromia News Agency
Photography by SBO
Magazine: The Oromo Voice / Horn of Africa Review (Quarterly Edition)
Issue: Spring 2026 – “Memory as Resistance”

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GULLALLE, FINFINNE – There is a kind of silence that does not ask for permission. It arrives before the first speaker steps to the microphone, before the first flag is raised, before the first tear falls. It is the silence of a crowd that knows it is standing on bones.

On the morning of Ebla 15, 2026 (April 15) , that silence settled over the Head Office of the ABO in Gullalle like a second sky. Hundreds had come – not because they were summoned, but because something in their blood would not let them stay home.

This was Guyyaa Gootota Wareegamtoota Oromoo – the Day of Oromo Martyrs and Heroes.

And in a country where official history often forgets the names of the fallen, the living came to remember.

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I. The Gathering: A Portrait of a People

“We do not come here to mourn. We come here to witness. Mourning is private. Witnessing is public. And the world must see.”
– Bontu, 23, university student

By 8:30 AM, the compound was already full. Not the polished fullness of a state ceremony, but the raw, breathing fullness of a people who have learned to gather in corners and behind walls.

The elders sat on plastic chairs in the shade, their walking sticks planted like spears in the earth. Their eyes were not wet. They had done their crying decades ago. Now they watched – guardians of a memory too heavy for the young to carry alone.

The mothers stood at the edges, infants tied to their backs with cotton wraps. They did not speak much. But when they did, they sang. Old songs. Songs about rivers and horses and a time before borders. Songs that grandmothers had taught them in the dark.

The youth – the Qeerroo and Qarree – filled the center. They wore the Oromo flag not as a decoration but as a declaration. Black, red, and white on t-shirts, on scarves, on wristbands, on fingernails. Their phones were out, recording everything. Not for social media fame. For evidence. For the archive that the state refuses to keep.

At the front, a simple wooden stage. No velvet ropes. No VIP section. Just a microphone, a banner, and a flag that had been folded and unfolded so many times that its edges were frayed.

The banner read:

“Guyyaa Gootota Wareegamtoota Oromoo – Ebla 15, 2026 – Hin Irraanfatnu. Falmaa Hin Dhaabnu.”
(Oromo Martyrs and Heroes Day – We will not forget. We will not stop struggling.)

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II. The Names: A Litany of the Lost

At 9:00 AM sharp, the master of ceremonies – a soft-spoken man with steel in his jaw – stepped forward.

“Before we speak,” he said, “we listen.”

One minute of silence.

It is easy to write the words “one minute of silence.” It is harder to describe what it feels like when five hundred people stop breathing at once. The wind itself seemed to hesitate. A child coughed, and the sound was enormous. An old man shifted his weight, and the creak of his sandals was a thunderclap.

Then the names began.

They came in waves. Alphabetical by first name. No hierarchy. A martyr is a martyr.

• Jal Berso Wabe (Megersa Beri) – A warrior whose name meant defiance. He did not kneel.
• Jal Geda Gemeda (Demse Techane) – A strategist. He fought not with rage alone, but with intelligence.
• Jal Dori Beri (Yigezu Benti) – A leader who carried the weight of his people on his shoulders.
• Jal Felmeta / Chechebsa (Umer) – A name spoken in two tongues, one spirit. Unbroken.
• Jal Meri Gelan – A shadow on the battlefield. His enemies saw him only when it was too late.
• Jal Aba Tiki (Aboma Mitku) – A fire that could not be extinguished. He died standing.
• Jal Ire Ana Qechele (Dinsa) – A guardian of the hills. He taught that land is not dirt – it is mother.
• Jal Feferi Doyo – A voice that sang resistance when singing was a crime.
• Jal Dhadiycho Boru – A horseman who rode not for glory, but for the next generation.
• Jal Dhadiycho Muleta – A name that closes the list but never the struggle. He is remembered.
• Jal Alemitu G. – killed, 2016, Adama.
• Jal Biruk T. – disappeared, 2018, never found.
• Jal Chaltu D. – shot, 2015, Bale.
• Jal Dawit I. – died in prison, 2020, no medical care.
• Jal Feyissa L. – 19 years old, 2014, Ambo.

Each name landed like a stone in still water. And after each name, the crowd answered with the same low rumble:

“Nu jirra. Hin irraanfatne.”
(We are here. We have not forgotten.)

By the time the list ended – nearly two hours later – no one was standing still. But no one had left.

“I did not come to speak. I came to show you his face. He was 22. He loved football and poetry. Now he is a memory. Do not let his memory die.”
– An elderly mother, holding a photograph of her son

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III. The Five Pillars: What the Heroes Died For

The keynote address was not a political speech. It was a lesson.

A senior ABO official – whose name we withhold for security reasons – stepped to the microphone and asked a question that silenced the crowd:

“What did they actually die for? Not slogans. Not flags. What?”

Then he held up five fingers. One for each of the sacred pillars of the Oromo struggle.

Oromo Word	Meaning	Translation for the Living
Nageenya	Justice / Peace / Well-being	A country where your identity is not a death sentence.
Misooma	Development	A school in your village, not just a palace in the capital.
Badhaadhina	Progress	Moving forward, even when the road is soaked in blood.
Dimokiraasii	Democracy	The right to speak, to assemble, to choose – without permission.
Nagaa	True Peace / Safety / Tranquility	Sleeping through the night without fear of a knock on the door.

“These five words,” the speaker said, his voice low and fierce, “are not decorations. They are debts. Our heroes paid with their lives. We must pay with our actions.”

The crowd did not clap. They raised their fists. And for a moment, Gullalle was not a neighborhood in Finfinne. It was an idea.

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IV. The Flag: A Cloth That Refuses to Burn

At exactly 12:00 noon, the ceremony reached its spiritual peak.

Two young Qarree – sisters, no older than twenty – walked slowly to the flagpole. Between them, folded into a perfect square, was the Oromo flag.

They did not rush. Every step was a prayer.

When they reached the pole, they unfolded the cloth with the reverence of priests handling a relic. Red, Green, Red. But the meaning is the same.

This cloth has been banned. Burned. Trampled. Called illegal.

And yet, on Ebla 15, 2026, it rose again.

As the flag caught the midday sun, an old man in the back of the crowd fell to his knees. He was not praying to God. He was praying to the cloth.

“Forgive us,” he wept, his voice cracking like dry earth. “We are still fighting. We have not given up.”

No one told him to stand. No one told him to be quiet. Some silences are too sacred to interrupt.

“The old people cry. But we, the young – we are not just crying. We are planning. The next heroes are not dead yet. They are standing right here.”
– Marga, 19, high school student

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V. The Voices: What the Living Said

Here, in their own words, are fragments of the day.

Jirenya, 58, farmer – traveled three hours by bus:
“My brother was killed in 2015. No arrest. No apology. The government forgot him. But I will not. Today, I am his memory. That is why I came.”

Marga, 19, high school student – first time attending:
“I used to think heroes were in history books. Dead people. Today I learned that heroes are also the ones who show up. The ones who refuse to be silent. That is me now.”

Faarsee, 34, shopkeeper – came straight from his store:
“I did not close my shop. I left my son in charge. If I lose my business for being here, so be it. What is money without Nageenya ? Nothing.”

Hundessa, 72, retired teacher – walked with a cane:
“I have attended these ceremonies for twenty years. Each year, there are new names. That breaks my heart. But each year, there are also new young faces. That gives me hope.”

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VI. The Closing: A Vow Made of Breath

As the sun began to soften over Gullalle, the crowd did not scatter. They lingered. They hugged strangers. They exchanged phone numbers. They stood in front of the flag for photographs that would be hidden in private albums, not shared on public feeds.

Then, a young Qeerroo – no older than seventeen – climbed onto a plastic chair and shouted:

“Ebla 15 next year – where will we be?”

The crowd roared back – not rehearsed, but raw:

“Stronger! More! Free!”

The final moment was not a speech. It was a collective vow.

Everyone raised their right hand. Young and old. Man and woman. Farmer and student. They repeated after the master of ceremonies:

“We will not forget. We will not forgive injustice. We will keep walking.

Until Nageenya is not a word, but water.
Until Misooma reaches the last village.
Until Badhaadhina cannot be stopped.
Until Dimokiraasii is for every Oromo.
Until Nagaa is not a dream, but breakfast.”

Then silence.

And then, from the back of the crowd, a single voice began to sing the Oromo anthem. One by one, everyone joined. By the second verse, Gullalle was no longer a location on a map. It was a congregation.

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Epilogue: What the Night Carried

The chairs were folded. The banner was rolled. The flag was lowered and placed in a wooden box – the same box that has carried it for years, from one secret ceremony to the next. The crowd melted back into the streets of Addis Ababa.

But something stayed.

Not smoke. Not sound. Not even tears.

Something else.

If you had stood in the compound of the ABO headquarters at dusk on Ebla 15, 2026, you would have felt it: a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. A vibration that had nothing to do with noise.

The martyrs, it seemed, had not come to be mourned.

They had come to check on the living.

And the living, for one day at least, did not disappoint.

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Ebla 15 is not a date. It is a thread.

It connects a horseback warrior of 1896 to a Qeerroo with a cracked smartphone in 2026. It connects a mother who buried her son to a teenager who has never seen peace but still believes in it.

The Oromo martyrs and heroes did not die so that you would cry forever.

They died so that you would act.

So act.

Learn a name. Speak a truth. Raise a flag – even if only in your heart.

Because as they chanted in Gullalle on Ebla 15, 2026:

“Nu jirra. Hin irraanfatamne.”

We are here. We have not forgotten.

And neither should you.

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Bilisummaa! Nagaa!

Ebla 15 – Forever.

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A day to rise, remember, and reaffirm

By: Maatii Sabaa

Date: April 15 – Ebla 15

Location: Oromia & the world

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Prologue: A Date Written in Fire

There are dates that pass like any other Tuesday. And then there is Ebla 15 – April 15.

On this day, the Oromo people do not merely turn a page on the calendar. They turn their faces toward history. They straighten their backs. They remember.

Oromo Heroes Day is not a gift from any government. It is not a decree from any palace. It is a day carved from the bone of the people themselves – a day when the sons and daughters of Oromia pause to honor those who bled, those who fell, and those who rose again.

Ebla 15. Remember the date. Because the heroes certainly did.

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Who Is an Oromo Hero?

If you walk through the villages of Arsi, the highlands of Bale, the streets of Adama, or the neighborhoods of Minneapolis and Toronto, you will get different answers. But they all sing the same tune.

An Oromo hero is:

• The Qeerroo (youth) who stood in front of bullets so that the elderly could walk behind them.
• The Qarree (young woman) who sang resistance songs while being dragged away.
• The Gadaa father who kept the law of the Oromo alive for 500 years – without an army, without a prison – only with seera (custom) and safuu (moral order).
• The horseback warrior of the 19th century who looked a European cannon in the eye and did not blink.
• The mother who named her child Bilisummaa (Freedom) even when it was illegal.
• The farmer who painted the flag on his barn door with crushed flowers and charcoal.

Heroes are not always the ones who win. Sometimes they are the ones who refuse to lose.

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Why Ebla 15? Why April 15?

Every people have a sacred calendar. For the Oromo, time is kept not only in numbers but in spirit. Ebla is a month of transition – from dry to rain, from waiting to planting. It is a month of hope.

April 15 has become, in modern Oromo memory, a touchstone of courage. On various years across the late 20th and early 21st centuries, this date (or its nearby days) witnessed protests, uprisings, and moments when ordinary Oromo did extraordinary things – raising a flag that was forbidden, singing a song that was banned, demanding rights that were denied.

The heroes of April 15 did not have weapons. They had words. They had unity. They had the memory of their ancestors.

And for that, the powers that be feared them.

So Ebla 15 is not a random date. It is the people’s own appointment with history – made without permission, kept without apology.

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The Five Gifts the Heroes Left Us

On this Oromo Heroes Day, let us count the inheritance. The heroes did not leave gold or land. They left something more precious: five ideas that cannot be killed.

Oromo Word	Meaning	What the Hero Demanded
Nageenya	Justice / Peace / Well-being	A world where the poor are not punished for being poor.
Misooma	Development	Not skyscrapers for the rich, but clean water for the village.
Badhaadhina	Progress	Moving forward – even one step – and never backward.
Dimokiraasii	Democracy	The right to speak, to choose, and to be heard.
Nagaa	Peace / Safety / Tranquility	Sleeping without fear. Waking without dread.

These five words are the true monument to every Oromo hero who ever fell. And they are the unfinished work that falls on our shoulders today.

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How to Truly Celebrate Ebla 15

You can post a flag on social media. You can wear the colors. You can share an old photograph of a protest or a warrior. All of that is good.

But here is how to truly make this Oromo Heroes Day worthy of the name:

1. Learn one hero’s name you have never heard before.
Not the famous ones. The unknown one. The woman who fed fugitives. The teenager who wrote poetry in blood. Speak their name aloud today.

2. Forgive a fellow Oromo.
Heroes are not perfect. The struggle has sometimes been divided by clan, by region, by ideology. Today, choose unity. Send a message to an Oromo you have been angry with. Say: “Ebla 15. Let us stand together.”

3. Teach a child the five words.
Nageenya. Misooma. Badhaadhina. Dimokiraasii. Nagaa. If every Oromo child knows these five words by heart, the struggle will never die.

4. Do one brave thing.
It does not have to be big. Speak truth in a room where silence is safer. Wear the flag pin where it is frowned upon. Post the Oromo anthem. Heroes are not special. Heroes are ordinary people who decide: Today, I will not be afraid.

5. Remember the fallen – and fight for the living.
Honoring the dead is sacred. But the dead do not need our tears. They need our action. Ask yourself: What would the hero of Ebla 15 want me to finish today? Then go do it.

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A Letter From an Oromo Hero (Imagined)

Dear child of Ebla 15,

I do not know your name. But I know your face. It is the same face I saw in the river when I was young – tired, hopeful, angry, loving.

I died so that you could read these words in your language. I fell so that you could stand. I was silent so that you could speak.

Do not waste my death on grief. Waste it on action.

If you see injustice – speak.
If you see a divided Oromo – unite.
If you see the flag burned – paint another one on your heart.

I did not die to become a statue. I died to become a wind at your back.

Now go. Ebla 15 is yours.

— An Oromo Hero

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Closing: Happy Oromo Heroes Day

So today, April 15 – Ebla 15 – we say it loudly and softly, in cities and villages, in freedom and in hiding:

Happy Oromo Heroes Day.

Not happy because everything is finished. But happy because we are still here.

Not happy because the struggle is over. But happy because the struggle has us.

The heroes of Ebla 15 are not in their graves. They are in the straight back of the child who raises the flag. They are in the clenched fist of the protester. They are in the quiet prayer of the mother.

Today, look at your reflection.

You are not just remembering heroes.

You are becoming one.

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Bilisummaa!
Nagaa!
Happy Oromo Heroes Day – Ebla 15, April 15!

PRESS RELEASE

Call to Honor the Fallen, Celebrate Resistance, and Reaffirm Commitment to Justice, Democracy, and Peace

[Oromia– April 15, 2026] – Today, millions of Oromo people across Oromia, Ethiopia, and diaspora communities in North America, Europe, Australia, and Africa are observing Oromo Heroes Day – known as Guyyaa Gootota Oromoo – on Ebla 15, which falls on April 15.

This annual day of remembrance honors the countless known and unknown heroes who have sacrificed their lives, liberty, and livelihoods for the rights, dignity, and freedom of the Oromo people. From 19th-century horseback warriors who fought colonialism to modern-day Qeerroo (youth) and Qarree (young women) who have led peaceful protests for justice and democracy, the day pays tribute to the enduring spirit of Oromo resistance.

A Day Rooted in Memory, Not Decree

Oromo Heroes Day is not a government-declared holiday. It is a people’s holiday – born from grassroots memory and observed with flags, songs, poetry, cultural events, and moments of silence. The date, Ebla 15 (April 15), has become a symbol of courage, particularly linked to modern uprisings where unarmed Oromo civilians raised the banned Oromo flag and demanded fundamental rights.

“We do not celebrate because the struggle is finished,” said Dhabessa Wakjira, community leader in Melbourne. “We celebrate because our heroes gave us a reason to continue. Every April 15, we remind ourselves and the world: the Oromo people have not been erased. We are here. We remember. And we will keep marching toward Nageenya (justice), Misooma (development), Badhaadhina (progress), Dimokiraasii (democracy), and Nagaa (true peace).”

Five Pillars of the Oromo Struggle

Community organizations and cultural institutions are using Oromo Heroes Day to reaffirm five core values that heroes fought and died for:

• Nageenya – Justice, peace, and well-being for all, regardless of ethnicity or social status.
• Misooma – Equitable development that reaches the most marginalized villages and families.
• Badhaadhina – Progress, both material and spiritual, moving forward without forgetting the past.
• Dimokiraasii – Genuine democracy, including free expression, assembly, and the right to self-determination.
• Nagaa – Lasting peace and safety, where no family fears a midnight knock on the door.

Events and Observances

On April 15 / Ebla 15, Oromo communities are holding:

• Flag-raising ceremonies (where permitted) and cultural gatherings.
• Virtual panels discussing the legacy of Oromo heroes and the future of the struggle.
• Poetry readings and music performances featuring traditional krar and modern resistance songs.
• Moments of silence at 12:00 PM local time to honor the fallen.
• Social media campaigns using hashtags such as #OromoHeroesDay, #Ebla15, #April15, and #Nagaa.

Calls for International Attention

Human rights organizations and Oromo advocacy groups are using the day to draw international attention to ongoing concerns, including political prisoners, restrictions on peaceful assembly, and the continued criminalization of the Oromo flag in some contexts. Supporters are urging the international community to:

• Recognize Oromo Heroes Day as a day of significance for human rights.
• Call for the release of imprisoned Oromo activists and journalists.
• Support dialogue and genuine political inclusion for the Oromo people, Ethiopia’s largest ethnic group.

Statements from Community Representatives

“On Ebla 15, we stand on the shoulders of giants. Our heroes did not have social media or international platforms. They had courage. Today, we honor them by continuing their unfinished work.”
— Dhabessa Wakjira, Oromo community organizer, Melbourne, Australia.

“The Oromo struggle is not about hate. It is about Nagaa – peace with dignity. Our heroes dreamed of a day when an Oromo child could speak their language, sing their songs, and walk the earth without shame. That dream is not yet reality, but every April 15, we get closer.”
— Yaasoo Kabbabaa, Oromo cultural activist, Finfinne, Oromia.

How to Support or Participate

Members of the media, human rights defenders, and the general public are encouraged to:

• Amplify Oromo voices by sharing content directly from Oromo creators and organizations.
• Educate themselves on Oromo history, including the Gadaa democratic system and the legacy of resistance.
• Attend or cover local Oromo Heroes Day events (contact below for diaspora chapter information).
• Use respectful language – recognize that for many Oromo, this day is both a celebration and a mourning.

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About Oromo Heroes Day

Oromo Heroes Day (Ebla 15 / April 15) is an annual observance honoring Oromo historical and contemporary figures who sacrificed for the rights, identity, and freedom of the Oromo people. The day is observed globally by Oromo communities regardless of legal recognition. It is a day of cultural pride, political reflection, and intergenerational remembrance.

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“Bilisummaa! Nagaa! Happy Oromo Heroes Day – Ebla 15, April 15!”

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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

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PRESS RELEASE

The Blood Tribute of the Heroes: Advanced by the Oromo Liberation Struggle

Ebla 15 – Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes – Official Message from the Oromo Liberation Front (ABO)

Finfinnee – April 14, 2026

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TO: Members and Supporters of the Oromo Liberation Front (ABO), All Freedom Fighters and Patriots of the Oromo People, and the Broader Oromo Nation

SUBJECT: Commemoration of Ebla 15 – Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes (2026)

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The Oromo Liberation Front (ABO) extends its greetings to all members, supporters, freedom fighters, patriots, and the entire Oromo nation on the occasion of **Ebla 15, the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes for the year 2026**.

1. Significance of Ebla 15

Ebla 15 is a day of profound solemnity and honor. It serves as the annual commemoration of those heroes who, without hesitation, sacrificed their lives to:

– Break the chains of subjugation;

– Restore the dignity of Oromo nationhood;

– Achieve freedom and self-determination;

– Manifest a homeland long denied; and

– Defend the inalienable rights of the Oromo people.

2. Historical Background of the Day

The designation of Ebla 15 as the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes finds its origin in the **Shiniggaa Martyrdom of 1980**, a pivotal event in the history of the Oromo liberation struggle. On that day, ten senior fighters and high-ranking leaders of the ABO — including those from the Hayyu-Duree and Itti Aanaa leadership structures — were martyred together under harrowing circumstances.

What rendered this event uniquely honorable was the manner of their martyrdom. The fallen heroes refused to be bound back-to-back and executed by enemy forces. Instead, they embraced the cause of unity and freedom for their people, stood shoulder to shoulder, and faced death collectively, falling into a single grave. It is in recognition of this supreme sacrifice that Ebla 15 was established as the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes, to be remembered by generations forever.

3. Scope of Commemoration

The ABO emphasizes that Ebla 15 is not limited to commemorating only its own fallen members. Rather, it honors **all Oromo sons and daughters** who have perished in the struggle against the enslavement of the Oromo people — whether they fell in direct confrontation, were targeted by state-sponsored violence, or succumbed to various forms of foreign domination. All who fought against the oppressive system and sacrificed their lives for the rights and dignity of the Oromo nation are equally honored on this day.

4. The Price of Liberation

The Oromo nation has paid an immense and irreplaceable price in blood for its land and freedom. Countless individuals have suffered physical wounds, lost family members, and forfeited their property. From the youngest to the oldest, every segment of Oromo society has contributed to this struggle. The martyrs — whose names cannot be fully enumerated — shine eternally in the annals of history. Their *gumaa* (blood tribute) is carried forward by the success of the cause for which they gave their lives.

5. Renewed Commitment of the ABO

As the ABO commemorates Ebla 15, the organization renews its call to all fighters, members, and supporters: continue the struggle with unwavering resolve, undeterred by any difficulties or circumstances, so that the cause for which the martyrs sacrificed may be fully achieved. The ABO further reaffirms its commitment to a peaceful struggle, even as it honors those who fell in battle.

6. Electoral Participation – A Historic Decision

The commemoration of Ebla 15 in 2026 carries distinct significance. For the first time in its history, the ABO has decided to participate in **Ethiopia’s 7th round of national elections**. This decision reflects the organization’s strategic commitment to:

– Achieve lasting peace for the Oromo people;

– Realize the goals of the Oromo liberation struggle — the very goals for which tens of thousands of Oromo sons and daughters were martyred; and

– Pursue all available peaceful avenues without betraying the sacrifice of the fallen.

To succeed in this endeavor, the ABO calls upon its members, fighters, and supporters to work with greater dedication than ever before, to remain prepared to overcome all challenges, and to stand united in support of the organization.

7. Call to the Oromo Nation

The ABO addresses the broader Oromo nation with the following appeal: to achieve lasting peace, to obtain true freedom, to secure the right to self-determination and nationhood, to attain democracy and equality, and to foster mutual development — choose the ABO. It is the organization in which your own children have united, fought for your rights, and paid the highest price with their lives.

Choosing the ABO means fulfilling the very goal of the Oromo liberation struggle — the goal for which the heroes, the sons and daughters of the Oromo nation, fought and fell.

8. Concluding Affirmations

– Ebla 15 is the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes.

– The Martyred Heroes of Oromo shall be remembered forever; they shall be honored forever.

– Honor and respect to our Martyred Heroes.

– Victory to the broad masses.

– For the Freedom of Oromia.

—

Issued by:

The Oromo Liberation Front (ABO)

Date: April 14, 2026

Location: Finfinnee

Ebla 15 – Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes – Message from the ABO (Oromo Liberation Army)

To the members and supporters of the ABO, all freedom fighters and patriots of the Oromo people, and the broader Oromo nation: Welcome, and may Ebla 15, the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes of this year 2026, meet you and us alike.

The day of Ebla 15 is a solemn and honorable day. It is the day we remember the heroes who, without hesitation, gave the most precious gift of all — their lives — to break the chains of slavery, restore the dignity of nationhood, achieve freedom, manifest a homeland we once lost, and fight for the rights of Oromo. They gave their lives.

Within the great struggle for Oromo liberation, countless heroes have fallen in the front lines and advanced the fight. They waded through blood-soaked trenches. To save Oromo nationhood from extinction, to secure the Oromia that exists on the ground today, and to bring about the rights and victories the Oromo have now achieved — tens of thousands of sons and daughters of the nation, brave ones, determined and resolute ones, whose names cannot be fully counted, have joined together in the vanguard struggle of the ABO and paid the ultimate price of their lives.

From the leaders of the organization to its members and supporters, they have written a glorious history. Thousands upon thousands have sacrificed their lives for the freedom of their people. All of them shine like stars in the annals of history. They will be remembered by generations forever.

The Shiniggaa Martyrdom of 1980 holds a special place in the history of the Oromo liberation struggle. It left a unique imprint on the memory of our fighters and our people.

On that day, ten senior fighters and high-ranking leaders of the ABO — from Hayyu-Duree and Itti Aanaa — were martyred together in a single location under deeply harrowing circumstances.

What made that martyrdom most honorable and unforgettable is the manner in which our beloved ones faced their end with supreme resolve. They refused to be tied back-to-back and shot by the enemy. Instead, they embraced the unity and freedom of their people, stood shoulder to shoulder, and faced death together, falling into a single grave side by side. That is why Ebla 15 was established as the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes — to be remembered forever.

When the ABO decided that Ebla 15 should be commemorated as the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes, we remind ourselves repeatedly that this day is not only for remembering our fallen members. It is for all Oromo sons and daughters who died resisting the enslavement of the Oromo people — whether they fell refusing oppression, were targeted by roving violence, or exposed and fought against foreign systems of domination in their various forms. Those who believed that after slavery, in different places, the burden of subjugation must be lifted from the Oromo people so that their rights might be honored as a nation — all those who fought against the oppressive system and fell as martyrs — it is for them that Ebla 15 was established as a Day of Heroes.

The Oromo nation has paid a great and heavy price in blood for its land and freedom — this is beyond dispute. The harm inflicted under oppression is incomparable, and the number of martyrs has never diminished the resolve. Because they refused oppression and being oppressed, they continue to sacrifice for their freedom.

Many Oromo have been physically wounded in the liberation struggle, and many have lost their families and property. Young and old, every segment of society — for the sake of this struggle’s goal — has paid the highest price, even the loss of family. All the fallen martyrs shine clearly in the pages of history. Their gumaa (blood tribute) is carried forward by the success of the cause for which they gave their lives.

As we honor Ebla 15, the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes, the ABO renews its message: while remembering our martyrs and renewing our resolve, fighters, members, and supporters must continue the struggle steadfastly, undeterred by any difficulties or circumstances, so that the cause for which they sacrificed may be achieved.

To all Oromo sons and daughters who believe in the just cause of the Oromo people — freedom and the right to self-determination — and to the Oromo nation as a whole, our message is this: let us all, wherever we stand, intensify the struggle by fulfilling the pledge we owe to our martyrs — to repay their gumaa with freedom.

What makes this year’s Ebla 15, the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes (2026), distinct is that the ABO has decided, for the first time in its ongoing peaceful struggle, to participate in Ethiopia’s 7th round of elections. Through this decision, the ABO is making a historic effort to achieve peace for our people and to realize the goal of Oromo liberation — the very goal for which tens of thousands of Oromo sons and daughters were martyred — without betraying their sacrifice.

To succeed in this work, members, fighters, and supporters of the ABO must work harder than before, be prepared to overcome any challenges, and affirm with one voice that we stand with our organization in every way.

To the broader Oromo nation: to achieve lasting peace, to obtain true freedom, to secure the right to self-determination and nationhood, to attain democracy and equality, and for mutual development — we call upon you to choose the ABO, the organization in which your own children have united, fought for your rights, and paid the highest price of their lives.

Choosing the ABO means fulfilling the goal of the Oromo liberation struggle — the goal for which the heroes, the sons and daughters of our nation, fought and fell. Therefore, our message is: Choose the ABO.

Ebla 15 is the Day of Oromo Martyred Heroes!

The Martyred Heroes of Oromo shall be remembered forever! They shall be sung forever!

Honor and respect to our Martyred Heroes!

Victory to the broad masses!

For the Freedom of Oromia

April 14, 2026
Finfinnee

He left behind a wife, three daughters, and a thriving business. He walked into the wilderness not because he hated comfort, but because he loved his people more than his own breath.

In the quiet dawn of 1960, in a small village called Kuyyuu Giccii, nestled in the Meettaa Robii district of Aanaa Shinoo, West Shawaa, a child was born. The land was green. The air smelled of fresh buna (coffee) blossoms. No one knew then that this child—named Lagaasaa, son of Wagii—would one day become a name that governments would hunt and that a nation would memorize.

His father was Obbo Wagii Meettaa. His mother was Adde Buzunash Ayyaanaa. They were farmers, like most of their neighbors. But they gave their son something more precious than land: the gift of education.

The Schoolboy Who Dreamed Beyond the Fields

Young Lagaasaa Wagii walked barefoot to primary school in Bakkamee, where he sat on a wooden bench and learned to read and write—grades 1 through 4. For grades 5 through 8, he walked farther, to Hincinnii. Then, like many ambitious Oromo youth of his generation, he made the long journey to Finfinne (Addis Ababa) for grades 10 and 11.

But the classroom was not enough. The world was changing. In 1975, with the Dergue regime tightening its grip, Lagaasaa decided to learn a trade. He studied mechanics and driving—skills that would later prove as useful in the underground struggle as any weapon.

He worked. He saved. He traded. For seven years, he lived in the town of Dirree Dhawaa, moving goods, carrying merchandise on long journeys to western Oromiyaa. He was, by all accounts, a successful businessman. He had a future.

He also had a conscience.

The Call That Could Not Be Ignored

By 1990, Lagaasaa Wagii was a married man. On Waxabajjii 27, 1987 (Ethiopian calendar), he had wed Adde Waynisheet Geetaahu. Together, they had three beautiful daughters: Bilisummaa Lagaasaa, Fireehiwat Lagaasaa, and Natsaannat Lagaasaa. Their names meant Freedom, Joy, and Salvation—as if the father was already dreaming of a different Ethiopia.

But the suffering of the Oromo people—the land grabs, the cultural suppression, the daily humiliations—gave him no rest. He watched his people be treated as strangers in their own homeland. And something inside him broke open.

In 1990, he made a decision that would cost him everything. He left his beloved family, his business, his security. He walked west.

He joined the Oromo Liberation Front (ABO).

The Making of a Commander

Lagaasaa Wagii was not a natural soldier. He was a mechanic, a trader, a father. But he was also a fast learner. In 1991, he completed the 18th round of political and military training. He was assigned to the western front. He rose quickly—not because he sought power, but because he had something rarer: judgment.

He was sent for advanced training in Beelmuuguu in 1991. Then to Qaaqee as an administrator. Then, when the Dergue fell and the TPLF-led government (Woyyaanee) took over, the struggle did not end. It only changed shape.

Between 1993 and 1998, Lagaasaa Wagii moved from ordinary membership to senior military command. He fought in the western lowlands. He crossed into Sudan and back. He was part of the 1994 return to western Oromiyaa with newly organized forces. When the Woyyaanee regime crushed Sudanese bases in Kurmuk and Giizan in 1997, Lagaasaa was among those who held the line, ensuring the resistance did not collapse.

The Organizer of Exiles

Between 1998 and 2000, Lagaasaa was sent for special training abroad. When he returned, he was given a new mission: not to fight, but to build. In the diaspora, among Oromo communities living outside Ethiopia, he worked tirelessly to organize the scattered sons and daughters of Oromia.

In the year 2000, he achieved something remarkable. He helped establish the Oromo Community Association of Eritrea (Waldaa Hawaasa Oromoo Eritrea). He ensured that Oromos living in exile could contribute to the struggle—not just with money, but with unity.

The Lion of the Western Zone

By 2002, Lagaasaa Wagii had become a legendary figure on the western front. Under the overall command of Jaal Irreessaa Caalaa, he served as a commander of the Western Zone of the Oromo Liberation Front (WBO). He led operations in Qeebbee, Dambi Dolloo, Gidaamii, Begii, and Mandii—areas where the Woyyaanee military was heavily entrenched.

After Jaal Irreessaa Caalaa was executed, Lagaasaa Wagii took over as the commander of the Western Zone. From that moment until his own martyrdom on November 5, 2008 (05/11/2008), he led with a combination of tactical brilliance, personal courage, and deep love for his fighters.

The regime feared him. They called him “Abbaa tooftaa fi malaa”—the father of strategy and cunning. But his own people called him something else: Jaallataa (the beloved one).

The Meaning of Martyrdom

The Oromo have a proverb: “Namni gaafuma dhalate du’e” — Everyone born will die. But there is death, and there is sacrifice. Lagaasaa Wagii did not die because he was unlucky. He died because he chose to give his life for the rights of his people.

On that day in November 2008, after years of fighting—hungry, thirsty, exhausted, climbing mountains, crossing forests, enduring rain and sun—Lagaasaa Wagii fell.

But those who knew him say he did not fall defeated. He fell standing. He fell with his face toward the enemy. He fell as a goota—a hero whose blood does not disappear into the soil but waters the tree of freedom.

The Legacy That Refuses to Die

Lagaasaa Wagii left behind three daughters. He left behind a wife who never stopped waiting. He left behind comrades who still whisper his name before battle.

He was never wealthy. He never held a ministerial post. He never signed a peace treaty from a position of power. But he did something harder: he remained faithful to the end.

His name is not taught in Ethiopian government schools. No statue stands in Finfinne. But in the villages of West Shawaa, in the refugee camps of Sudan, in the living rooms of Oromo families in Minneapolis and Rome, his story is told.

They say: “Jaal Lagaasaa Wagii beela’e, dheebodhe, dadhabe, garuu hin jenne. Baddaa fi gammoojjii keessatti rooba, qorraa fi aduu danda’e.”
(He knew hunger, thirst, and exhaustion—but he never gave up. He endured the rain, the cold, and the sun in the highlands and lowlands.)

Epilogue: The Unfinished Sentence

There is a famous Oromo saying, repeated by the poet Mammo Mazamir:

“Qabsaawaan Kufus Qabsoon Itti Fufa!!!”
(Even when the fighter falls, the struggle continues!)

Jaal Lagaasaa Wagii is gone. But the walk he began—from a small village in Kuyyuu Giccii to the battlefields of western Oromiyaa—has not stopped. Thousands of young Oromos now carry his spirit. They do not carry his bones. They carry his example.

And one day, when the Oromo flag flies not in secret but in the open sky, over a land where justice is not a dream but a law, someone will point to that flag and say:

“This cloth was sewn with many threads. But one of the strongest threads was a man from Shinoo—a mechanic, a trader, a father, a freedom fighter. His name was Lagaasaa Wagii.”

Until that day, the struggle continues.

---

“Mirgi saba ofii akka kabajamuu fi abbaan biyyummaa ummata Oromoo akka mirkanaahu taasisuuf waan hunda caalaa gootummaan murteessa dha.”
(To ensure the rights of one’s people are respected and the nationhood of the Oromo is affirmed, nothing is more essential than heroism.)

— In everlasting memory of Jaal Lagaasaa Wagii (1960 – November 5, 2008)

In the highlands of Tuulama, where the horizon rolls like an endless green drum, there is no king on a throne. There is only a cycle—a sacred, unforgetting wheel of five names.

In an era when most nations measure leadership by coups, elections, or hereditary bloodlines, the Oromo people have for centuries followed a stranger, wiser rhythm: the Gadaa system.

Among the Tuulama Oromo, this ancient democracy is not a relic in a museum. It is a living, breathing constitution written not on parchment, but on memory, ritual, and the rotating faces of fathers who pass power like a baton in a relay that has never stopped.

The system has five drums. Each beats for eight years. And together, they have kept time for over five centuries.

The Five Gates of Power

The Tuulama Gadaa cycle is built around five maddaa (parties or classes), each taking its turn to rule. They are:

1. Roobalee – the rainmakers, the openers of the cycle.
2. Birmajii – the sharpeners, who hone the laws of the previous generation.
3. Meelbaa (Horata) – the gatherers, who are in power today.
4. Muudana (Michillee) – the annointers, who will inherit the sceptre next.
5. Halchiisa – the closers, who seal the cycle before handing it back to Roobalee.

👉 Right now, at this moment in history: the Gadaa Meelbaa holds the staff of authority.
👉 Next in line: Gadaa Muudana (Michillee) will take the baallii (ceremonial flag) when the birin (transition) comes.

The Fathers Who Did Not Die

The Gadaa system is not anonymous. It remembers names. Over the last 32 years—four full cycles of eight years each—four Abbaa Gadaa (fathers of the law) have stood at the center of the Oromo universe:

• Halchiisa – Abbaa Gadaa Lammaa Baarudaa
• Roobalee – Abbaa Gadaa Naggasaa Nagawoo
• Birmajii – Abbaa Gadaa Bayyanaa Sanbatoo
• Meelbaa – Abbaa Gadaa Goobana Hoolaati

Each man was not a dictator. In the Gadaa way, an Abbaa Gadaa is a custodian, not a commander. He sits under the odaa tree, listens to the assembly (chaffee), and speaks only after the women, the elders, and the youth have had their say.

Democracy, Oromo style, was never borrowed from Athens. It grew from these highlands.

When the Cycle Was Wounded

The Gadaa system has not had an easy path. Colonial conquest, imperial absorption, and modern state centralization—first under the Abyssinian emperors, then under Marxist Dergue, and later under ethnic federalism—all tried to break the clock.

For decades, the formal installation of an Abbaa Gadaa was driven underground. Rituals became whispers. The odaa tree became a dangerous meeting place.

But the Oromo people, stubborn as the volcanic rock of their homeland, found ways to keep the cycle turning.

They invented adaptive traditions:

• Foollee – a system of camouflage, where Gadaa rituals were hidden inside coffee ceremonies and weddings.
• Goodannaa – a form of itinerant counsel, where elders traveled secretly between villages to align the lunar and solar calendars of the cycle.
• Haarrii Buqqifannaa – a practice of renewal through symbolic “plowing,” where old wounds were ritually buried to make way for a new Gadaa generation.

These were not defeats. They were proof that a living tradition cannot be outlawed—only forced to sing in a quieter voice.

The Clock Is Still Ticking

Today, as Oromia navigates the pressures of modernity—urbanization, social media, formal state law—the Gadaa system faces new questions. Can a rotational indigenous democracy coexist with a national parliament? Should the Abbaa Gadaa be recognized by the modern constitution?

In Tuulama, the elders do not rush to answer. They sit. They listen to the wind in the sycamore. And they repeat the old law:

“Gadaan hin citu. Gadaan hin badu. Gadaan waan bineensi nyaate hin ta’u.”
(The Gadaa does not break. The Gadaa does not perish. The Gadaa is not food for wild animals.)

Epilogue: The Fifth Drum

There is a reason the Tuulama cycle has five gadaa—not four, not six. Five is the number of fingers on a hand. Five is the number of directions: east, west, north, south, and the center—where the odaa tree stands.

The Halchiisa closes the circle. The Roobalee opens it again. And between them, the Oromo people have learned that power is not a prize to hoard but a season to steward.

Today, as Gadaa Meelbaa holds the staff, the drum of Muudana is already being tuned. Somewhere in the countryside of Tuulama, a boy born into the next class is being taught the names of his ancestors—not as history, but as a promise.

He will rule in thirty years. And when he does, the clock will still be ticking.

The Gadaa system is not a memory. It is a meeting that never adjourned.

---

“Sirni Gadaa yeroo adda addaatti rakkoo seenaa keessa darbeera. Haata’u malee, uummanni Oromoo duudhaa isaa tikfachuuf jira.”
(The Gadaa system has passed through many historical trials. Nevertheless, the Oromo people live to preserve their custom.)

He carried two degrees—one in pharmacy, another in law. But his greatest prescription was not a pill or a legal brief. It was the idea that the Oromo people deserved a name, a flag, and a future.

In the cold, damp cells of an Ethiopian prison in 1978, a man in his forties scratched a final message into a piece of torn cardboard. He was not a soldier by training. He had never fired a weapon in anger. But he was about to become one of the most dangerous men the Dergue regime had ever captured.

His name was Jaal Baaroo Tumsaa. To his people, he was simply Baro Tumsa—the quiet revolutionary who built an army not with bullets first, but with books, chemistry, and a radical belief in Oromo unity.

The Making of a Nationalist

Born in 1938 in western Oromia, Baro Tumsa grew up in a world where speaking Afaan Oromo in a classroom could earn you a slap. Where Oromo history was written by the conquerors. Where the word Oromo itself was sometimes used as an insult.

But young Baro had a different chemistry in his blood.

He excelled in school—brilliant with numbers, sharper with words. He became a pharmacist, learning the precise science of healing bodies. But he soon realized that a deeper sickness afflicted his people: the sickness of silence, of land alienation, of a culture forced underground.

So he went back to school. This time, he studied law.

Now he had two weapons: the knowledge of how to heal, and the knowledge of how to fight injustice within a system that had been designed to ignore the Oromo.

The Quiet Architect of the OLF

By the early 1970s, Baro Tumsa had become a restless soul. He watched as successive Ethiopian regimes—imperial, then Marxist—treated Oromia as a colony within a colony. Land was taken. Languages were suppressed. Young Oromo men were conscripted into wars that were not theirs.

Baro Tumsa began to meet with other Oromo intellectuals, students, and farmers in secret. In living rooms, under odaa trees, in the back rooms of pharmacies in Addis Ababa, they asked a forbidden question: What if the Oromo organized for themselves?

That question became the seed.

In 1973, Baro Tumsa became one of the principal founders of the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF). Unlike the armed struggle that would follow, his early role was ideological and structural. He helped draft the movement’s early political programs. He connected rural grievances with urban intellect. He argued, passionately, that Oromo liberation was not a tribal ambition—it was a democratic necessity for all of Ethiopia.

He was, in every sense, the goota jiraachuu—the living hero who gave his life so that Oromiyaa could be built from the bones of the fallen.

The Arrest and the Silence

The Dergue, the brutal military junta that seized power in 1974, had long ears. By 1978, Baro Tumsa was on their most-wanted list. They did not want him for a crime. They wanted him because he had given the Oromo people something harder to kill than any guerrilla: a political consciousness.

He was arrested. Not in a dramatic firefight, but in the quiet way revolutions are often crushed—a knock at dawn, a hood over the head, a car disappearing into the gray morning.

For weeks, he was interrogated. The regime wanted names. They wanted confessions. They wanted him to renounce the OLF on the radio.

According to surviving accounts from fellow prisoners, Baro Tumsa refused every time. He did not shout. He did not weep. He simply repeated, in his calm pharmacist’s voice: “You can kill a man. You cannot kill a people’s right to exist.”

Freedom Fighter in the Mountains of Gara Mulata

Tumsa left behind the comfort of his privileged life in Finfinne to join the nascent guerrilla force of the OLF in the eastern command in 1978 and sacrificed his life for the freedom of the Oromo nation.

By then he was married and a father of three children. He comes from an unprivileged background and established himself as a member of the urban elite educated and well connected middle class.

However, he swapped these luxuries for the hardships in the mountains of Oromia for the sake of the freedom of his people whom he loved with all his heart and mind. The circumstances of his death remains unclear to this day.

He was 40 years old.

His body was never returned. No grave bears his name. The regime buried him in anonymity, hoping that without a tomb, the man would also be forgotten.

Why Ebla 15 Still Burns

Every year on Ebla 15, Oromos across the globe—from Finfinne (Addis Ababa) to Minneapolis, from Nairobi to Melbourne—pause. They do not hold parades with permission. They do not wait for government recognition. They light candles. They recite poetry. They name their children Baro and Tumsa.

They remember not just a man, but a generation: the gootota tokkummaa Oromoo—the heroes of Oromo unity who were executed together in 1980 so that a movement could live.

And they say a simple prayer, whispered in Afaan Oromo:

“Bakka jirru maratti maqaa isaa ol kaafnee faarsina.”
(Wherever we are, we raise his name and praise him.)

The Unfinished Pharmacy

Baro Tumsa left behind no mansion, no autobiography, no statue in a capital city. What he left behind was something more fragile and more powerful: an example.

He showed that an intellectual can be a revolutionary. That a pharmacist can heal a nation’s spirit before its body. That law, when it fails the people, must be resisted by a higher law—the law of dignity.

Today, the OLF has gone through splits, peace talks, and transformations. Ethiopian politics has shifted in a thousand ways. But the question Baro Tumsa asked in 1973 has never gone away: Who speaks for the Oromo?

And every Ebla 15, the answer echoes back: We do. Because he did.

Epilogue: The Cardboard Testament

They say that in his final days, Baro Tumsa wrote a message on a scrap of cardboard—a last prescription. It was smuggled out of prison by a guard whose heart had turned.

It read, in part:

“Do not cry for me. Cry for the land that makes its children prisoners. Then dry your tears. And finish what we started.”

The cardboard was lost. The guard disappeared. But the words have been memorized by thousands of Oromo youth who never met Baro Tumsa, but who carry him in their names, their songs, and their unbroken walk toward Bilisummaa—freedom.

He was not just a hero of the past. He is a verb in the present tense.

---

“Goota ofii wareegamee dhiiga lafee isaan Oromiyaa ijaare darbe.”
(A hero who sacrificed himself, whose blood and bones built the foundation of Oromia, has passed.)

Ebla 15. Remember. Raise his name. Continue the walk.

Remembering the Ebli 15 Martyrs of the Shinnigga Pit

(SHINNIGGA, Ethiopia) – In the chronicles of a people’s struggle for freedom, certain dates become etched not in ink, but in bone. For the Oromo people, one such date is **Ebli 15, 1980** (roughly late April in the Gregorian calendar). On that single, terrible day, the soil of Shinnigga drank a blood cocktail of revolutionary courage, religious tolerance, and unbreakable unity.

This is not merely a story of death. It is a story of how ten men—commanders and fighters of the Oromo liberation struggle—faced a common grave and refused to let their faith divide them.

They were the sons of *Oromiyaa hadhaa dhiigaa fi lafee isaaniin ijaaran*—Oromia built by their blood and bones. They were warriors of the *Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo* (Oromo Liberation Front), leaders who had carried the weight of the struggle during its darkest hours. Among them were legendary figures like Hayyuu-Duree Jaal Magarsaa Barii (Barisoo Waabee) and his deputy, Itti Aanaa Jaal Gadaa Gammadaa (Damisee Tacaanee).

But when the end came, they were not just commanders. They were brothers.

The Trap at Shinnigga

By 1980, the Oromo liberation army had become a thorn in the side of the Derg regime. The fighters, seasoned by the harsh terrains of Waabe and the strategic depth of the *Dirree Qabsoo Hidhannoo*, were pushing toward a new phase of the armed struggle. But war is also a game of betrayal.

While on a critical mission, a group of ten key figures—including the intellectual giants and tactical minds of the movement—were ambushed. Somali *Shifta* militia, operating as proxies for the regime, surrounded them near the rugged lowlands of Shinnigga. Outnumbered and cut off from reinforcements, the Oromo fighters fought to their last bullet.

They were not killed in the heat of battle.

They were captured alive.

The Pit

The militia dug a single, wide pit. It was not a grave for an individual. It was a mass tomb designed to swallow an ideology. The ten prisoners were forced to kneel at its edge. Their hands were bound. Their clothes were torn and stained with the dust of a long march.

According to survivors’ accounts passed down through the Oromo oral tradition, the *Shifta* executioners tried one final trick. They separated the prisoners by their names—some Muslim, some Christian, some following the *Waaqeffannaa* tradition of their ancestors.

“You see,” a commander allegedly said to the prisoners in a low, mocking voice. “You fought together. But you will die apart. Let each man pray to his own god before we throw him in.”

The executioners expected fear. They expected a scramble for last rites—a final, petty division to prove that the Oromo cause was a fragile lie.

They were wrong.

‘We Are One Name’

Jaal Magarsaa Barii, the senior commander, looked at his men. There was Jaal Abbaa Xiiqii (Abboomaa Mitikku), the strategist. Jaal Doorii Barii (Yiggazuu Bantii), the fearless cavalry leader. Jaal Faafam Dooyyoo, whose voice had rallied thousands. Falmataa (Umar/Caccabsaa), whose faith was as steadfast as his rifle. Jaal Irra’anaa Qacalee (Dhinsaa), Jaal Dhaddachoo Boruu, Jaal Dhaddachoo Mul’ataa, and the youngest, Jaal Marii Galaan.

Ten men. Ten names. One nation.

Without a word, they stood up. Jaal Magarsaa did not ask for a Christian priest. Jaal Gadaa did not ask for a *sheikh*. Falmataa did not turn his back on the others. Instead, they linked their arms—bound as they were—and stepped forward together.

“*Maqaa amantaan gargar hin baanu*,” Jaal Magarsaa declared. “We do not divide names by religion. Dig the pit wider or throw us in together. We are Oromo first.”

According to legend, Jaal Gadaa Gammadaa, the deputy, turned to the executioner and smiled. “You want to see us pray? Watch this.”

And together, the ten men—Muslim, Christian, and Waaqeffataa—intoned a single prayer. Not to Mecca. Not to the Cross. But to *Waaqa Oromoo*, the God of their land, who had seen their mothers’ tears and their fathers’ bones scattered across the highlands.

The executioners, unnerved, shoved them into the pit.

They fell as one. They died as one.

The Legacy of Ebli 15

Forty-six years have passed. The Shinnigga pit has long since been covered, but no grass grows there without a story attached. In Oromia today, the names of those ten men are whispered in schools, sung in protest songs, and invoked in political meetings.

They are called the *Ebli 15 Wareegamtoota*—the martyrs of Ebli 15.

They did not die for a flag or a single faith. They died for an idea: that an Oromo is an Oromo, whether they pray in a church, a mosque, under a tree, or in silence.

Jaal Marii Galaan, the youngest of the ten, was just 19 years old. Before he was pushed into the pit, he reportedly looked at the sky—the wide, unforgiving sky of Shinnigga—and shouted:

“*Oromiyaan hin duutu!* Oromia will not die!”

It hasn’t. And every Ebli 15, when the Oromo people gather to remember, they do not mourn ten separate men. They mourn one collective heart that beat for freedom until the dirt filled their mouths.

And in that final, defiant act of unity, they won a victory the pit could never bury.