Category Archives: gender
The Tree We Plant Today: A Reflection on Legacy, Life, and Political Leadership
In the heart of Finfinne, a simple act of planting carries profound lessons for governance, sustainability, and the future of generations yet unborn
Finfinne, Oromia — In the bustling streets of Shaggar, in the Sabbata district of the capital city, a quiet but powerful act is taking place. A sapling has been planted. To the casual observer, it may seem like a modest gesture—a tree among thousands, a green shoot in a city of concrete and noise. But to those who understand the deeper meaning of such acts, this planting represents something far more significant: a statement about the relationship between governance, nature, and the future.
The tree that stands today in Sabbata is not merely a decorative addition to the urban landscape. It is a living testament to the interconnectedness of all life—human and non-human, present and future, local and global. It is a reminder that the decisions we make today, the systems we build, and the values we uphold will echo through generations.
The Many Gifts of the Tree
As we reflect on the planting of this tree, we are reminded of the countless benefits that trees and vegetation provide—benefits that sustain not only human life but the entire web of existence:
~> Ecological Balance: Trees maintain the natural equilibrium of our environment, regulating temperatures, purifying air, and supporting biodiversity. They are the lungs of our planet, breathing life into the atmosphere.
~> Water Management: Trees absorb and hold rainfall, preventing flooding, replenishing groundwater, and ensuring that our rivers and springs continue to flow. In a world of increasing climate uncertainty, this function has never been more critical.
~> Soil Conservation: The roots of trees bind the soil, preventing erosion and landslides. They protect the land from being washed away by heavy rains, preserving the fertility of our agricultural lands.
~> Sustenance: Trees provide food—fruits, nuts, and leaves that nourish both humans and animals. In rural areas especially, the tree is a source of sustenance and survival, a gift that keeps giving across seasons and years.
~> Shelter: Trees offer shade and protection, cooling our homes and communities. They are the silent guardians that shield us from the harshness of the sun and the elements.
~> Building Materials: From the timber that builds our homes to the branches that create our tools, trees provide the raw materials for our shelter and sustenance.
~> Medicine: The majority of medicines in our pharmacies trace their origins to plants. Trees heal us, offering remedies that have been discovered and refined over centuries of human wisdom.
~> Paper and Knowledge: The very pages on which we write our history, our knowledge, and our dreams come from trees. Without them, our civilization would lack the means to record and transmit its wisdom.
~> And so much more: The list of benefits is almost endless. Trees purify our air, beautify our surroundings, provide habitats for countless species, and offer spiritual and cultural significance to communities around the world.
In short, the life of a tree is inseparable from human life. To protect trees is to protect ourselves. To plant trees is to invest in our collective future.
The Duty of Care
“Biqiltuu dhaabuun, dhaabanii immoo kunuunsuun akka guddatu taasisuun dirqama ta’a.”
Planting a tree is not enough. We must nurture it, water it, protect it from harm, and ensure that it grows to maturity. The act of planting is the beginning, not the end, of our responsibility.
This simple truth carries profound implications for how we approach governance and leadership. Just as a sapling requires care and attention to flourish, so too do our institutions, our communities, and our nations.
“Biqiltuun dhaabatee guddate tokko dhaloota har’aa qofa fayyada osoo hin taane, dhaloota boruufis wabii ta’a.”
A tree that is planted and successfully grown benefits not only the present generation but becomes a witness and a resource for those yet to come. It is a legacy—a gift from the past to the future, a bridge between generations.
This is the true measure of leadership: not what we consume or accumulate, but what we create and leave behind. Not what we take from the world, but what we give back. Not how we serve ourselves, but how we serve those who will come after us.
Political Systems and the Tree
“Sirni ykn paartiin siyaasaa har’a jiru boru itti fufuufi dhiisuun waan yeroon murteessuudha.”
The political systems and parties of today face a choice: to endure or to pass away. Time will decide their fate, as it decides all things. But the tree—the tree is different.
“Garuu biqiltuun sirna ykn paartii siyaasaa waliin jijjiirama osoo hin taane, dhaloota irraa dhalootaatti darbaa deema.”
Unlike political systems that rise and fall, that change with the whims of leaders and the tides of history, the tree transcends political transformation. It passes from generation to generation, a constant in a world of change.
This is a humbling observation for those of us engaged in political struggle. Our systems, our parties, our ideologies—they are temporary. The tree, when planted with care, can outlive us all. It will stand witness to the rise and fall of regimes, the birth and death of leaders, the changing fortunes of nations.
“Kanaafuu biqiltuu dhaabuu qofa osoo hin taane, kunuunsanii guddisuun dirqama ta’a.”
Therefore, it is not enough to plant—we must nurture. It is not enough to establish—we must sustain. It is not enough to begin—we must complete.
A Call to Action
“Nutis biqiltuu har’a dhaabne kunuunsinee akka guddatu haa taasisnu; ni taasisnas!”
We who plant today must also commit to tending. We who envision a better tomorrow must also labor to bring it into being. We who hope for a future must also build the foundations upon which that future can stand.
This is the message of the tree in Sabbata. It is a call to responsibility. It is a challenge to think beyond ourselves, beyond our immediate needs and desires, beyond the narrow horizons of our own lifetimes.
The tree that stands in Shaggar today is a symbol of what is possible when we act with foresight, when we care for the environment, when we prioritize the needs of future generations. It is a model for how we should approach governance, development, and leadership.
The Broader Significance
In a world facing unprecedented environmental challenges—climate change, deforestation, desertification, biodiversity loss—the planting and nurturing of trees is more than a symbolic act. It is a practical necessity. It is a matter of survival.
As we reflect on the tree in Sabbata, we are reminded of the urgency of our environmental responsibilities. The Earth does not belong to us alone; it belongs to all living beings, present and future. Our stewardship of the planet will be judged not by what we accumulate but by what we preserve.
“Biqiltuun faayidaan inni qabu jiruufi jireenya dhala nama dabalatee, kan uumama hundaa waliin wal-qabata.”
The tree connects us to the web of life—to the soil, the water, the air, the animals, the insects, and the countless other beings that share our world. To care for the tree is to care for all of life. To neglect the tree is to neglect ourselves.
A Legacy for Generations
The planting of a tree is an act of hope. It declares that we believe in tomorrow, that we trust in the future, that we have faith in the generations yet to come.
“Biqiltuun dhaabatee guddate tokko dhaloota har’aa qofa fayyada osoo hin taane, dhaloota boruufis wabii ta’a.”
When we plant a tree, we are not just planting a plant. We are planting a legacy. We are creating a witness to our existence, a gift to those who will follow, a statement that we cared about something beyond ourselves.
This is what leadership should be—not the pursuit of power for its own sake, but the cultivation of a better world for those who will inherit it. Not the accumulation of wealth and status, but the investment in sustainability and justice.
Conclusion: The Tree and the Future
As we conclude this reflection, let us return to the image of the tree in Shaggar, in Sabbata, standing tall and green in the heart of the capital. It is a reminder that the greatest acts of leadership are often the quietest—the simple decision to plant, to nurture, to care.
The tree asks nothing of us but our attention and our labor. It gives everything: oxygen, shade, food, shelter, medicine, beauty. It connects us to each other and to the world around us. It bridges the past and the future, carrying forward the hopes and dreams of those who came before.
“Nutis biqiltuu har’a dhaabne kunuunsinee akka guddatu haa taasisnu; ni taasisnas!”
Let us commit to nurturing the trees we plant today. Let us commit to building a future that honors the interconnectedness of all life. Let us commit to leaving a legacy of sustainability, justice, and hope for the generations yet to come.
In the end, the true measure of our leadership will not be found in the statues we erect or the names we inscribe on buildings. It will be found in the trees we plant and nurture, in the lives we touch and uplift, in the world we leave behind for those who will inherit it.
Plant a tree. Nurture it. Watch it grow. And know that you have done something that matters—something that will outlast you, something that will benefit generations yet unborn.
The tree in Shaggar is not just a tree. It is a prophecy. It is a promise. It is a prayer.
May we all have the wisdom to plant, the patience to nurture, and the vision to see the forest in every single seed.
Understanding Our Past to Build a Strong Future
On a Pile of Ashes…!
In an age of relentless information and manufactured outrage, the future of our people demands reflection over reaction, wisdom over noise
The words come to us like embers carried on a restless wind—dangerous, seductive, and capable of igniting fires that will burn for generations. “On a pile of ashes…!” This is the warning cry of our time, a call to pause and reflect before we add fuel to flames that threaten to consume everything our ancestors built.
The reflection from Dabaree Seenaa arrives as a timely antidote to the poison of our age—an age where words are weaponized, history is manipulated, and the future is sacrificed on the altar of immediate gratification.
The Anatomy of Division
“Dubbiin keenya, akka akka! Namootni hedduun, madaa babal’isaa oolu.”
Our words, like a contagious disease, spread rapidly. In this digital age, a single statement can circle the globe in seconds, reaching millions before any examination of its truth or consequence can take place. We have become a people of reaction, not reflection—of impulse, not intention.
The reflection observes that many among us have abandoned the future of our country and nation in favor of obsessing over the past. They speak to pit one generation against another, to sow discord where unity should prevail, to magnify old wounds instead of seeking healing.
“Dhimmoota, egeree biyyaa fi sabaa dhiisanii, dhimmoota kaleessa darban irratti xiyyeeffatanii dhaloota wal dura dhaabuuf kan dubbatan fakkaatu.”
This phenomenon is not accidental. It is a strategy—one that benefits those who seek to keep us divided, distracted, and weak. When a people are consumed by past grievances, they cannot build a future. When generations are pitted against each other, the nation crumbles from within.
The reflection asks the crucial question: Is this the work of enemies seeking to destroy us, or the work of those who, in their ignorance, serve the enemy’s agenda?
“Ajandaa akkanaa kana eenyutu, maaliif yeroo isaa maleetti bixxilanii dhaloota gidduutti facaasuu fi burjaajessuuf hojjechuu feesise?”
The Weight of Timing
“Wanti raawwannuu fi dubbannu yoo yeroo isaa hin ta’iin miidhaa moo faay’idaa qaba?”
This question cuts to the heart of our collective dilemma: Is what we say and do, if it is not timed properly, beneficial or harmful?
The reflection reminds us that not every truth needs to be spoken at every moment. Not every grievance needs to be aired in every forum. There is wisdom in timing, prudence in patience, and strength in strategic silence.
“Yeroo amma ummatni keenya maal keessa jira? Kamtu dursa? Ajandaan kun fafa moo bu’aa fida?”
What is our people facing right now? What should take priority? Does this agenda bring solutions or merely add to our burdens?
These are questions that too few of us ask before we speak, post, or share. We are so eager to be heard that we forget to consider whether what we have to say is worth hearing.
The Danger of Historical Obsession
“Kaleessa baay’een keenya, madoofneerra. Garuu kan dursu gidiraa sabni keenya keessa jirudha.”
The reflection does not deny the past. It acknowledges that many of us have been wounded, that we carry the scars of history. But it insists that the most urgent task is the present crisis our people face.
We cannot build the future by endlessly revisiting the past. The wounds we carry must be addressed—not to keep them open, but to allow them to heal.
“Dhimmoota xiyyeeffannoo babaadan irratti hojjechuutu, dhaloota sagantaa fi karoora qabu, tooftaa fi tarsiimoo qabu ta’a.”
The work of true leadership is to focus on matters of substance, to build a generation with vision and strategy, with tactics and methodology. Not a generation consumed by nostalgia and grievance, but one equipped for the challenges of the future.
The Call for Critical Thinking
“Yaadni tokko yeroo miidiyaatti as bahu, jarjartiin deebii itti kennuun dura, duraa duubaan xiinxaluun, deebii fi yaada bilchaataa, dhimmota dhufan sanaaf deebii quubsaa ta’e kennuutu male.”
When an idea emerges in the media, the temptation is to respond immediately—to react, to counter, to defend. But the reflection calls for something different: thoughtful analysis, measured response, and consideration of the long-term consequences.
“Sababni isaa, dhalootni hubannoo qajeelaa fi wal simu akka qabaatuuf jechuu kooti.”
The reason for this careful approach is that we want a generation that understands clearly and agrees with each other. We want unity, not division; consensus, not chaos.
“Sun hin mul’atu. Hunduu walumaan huursa! ‘Cittoo irratti fanxoo!'”
But this is not what we see. Instead, we see confusion everywhere—people rushing to add their voices to the noise, to throw more fuel on the fire, to declare themselves the righteous ones while condemning all others.
The Function of History
“Namni seenaa kaleessaa qofaa odeessu, kan boruu si dagachiisuuf ta’uun dagatamuu hin qabu.”
History is not meant to be merely recited; it is meant to be learned from. Those who obsess over the past without extracting its lessons are not serving the future—they are serving to make us forget the future.
“Rakkoo fi gaarii kaleessa muudatee fi ture, irraa baratuun qaawwaa jiru irratti hojjechuutu fala.”
The solution lies not in repeating the stories of the past but in learning from the problems and successes we have experienced. Study the past, yes—but apply those lessons to address the gaps and challenges of today.
“Namootni saba isaaniif quuqama dhugaa qabanis dursa, biyyaa fi saba isaaniif kennu!”
Those who truly serve their people must give priority to what their people need now—not what happened decades ago, not what grievances remain unresolved, but what will build a better future.
The Limits of Historical Recitation
“Seenaa kaleessaa qofa deddeebisanii lallabuun garuu bu’aa ni qabaa? Yoo dhalootaaf faayidaa qabaate, dhalootaaf ibsaa deemuutu wayyaadha!”
What benefit is there in endlessly repeating the past? If it benefits the people, it should enlighten the people! If it serves the future, it should illuminate the path forward.
“Akka kanaan furmaatni dhufu ni jiraa? Furmaata sana dhalootaaf akeekuutu feesisa.”
Will solutions come from this approach? We must explain the solutions to the people—not just the problems, not just the grievances, but the practical, achievable path to a better future.
“Akka guuta lagaa fi dambalii galaanaa ta’uun, egeree biyyaa fi sabaaf fala hin fidu.”
Being like a sandbank in a river or a wave in the sea—carried by every current, shaped by every tide—does not bring solutions to the nation and the people.
“Xiqqaatii haga guddaattuu, tooftaa fi tarsiimoo dhabatu, ajandaa guyyuunuu bocamaa oolaniin buubbisuun kufaatii guddaadha.”
From small things to great, lacking strategy and methodology, disseminating an agenda shaped by whoever is in power—this is a recipe for failure.
“Rakkoo kaleessaa odeessaa ooluun, sabni gidiraa keessaa bahe hin jiru. Nama yaaddessa!”
By merely narrating past problems, the people have not emerged from their difficulties. This is something to think deeply about!
The Danger of Emotion
“Muffii-Komii-Xiiqii Fi Miirrii dhuunfaa keenyaa, egeree waloo sabaa fi biyyaa keenyaa kuffisuu akka danda’u, yaaduun gaarii natti fakkaata!”
Our anger, our complaints, our frustrations, and our personal feelings—the reflection suggests it is worth considering that these can destroy the shared future of our nation and people.
Emotions are natural, even necessary. But when they drive our decisions, when they shape our actions, when they become our guiding principles—they can lead us to disaster.
“Kun kana ta’ee, adeemsa dheeraa keessa yeroo hedduu wantin hubadhe tokko; haalaa, yeroo fi bakka garagaraa keessatti, namootni baay’een hanga maqaa isaanii hin gahan.”
This being the case, one thing I have learned over a long process, in various conditions, times, and places: many people do not even understand their own reputation. They speak and act without considering how they will be perceived or what legacy they will leave.
“Hanga of himanii fi dubbatan hin gahan. Kun hubatamuu qaba.”
They do not understand what they say or do. This must be recognized.
The Path of Wisdom
“Yaada dhihaataan hundaaf, hamaamota ta’uu irraa of qabuutu wayya.”
For every idea that emerges, it is better to refrain from being among those who rush to judgment. Patience, observation, and careful consideration are virtues we must cultivate.
“Siyaasa shiraa facaafamaan, ija siyaasaatiin ilaaluudha.”
The politics that spreads division must be viewed through the eye of political awareness. We must understand the motives behind the messages we receive.
“Waanti dhageenyu hundi, dhugaas sobas miti.”
Not everything we hear is truth—and not everything we hear is false. The world is not divided simply into lies and truth. There is complexity, nuance, and context that must be understood.
“Odoo hin dubbatiin, osoo hin murteessiin akka dhageenyetti, murtee kennuun sirrii miti.”
Without speaking, without judging—simply by listening, it is not correct to pass judgment. We must gather information, consider perspectives, and only then form conclusions.
“Rakkoo irratti rakkoo biraa akka hin uumneef nu gargaara.”
This approach helps us avoid creating new problems on top of existing ones. It prevents the escalation of conflict and the multiplication of grievances.
“Dhugummaa fi sobummaa isaa adda baafachuutu dursa. Namummaan isa kanadha!”
Distinguishing truth from falsehood must come first. This is what humanity demands!
A Call to Reflection
“Dimshaashumatti, dhalootni tasgabbii fi obsaan yaadota midiyaa kana irratti facaamu ilaaluu wayya.”
In summary, it is better for the generation to examine the ideas circulating in the media with patience and calm. Not everything that appears is urgent; not everything that is urgent is true.
“Dubbii cidii irratti ibidda darbii akka hin taane.”
Do not be like someone who passes fire on a burning wall—spreading flames without thought of the consequences.
“Loogii malee, dhugaaf hojjechuudha.”
Work for truth, not for favor. Seek what is right, not what is popular.
“Yaadota guyyaa guyyaan, midiyaa kana irratti dhufan, akeekaa fi kaayyoo isaa hubatuu feesisa.”
For the daily ideas that arrive in the media, we need to understand their meaning and purpose. What is being said? Why is it being said? Who benefits? Who is harmed?
“Bilchina, gahumsaa fi muuxannoo qabaachaa deemuun, dhaloota ititee fi gurmuu qabu nu taasisa.”
Moving forward with openness, capability, and experience will make us a generation that can withstand challenges and deliver solutions.
“Dammaquu, barachuu fi ijaaramuutu, sabaa fi biyyaaf bu’aa qaba.”
Mobilizing, learning, and building—this is what benefits the nation and the people.
“Isa kaleessaa irraa barachuun, isa boruutiif warraaquutu biyyaa walaba baasa!!”
Learning from the past to prepare for the future—this is what leads a nation to progress and prosperity!
Conclusion
“Yaada koo xumureera. Horaa-bulaa! ‘Kaayyoon, laayyoo miti!'”
My thought is complete. May you prosper! “The goal is not entertainment!”
This final statement is perhaps the most important of all. The reflection is not meant to entertain, to amuse, or to comfort. It is meant to awaken, to challenge, and to guide.
The goal of those who truly love their people must be the flourishing of their nation—not the satisfaction of personal grievances, not the pursuit of power or status, not the desire to be heard or recognized.
The goal is the goal itself: a free, just, and prosperous Oromiya. A generation that builds rather than destroys. A people that unites rather than divides. A future that learns from the past without being imprisoned by it.
“Cittoo irratti fanxoo…!”
On a pile of ashes, we must not build more fire. We must build foundations. We must build hope. We must build a future worthy of the sacrifices of those who came before us.
The time for reaction is over. The time for reflection has begun.
“Kaayyoon, laayyoo miti!”
The goal is not entertainment—it is liberation, it is justice, it is the future of our people.
May we all rise to the challenge.
“DUGDA HIN DHUGATAN, HUNDA HIN DUBBATAN”: A Reflection on Truth, Struggle and Sacrifice in the Oromo Liberation Movement
By Adugna Kesso AduBoru/430
Introduction: The Weight of Untold Truths
There is an Oromo proverb that carries profound wisdom: “Dugda hin dhugatan hunda hin dubbatan” — “Do not drink from the back; do not speak from the back.” This saying warns against acting or speaking without full knowledge, without facing things directly. It calls for integrity, courage and a willingness to engage with truth head-on, rather than from behind or from a place of concealment.
In reflecting on the journey of the Oromo liberation struggle, this proverb takes on a deeper meaning. It reminds us that we cannot claim to understand the struggle, its sacrifices and its meaning, if we only observe it from a distance or speak about it without having lived it. True understanding comes from direct experience, from being in the midst of the fire, not from standing on the sidelines.
The Struggle Is the Teacher
Much has been written and spoken about the Oromo liberation movement. Some speak of it as outsiders looking in, analysing and categorising, as if it were a subject to be dissected in a laboratory. But those who have lived the struggle know that it cannot be reduced to theories or abstract discussions. As the reflection states: “Waan taanee fi goone hunduu waan itti amannee itti seenneedha” — everything we have endured and done, we entered into it with full belief and commitment.
The struggle is not a matter of taking sides superficially or speaking in ways that please different audiences. It is not about saying one thing here and another there. The “DIDDA MASTER PLAN” — the overarching strategy of resistance — is better understood when we speak about it directly rather than avoiding it. There is a gap between remembering and doing, between speaking about struggle and actually living it.
What We Have Seen and Endured
The reflection speaks powerfully of the experiences of those who have been at the heart of the liberation movement:
“Waan qabsoo keessatti nurra gahee fi argine garuu mataan isaa qabsoodha” — But what has befallen us and what we have seen in the struggle is the struggle itself. The struggle is not separate from the experiences; it is the very fabric of those experiences.
The question is asked with raw honesty: “Mana fincaaniirra taa’aa maaf nutti ajaa’e hin jedhamu” — Why should we be told to sit on the edge of a latrine? This is a reference to how Oromo people have been marginalised, pushed to the periphery of their own lands and treated as if they do not belong at the centre of their own history.
The reflection then poses a challenging question: “Gabrummaa morma nu gahe keessa osoo jirruu shiraan hidhamne, shiraan ajjeefamne yoo jenne eessa gabroomneree?” — If we say we were tied with ropes and killed with ropes while we were in the slavery that reached our necks, where were we free?
This is a profound acknowledgment of the reality of Oromo subjugation under Ethiopian imperial rule. It does not deny the suffering but places it in context: slavery and oppression did not happen only to others; they happened to us. And yet, even within that slavery, there were those who chose to sell themselves for personal gain and those who maintained their integrity.
Betrayal, Survival and Commitment
One of the most painful aspects of any liberation struggle is the reality of betrayal. The reflection does not shy away from this:
“Gabrummaa keessatti namoota gaggaarii osoo hin taane namoota nama gurguruu bira darbanii of mataa isaaniiyyuu faayidaa fi fedhiitti of gurguranii jiraataan danuu beekna” — In slavery, we know that there are not only good people, but also those who pass by selling others and even sell themselves for their own benefit and desires.
This is a honest reckoning with human weakness and the reality that not everyone who starts the journey finishes it. Some are bought with personal interests, with selfish desires, with the false promises of the enemy. They become informants, betrayers, those who dig holes for their own people.
But the reflection also honours those who remained steadfast:
“Gabrummaa fi gidiraa saba keenyarra gahu jibbanii warri qabsoo eegalan aarsaa fi wareegama gaafataman hunda hanga lubbuu isaanii itti kitimanitti kan qabsa’aan gufuun qabsoo keessatti osoo isaan muudatin hafee miti” — Those who hated slavery and oppression and began the struggle, offering all sacrifices and responsibilities until they gave their very lives, they are the ones who are the foundation of the struggle.
The Reality of Disunity
The reflection is also a warning about the dangers of division and betrayal within the movement:
“Qabsoo geggeessitu keessa akkuma firri qabsoo jiru diinoonni, gantootnii fi galtuun danuudha” — In the movement, there are enemies, traitors and those who sell out, just as there are true fighters.
This is not a cynical statement but a realistic one. The struggle is not a romantic venture. It is a battlefield where loyalties are tested and where some who begin with you will not finish with you. The reflection continues:
“Jaalli kee waliin qabsootti seente hundi hanga dhumaa na waliin deema jettee hin eegiin” — Do not expect that all your comrades who entered the struggle with you will go with you to the end.
Some will become weak and turn back. Some will reveal secrets out of exhaustion or fear. Some will be bought by personal interests and sell you out. And the hardest part: “Kan boolla si buusee, ragaa sitti ta’us irra caalaa namuma waliin qabsoo eegaltee fi waan hunda waliin taate” — The one who digs a hole for you, who becomes a witness against you, is most often someone you began the struggle with and shared everything with.
This is a painful truth that many liberation movements have faced. The greatest betrayals often come from those closest to us.
The Cost of Silence
The reflection then turns to a difficult but necessary observation:
“Amma nan gabaabsa gidiraa fi dararaa mooraa diinaa keessatti agarree fi shira adda addaa agarree fi warra kaan irra gahe hunda gabrummaatu fide” — I will summarise: the poverty, the hardship, the suffering, the various deaths, and everything that has befallen our people — all of it came from slavery.
This is the central thesis. The condition of the Oromo people under Ethiopian rule, with all its manifestations of dispossession, marginalisation, violence and economic exploitation, is rooted in a system that treated Oromia as a colony and the Oromo people as subjects to be dominated.
And yet, the reflection acknowledges that a choice has been made:
“Sana immoo Bilisummaa Saba keenyaatti uwwisuu fi Abbaa Biyyummaa Oromoo deebisuuf qabsoo eegalame xumura itti gochuuf ta’uu beeknee waan dubbachuu qabnu kumaatama dubbachuurra callisuu filanne” — But we have chosen silence, knowing that we must complete the struggle that began to liberate our people and restore the sovereignty of Oromia, rather than saying thousands of things that need to be said.
This is not a silence born of fear. It is a strategic silence, born of the understanding that the time for words has given way to the time for action. When the struggle is not yet won, words alone cannot achieve liberation.
The Courage to Speak Honestly
The reflection concludes with a powerful statement about the right to speak with authority:
“Hanga Leencoonni seenaa isaanii barreeffatanitti warruma leenca ajjeesetu leenca ofiin jedha” — Until the lions have their own historians, the story of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.
This is a call for Oromo people to write their own history, to tell their own stories, to ensure that the narrative of the struggle is not left to those who would distort or erase it. Those who actually kill the lion — those who do the work of liberation — are the ones who have the right to speak.
“QABSOON HANGA BILISUMMAAATTI!” — The struggle continues until freedom!
Conclusion: Truth-Telling as Resistance
The reflection of Adugna Kesso AduBoru/430 is a powerful contribution to the broader project of Oromo truth-telling. It does not offer an easy narrative. It does not romanticise the struggle or ignore its internal challenges. Instead, it offers a truthful account — one that acknowledges sacrifice, betrayal, suffering and hope.
The proverb “Dugda hin dhugatan hunda hin dubbatan” reminds us that truth-telling requires direct engagement. We cannot speak of the struggle without having drunk from its cup. We cannot understand liberation without having walked its path. We cannot honour the martyrs without being willing to continue what they began.
Oromo truth-telling is not about erasing or rewriting history. It is about finally telling more of it — from the voices of those who lived it, suffered for it and continue to fight for it. It is about ensuring that when the story of the Oromo struggle is told, it is told by those who were there, who saw, who endured and who chose to speak — not from the back, but from the front, with courage and honesty.
As Oromia moves towards a future of genuine freedom and reconciliation, it must do so grounded in truth — the kind of truth that does not turn away from difficult realities, that honours the sacrifices of the past and that commits to the completion of the struggle.
Bilisummaan Oromoo hin dhabamuu!
#OromooKuushGuddichaAfrikaa — The Oromo are the great backbone of Africa.
The Unfinished Story: Why Oromo Truth-Telling Matters
For generations, the history of Oromia has been told through a narrow lens—one that often excluded, silenced, or misrepresented Oromo voices and perspectives. Official accounts of Oromian history frequently omitted the full story, leaving gaps that have shaped not only how the past is understood but also how present-day realities are experienced. Oromo truth-telling seeks to change this by placing Oromo voices and lived experiences back at the centre of the narrative.
What Is Oromo Truth-Telling?
At its core, Oromo truth-telling means telling a fuller and more honest account of Oromia’s history. This includes confronting difficult chapters such as colonisation, dispossession, violence, child removals, stolen wages and discriminatory laws. But it also encompasses celebrating Oromo survival, resistance, cultures, knowledge and achievements. It is not about erasing or rewriting history—it is about finally telling more of it .
The concept emerges from a recognition that official versions of history have often been incomplete. As one study notes, the Ethiopian imperial conquest of Oromo territories from 1880 to 1974 involved not just military subjugation but a systematic process of land alienation, political domination and cultural marginalisation . The Oromo resistance against this imperial conquest, though significant, has frequently been downplayed or omitted from mainstream historical accounts.
The Historical Context
The Oromo people, one of the largest ethnic groups in the Horn of Africa, possess a rich political and cultural heritage that includes the Gadaa-Qaalluu system—a model of egalitarian governance, democracy and social organisation that predates many Western democratic institutions . This system, based on consensus-building principles like tchaffee and qixxee, demonstrates sophisticated democratic traditions that challenge portrayals of Oromo society as politically primitive.
Yet this heritage was disrupted by conquest. The Arsi Oromo resistance against Ethiopian imperial forces between 1880 and 1900, for instance, involved intense conflict where the introduction of firearms by imperial forces dramatically shifted the balance of power . The defeat that followed did not merely change political control—it established what scholars describe as a “feudal colonial order” in which Oromo lands were alienated and the Naftagna (settler-administrators) became dominant over local populations .
How Truth-Telling Happens
Truth-telling is not a single event but a process that can unfold through multiple channels. Oral histories, community projects, schools, museums, archives, memorials, public hearings and formal inquiries all serve as vehicles for recovering and amplifying Oromo perspectives. The principle guiding this work is that it should be led by the Oromo community, grounded in local history and handled respectfully. Meaningful action must follow—truth-telling is not just about speaking; it requires people to listen and respond.
Why It Matters Today
The past is not simply past. Discriminatory laws and policies from earlier eras continue to shape economic conditions, political representation and social relations in Oromia today. Understanding how systems of domination were structured—from taxation without representation to the informal structures of control examined in historical research—helps explain persistent inequalities .
Reconciliation cannot progress while difficult chapters remain unaddressed. Oromo truth-telling is not about assigning blame or fostering division. Rather, it is about creating the conditions for genuine reconciliation by ensuring that all parts of the story are acknowledged. A nation that avoids its uncomfortable history builds its future on unstable ground.
A Call to Listen
The Oromo truth-telling movement is a call not just for Oromo people to speak but for all Oromians—and indeed all who engage with Oromian history—to listen. It is an invitation to reckon with the full complexity of the past and to recognise the resilience and contributions of the Oromo people across generations. The survival of Oromo cultures, knowledge systems and identities in the face of colonisation and dispossession is itself a testament to the strength that truth-telling seeks to honour.
As Oromia considers its path forward, truth-telling offers a foundation. It does not promise easy answers, but it offers something essential: a fuller, more honest account of where we have been, so we can better understand where we are and thoughtfully choose where we are going.
Beyond the Echo: A Reflection on Unity, Memory, and the Path Forward
A Feature Article Based on the Reflections of Hinsarmuu Shiferaw
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In the quiet corridors of political memory, where the past whispers its lessons and the present demands its reckonings, there exists a voice that refuses to be silenced. It is a voice that has witnessed decades of struggle, felt the weight of collective sacrifice, and now calls for a moment of profound clarity. This is the voice of Hinsarmuu Shiferaw, whose recent reflections offer not just a chronicle of Oromo political history, but a roadmap for the soul of a movement at a critical crossroads.
“The words have been many,” Hinsarmuu writes, “and the ideas pouring forth are abundant. Yet among all these thoughts, there are those whose names we must hold tightly to our hearts.”
The Pillars of Memory
In a gesture that transcends mere remembrance, Hinsarmuu calls upon us to honor five individuals whose contributions have shaped the trajectory of the Oromo struggle:
1. Ob. Dirribsaa Daamxee – whose steadfast commitment to the cause became a beacon of resilience
2. Ob. Girmaa Xurunaa – whose vision helped chart the course of resistance
3. Ob. Jawaar Mohammad – whose intellectual contributions continue to reverberate
4. Ob. Ashennafii Addunya – whose global perspective bridged local struggles with universal aspirations
5. ABO – the collective embodiment of Oromo resistance, the movement that gave voice to millions
And alongside these, Dachaasa Wiirtu and others whose efforts, while perhaps less celebrated, formed the bedrock upon which the struggle was built.
The Turning Point: 1993 and Beyond
“We have held the struggle from 1993 in our grasp,” Hinsarmuu reflects, grounding us in a specific historical moment that marked a decisive shift in the Oromo political landscape. It is a reminder that the journey has been long, the sacrifices immense, and the stakes perpetually high.
But here lies the crux of Hinsarmuu’s message: “What has passed must not return.” The past, with all its triumphs and tribulations, serves as teacher rather than destination. The call is for clarity—for the movement to stand firm in its current position, to examine itself with unflinching honesty, and to chart a path illuminated by hard-won wisdom.
Five Pathways to Renewal
Hinsarmuu articulates a five-point vision for what the movement could achieve through this moment of reflection:
1. Comforting the Weary
Those who have lost sleep witnessing the movement torn apart deserve solace. The wounds of division run deep, and healing must begin with acknowledgment. Grief that has gone unrecognized must find its recognition; weariness that has been dismissed must find its rest.
2. Easing the Burden of Sacrifice
The blood and bone of our heroes—those who gave everything in Kenya and beyond—demands more than passive remembrance. Their sacrifice calls us to action, to ensure that what was given was not in vain.
3. Recalling Those Who Strayed
“Halagaa/orma harka fuudha dhaquu”—those who were led astray, who departed from the path. The movement must grapple with its losses, not through condemnation alone, but through a reckoning that seeks understanding and, where possible, reclamation.
4. Reclaiming Political Space
There exists a hidden plan from the post-Amman era to dismantle Oromo political participation as a unified people. This strategy seeks to scatter, to weaken, to atomize—a tactic of division that must be recognized and resisted. The call is to reinforce the collective political share that Oromos rightfully hold in the country’s governance.
5. Confronting the Instrumentalization of Faith
Perhaps most urgently, Hinsarmuu addresses the manipulation of religion—both internal and external—that seeks to divide and conquer. “The religion being weaponized against us,” he writes, “this new wave that seeks to entrap us”—must be met with unity, not fragmentation.
The Danger of Empty Rhetoric
“The harm that has come from excessive talk, from words that have been unleashed and scattered,” Hinsarmuu warns, “must be gathered and examined.” There is a call here for accountability, for the movement to own its missteps, to confront the ways in which division has been sown—sometimes intentionally, sometimes through carelessness.
The past, he insists, “offers no guarantees for the future.” The comfort of yesterday’s victories cannot shield us from tomorrow’s challenges. To assume otherwise is to court the very dangers that have plagued the movement before.
A Call to Action
The closing words of Hinsarmuu’s reflection carry both urgency and invitation:
“To my brothers and sisters: Stop where you stand. Look at what surrounds you. Consider what you have built—and what you have allowed to crumble.”
It is a call to presence, to awareness, to the kind of stillness that precedes true movement. In a world that demands constant action, Hinsarmuu asks for the courage to pause, to reflect, and to choose deliberately rather than reactively.
The Road Ahead
As Ethiopia continues its complex political transformation, and as the Oromo struggle navigates the treacherous waters of contemporary politics, the reflections of Hinsarmuu Shiferaw offer not just analysis but prescription. They remind us that movements are not merely collections of strategies and tactics; they are communities of memory, webs of relationship, and vessels of hope.
The path forward, Hinsarmuu suggests, lies neither in nostalgic return nor in reckless abandon, but in honest assessment and courageous adaptation. The names he calls to remembrance are not mere historical footnotes; they are living invitations to a different kind of politics—one rooted in accountability, animated by vision, and sustained by collective purpose.
“What we have endured must become what we have learned,” he seems to say. “And what we have learned must become what we do differently.”
The echo of his words invites us not to repeat the past, but to transcend it—to build a future worthy of the sacrifices that have brought us this far, and to ensure that those who come after will have less cause for grief and more reason for hope.
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This feature article draws on the personal reflections of Hinsarmuu Shiferaw, whose words speak to the enduring questions of political struggle, collective identity, and the transformative power of honest self-examination.
The Strong and the Weak: Lessons in Resilience from the Oromo Liberation Struggle
In the crucible of resistance, the difference between victory and defeat lies not in the strength of the enemy, but in the resolve of the fighter
The struggle for liberation is a crucible that tests the very soul of a people. It separates the determined from the disillusioned, the resilient from the defeated. In the long and arduous journey of the Oromo people toward freedom, two archetypes have emerged—the strong fighter and the weak fighter. Their stories offer profound lessons not just for the Oromo liberation movement, but for every struggle for justice and self-determination across the globe.
The Weak Fighter: A Study in Self-Destruction
When the pressures of struggle mount, when the enemy seems overwhelming, and when the path forward appears blocked, a certain type of fighter emerges—one who, in their inability to challenge the external enemy, turns their frustration inward.
“Qabsaa’ota dadhaboo yeroo diinaa fi caasaa diinaa dhiibuu dadhaban kan ofii ijaaranii keessa darban of jalatti diiguu jalqabu.”
The weak fighter, unable to strike the enemy or dismantle their structures, begins to destroy themselves. Frustration gives way to disillusionment; disillusionment gives way to despair; despair gives way to self-destruction. The organization they once served becomes a target of their internal grievances. The comrades they once marched alongside become objects of suspicion and blame. The cause they once championed becomes a source of bitterness.
“Injifannoo egeree otuu hin taane, kufaatii isaanii farrisuun dhalooti akka abdii muratu taasisu.”
The tragedy of the weak fighter is that their legacy becomes not victory but fragmentation. Rather than building a future of freedom, they leave behind a legacy of division and hopelessness. Future generations, inheriting the wreckage of internal conflict, come to believe that the struggle itself was futile.
This is the greatest danger the weak fighter poses—not just to themselves, but to the collective dream of liberation. When fighters turn against each other, when organizations dissolve into feuding factions, when the energy that should be directed against oppression is consumed by internal strife, the enemy wins without firing a shot.
The Strong Fighter: Resilience in the Face of Adversity
In stark contrast stands the strong fighter—one who, regardless of the circumstances, remains anchored in justice and truth.
“Qabsaa’oti jajjaboon, gama biraatiin, yeroo mara haqaa fi dhugaa irratti cichuun injifannoon argame akka daran guddatu falmatu.”
The strong fighter understands that victory is not guaranteed—it must be built, day by day, struggle by struggle, sacrifice by sacrifice. They know that the path to liberation is long and winding, filled with setbacks and sorrows. Yet they press forward, anchored in the conviction that justice and truth will ultimately prevail.
“Dhiibbaa fi miidhaan diinaa hagumuu itti jabaatu, karaa kaleessa ijaarrtanii ittiin xaxaa diinaa keessa darban hin tuqan; hin balaaleffatanis.”
No matter how intense the pressure, no matter how devastating the enemy’s attacks, the strong fighter holds firm. They do not abandon the strategies and structures carefully built over years of struggle. They do not compromise their principles or lose sight of their ultimate goal. They do not allow fear or frustration to erode their resolve.
“Inumaayyuu, jabina ittiin walxaxaa diinaa keessa darban tifkachaa, laafina jiru immoo akka dhalootu ittaanu sirreeffatee fuulduratti milkii caalutti tarkanfatu hojjatu.”
Rather than being consumed by weakness, the strong fighter learns from it. They recognize that the challenges of today are preparing them for the victories of tomorrow. The strengths they develop in overcoming adversity become the foundation upon which future success is built. The weaknesses they identify and correct ensure that the next generation will not repeat the same mistakes.
The Oromo Liberation Struggle: A Case Study in Resilience
The Oromo people have endured over a century of colonial oppression under successive Ethiopian regimes. Their struggle for self-determination has witnessed moments of great triumph and devastating setback. Through it all, the distinction between the strong and the weak fighter has been starkly visible.
The Weak Fighter in Oromo History:
Throughout the Oromo struggle, there have been those who, unable to strike the colonial system effectively, turned their energies toward internal conflict. Factionalism, personal rivalries, and ideological disputes have at times weakened the movement and delayed the realization of Oromo liberation.
Some fighters, frustrated by the seeming impossibility of the struggle, abandoned the cause entirely. Others, unable to achieve their ambitions within the movement, sought to destroy it from within. Still others, consumed by their own grievances, lost sight of the collective dream.
The consequences of such weakness have been profound. Decades of struggle have been prolonged. Generations have been lost to internal division. The enemy has been strengthened by the disunity of the oppressed.
The Strong Fighter in Oromo History:
Yet alongside these cautionary tales stand the heroes of the Oromo struggle—those who, against all odds, maintained their commitment to justice and truth. From the early resistance fighters who faced Menelik’s forces with little more than courage and conviction, to the modern-day revolutionaries who have carried the torch of liberation into the 21st century, the strong fighters of Oromiya have refused to surrender to despair.
These are the fighters who, despite imprisonment, torture, and exile, never abandoned the cause. They who, when the movement was at its weakest, rebuilt it from the ashes. They who, when the enemy seemed invincible, found new ways to resist.
The strong fighters of Oromiya have understood that the struggle is not a sprint but a marathon. They have built institutions, trained cadres, and passed on the legacy of resistance to new generations. They have learned from setbacks and transformed defeats into stepping stones toward victory.
Lessons for All Struggles
The distinction between the strong and the weak fighter holds lessons that extend far beyond the Oromo liberation movement. Every struggle for justice—whether for civil rights, national liberation, or human dignity—faces the same challenges.
Lesson One: The Enemy Is Not Your Comrade
When external pressure mounts, the temptation to turn against one another is strong. But the true enemy is not the comrade who disagrees with you, the leader who makes mistakes, or the organization that disappoints. The true enemy is the system of oppression itself. Directing energy toward internal conflict serves only to strengthen the oppressor.
Lesson Two: Resilience Is Built, Not Given
Strong fighters are not born—they are forged in the fires of struggle. Each setback is an opportunity for learning. Each disappointment is a chance for growth. Each sacrifice strengthens the resolve to continue.
Lesson Three: Victory Belongs to the Persistent
The arc of history bends toward justice—but only because strong fighters continue to bend it. Victory is never guaranteed; it must be won through generations of persistent effort. Those who give up guarantee defeat; those who continue, no matter the obstacles, create the possibility of success.
Lesson Four: Legacy Matters
The weak fighter leaves behind division and despair. The strong fighter leaves behind hope and a foundation for future victory. What legacy will you leave? What will future generations say of your contribution to the struggle?
The Path Forward
As the Oromo liberation movement continues its journey toward self-determination, the choice between strength and weakness remains ever present. The challenges are immense—a powerful state apparatus, a history of division, and the weight of over a century of oppression. Yet the potential for victory has never been greater.
The strong fighter looks at these challenges and sees opportunity. The fractures in the Ethiopian state, the growing international awareness of Oromo issues, the increasing unity of the Oromo people—all point toward the possibility of liberation.
“Jabina ittiin walxaxaa diinaa keessa darban tifkachaa, laafina jiru immoo akka dhalootu ittaanu sirreeffatee fuulduratti milkii caalutti tarkanfatu hojjatu.”
By recognizing and celebrating the strength that has carried the Oromo struggle this far, and by honestly addressing the weaknesses that have held it back, the movement can build toward a future of victory. The strong fighters of today are laying the foundation for the strong fighters of tomorrow.
Conclusion: The Choice Is Ours
The distinction between the strong and the weak fighter is not determined by circumstance but by choice. Every fighter, every activist, every revolutionary faces moments of doubt, fear, and exhaustion. The question is not whether these moments will come, but how we will respond when they do.
Will we turn our frustration inward and destroy ourselves? Or will we draw on the strength of our ancestors, the resilience of our comrades, and the certainty of our cause, and press forward?
The Oromo people have endured much. They have witnessed the destruction of their land, the suppression of their culture, and the denial of their rights. Yet they have not been destroyed. They have not surrendered. They have not given up hope.
“Qabsaa’oti jajjaboon, gama biraatiin, yeroo mara haqaa fi dhugaa irratti cichuun injifannoon argame akka daran guddatu falmatu.”
The strong fighter knows that victory is not simply the absence of defeat—it is the product of persistent, principled, and unwavering struggle. And it is this conviction that will ultimately carry the Oromo people from oppression to freedom, from injustice to justice, from despair to hope.
“Jabina ittiin walxaxaa diinaa keessa darban tifkachaa, laafina jiru immoo akka dhalootu ittaanu sirreeffatee fuulduratti milkii caalutti tarkanfatu hojjatu.”
Let us celebrate the strength with which we navigate the enemy’s complexities, and let us correct our weaknesses so that future generations may march forward to even greater victories.
The struggle continues. The strong fighter endures. And victory, however distant, remains within reach.
The Sacred Journey of Gadaa: Oromo Community Gathers for Ancient ‘Wal-Argii’ Naming Ceremony
As the sun rises over Guyyoo Gobba, elders and youth come together to celebrate the timeless traditions that have guided Oromo society for generations
BORANA ZONE, OROMIA — In the heart of Oromia, where the ancient rhythms of tradition still pulse through the land, the community of Guyyoo Gobba is preparing for a ceremony that connects the present to centuries of ancestral wisdom. The occasion is the sacred “Wal-Argii” ritual—a ceremony of recognition and naming that marks a significant transition in the Gadaa system, the indigenous democratic governance structure that has guided Oromo society for over 500 years.
The Gadaa system, recognized by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, is a complex and sophisticated framework that organizes Oromo society into distinct life stages. Each stage carries specific responsibilities, rituals, and ceremonies that prepare individuals for their roles within the community. At the heart of this system lies a profound truth: every child born into this tradition begins a journey of transformation, moving through carefully defined stages toward becoming a full participant in their society.
The Journey Begins: Dabballee
In the Gadaa system, when a male child is born, he enters the world as a Dabballee. This is the foundational stage of life, recognized without question—a male child is Dabballee, never female. The Dabballee period spans the first eight years of life. It is a time of innocence and learning, where the child is nurtured and prepared for the journey ahead.
On the eighth year, the child undergoes the Maqbaasa Ritual—the Ceremony for Naming. This is the child’s first formal recognition within the community, a moment when his identity is publicly acknowledged and celebrated.
The Second Stage: Gammee
Emerging from Dabballee, the child enters the Gammee stage. This period lasts for sixteen years and is divided into two parts: Gammee Gugurdoo and Gammee Didiqqoo. It is during this stage that the community gathers for the “Wal-Argii Ritual”—also known as the Nyaachisa Ritual, or the Ritual of Eating.
The Nyaachisa is sacred. As elders explain, “Without Nyaachisa, one cannot become Kuusa.” The ritual of eating together is not merely about consuming food—it is about entering into community, about sharing in the collective identity that binds Oromo society together.
During this stage, the community gathers to witness and celebrate the growth of their children. The foods prepared are not random; they carry deep cultural significance. Young people learn the importance of communal sharing and the responsibilities that come with becoming full members of society.
The Third Stage: Kuusa
After experiencing the Nyaachisa and emerging from Gammee, individuals enter the Kuusa stage, which lasts another eight years. The Kuusa stage is marked by a significant ritual: the Goodiyyaa Ritual, during which six officials are chosen from among the group. These six will take on leadership responsibilities within the community, learning the arts of governance and decision-making.
The selection of officials at this stage is critical—it identifies those who will carry forward the wisdom of their elders and guide their peers through the challenges ahead.
The Fourth Stage: Raaba
From Kuusa, individuals transition to Raaba, an eight-year period filled with important rituals that mark the transition to adulthood. During this stage, young men undergo the Muusoo Ritual and the Dhokhisuu Ritual—ceremonies that grant men permission to marry.
These rituals are about more than marriage; they signify readiness to take on adult responsibilities, to build families, and to contribute fully to the community. The Raaba stage teaches young men the importance of commitment, partnership, and the continuation of the Oromo lineage.
The Fifth Stage: Doorii
The Doorii stage is a five-year period marked by profound rituals, including the Buttaa Ritual and the Daannisa Ritual. The Daannisa is particularly significant—it is the ceremony that gives men permission to have children.
This stage represents the culmination of the reproductive and familial responsibilities that individuals will carry forward. It is during Doorii that men demonstrate their readiness to become fathers and to raise the next generation of Oromo society.
The Sixth Stage: Gadaa
The Gadaa stage itself lasts eight years and is perhaps the most recognized and celebrated period in the entire system. It is during this stage that leaders are inaugurated and governance structures are fully realized. The rituals of this period include:
- Baallii Ritual: The Inauguration Ceremony of the Leader of Gadaa
- Gindaa Ritual/Gumii Gaayoo: The assembly of the community
- Guutuu Ritual: A ceremony of completion and fulfillment
- Odaa Ritual: The dissolution of the Yaa’a Village and retirement of Gadaa officials
The Seventh Stage: Yuuba
Emerging from Gadaa, individuals enter the Yuuba stage, which lasts for twenty-seven years. This is a period of wisdom and mentorship, where elders guide the younger generations. The Yuuba are the custodians of knowledge, the keepers of the tradition, and the guides who ensure that the Gadaa system continues to thrive.
The Eighth Stage: Gadaammojjii
Finally, individuals enter the Gadaammojjii stage, an eight-year period that represents the final phase of the life cycle. The Gadaammojjii is the stage of elders—those who have passed through all previous stages and now serve as the ultimate authority. The Mataa Buufattu (the leader of the Gadaammojjii) presides over the Gadaammojjii Ritual, ensuring that the traditions are passed down correctly.
A Living Tradition
The journey from Dabballee through Gammee, Kuusa, Raaba, Doorii, Gadaa, Yuuba, and finally to Gadaammojjii represents the complete arc of human life in Oromo society. As elders say, “Ilmii Namaa Dabballee tahee Gammeetti dabra”—the child who was Dabballee has now passed through all stages.
None of these stages are bypassed; none are skipped. Each is essential to the formation of a complete person, a responsible community member, and a faithful steward of Oromo heritage.
The Gathering at Guyyoo Gobba
Today, the community of Guyyoo Gobba in the Borana Zone, within the Dhaas Ardaa (district) at Gumii Gaayoo, has gathered to continue this sacred tradition. Under the guidance of Abba Gadaa Guyyoo Gobba Bulee, they are conducting the Wal-Argii ceremony—the ritual of recognition and naming.
The celebration is taking place in stages, each day marking a different aspect of the ceremony. Tomorrow, the community will gather on the eastern side, entering Ardaa Hiigootti to perform the traditional Miloo (community assembly). The following day, they will move to the western side, entering Ardaa Borborii, where they will prepare the ceremonial foods that the children will share and receive blessings.
In the month of Adoolleessa, as the community continues to gather at Gumii Gaayoo under the leadership of Abba Gadaa Guyyoo Gobba, the Wal-Argii ceremony will continue to unfold, connecting the present generation to the wisdom of their ancestors.
A Ceremony of Unity
As the gathering begins, elders lead the community in prayers and rituals. The air fills with the sounds of traditional songs, the rhythmic movement of dances, and the joyful laughter of children who understand—even at their young age—that something sacred is taking place.
“Nagaan Gooroo marmaaraa ga’aa gammee buufadha!” the elders proclaim. “Peace has arrived in our gathering; we have begun our ceremony!”
The food prepared during these celebrations is not merely nourishment—it is a symbol of community, of sharing, and of the bonds that tie Oromo society together. When the children eat together, they are not simply satisfying hunger; they are entering into a sacred covenant with their community, their ancestors, and their future.
The Significance of Wal-Argii
The Wal-Argii ceremony represents the heart of Oromo identity. It is where children learn who they are, where families come together to celebrate their heritage, and where the community reaffirms its commitment to the values that have sustained Oromo society for centuries.
In a rapidly changing world, where globalization threatens to erase ancient traditions, the Oromo people hold fast to their Gadaa system. It is not merely a relic of the past—it is a living, breathing system of governance that continues to guide communities across Oromiya.
Looking to the Future
As the sun sets over Guyyoo Gobba and the families return to their homes, they carry with them the blessings of the ceremony. The children who have been named and recognized will remember this day—the songs, the dances, the foods, and the wisdom shared by their elders.
The Gadaa system teaches that each person has a role to play, a stage to fulfill, and a responsibility to the community. From the youngest Dabballee to the most respected Gadaammojjii, every individual matters. Every life has meaning. Every ritual connects the present to the past and prepares the way for the future.
A Message for the World
The Gadaa system offers a model of governance that the world might learn from—a system that values consensus, respects elders, nurtures youth, and recognizes the sacredness of life itself. It is a testament to the wisdom of the Oromo people and their contribution to the heritage of humanity.
As the community of Guyyoo Gobba continues its ceremonies, they invite all who would listen to witness and learn. The Wal-Argii is not just an Oromo celebration—it is a celebration of what it means to be human, to belong, and to carry forward the traditions of those who came before.
The journey continues. The ceremonies endure. And the Oromo people—their traditions, their wisdom, and their resilience—shine as a light in a world that desperately needs to remember the value of community, tradition, and shared humanity.
African Migrants Across South Africa Sound Alarm Over Escalating Violence, Economic Sabotage, and Systematic Intimidation
The Oromo and broader African diaspora face mounting threats from anti-migrant movements as ‘March 1 March’ and ‘Operation Dudula’ intensify nationwide
SOUTH AFRICA — Beneath the bustling streets of Johannesburg’s inner city, where the rhythms of pan-African commerce once thrived, a palpable fear now settles like an unwelcome fog. Across the nation, from the Cape Flats to the townships of Durban, African migrants who sought refuge and opportunity in the Rainbow Nation are now sounding an urgent alarm—their lives, their livelihoods, and their basic human dignity hang in the balance.
The crisis, while not new, has reached a critical precipice. African migrants, including thousands of Oromo refugees who fled political persecution in Ethiopia and other regions of the Horn of Africa, report being systematically targeted by organized anti-migrant movements. The groups operating under the banners of “March 1 March” and “Operation Dudula” have orchestrated campaigns that victims describe as coordinated efforts to economically cripple and physically intimidate foreign nationals.
‘We Came Seeking Safety’
For many Oromo migrants, the journey to South Africa began as a desperate flight from violence in their homeland. “I left Oromiya with nothing but the clothes on my back,” says Bontu, a mother of three who now runs a small tailoring business in Cape Town. “I came here believing in Ubuntu, the spirit of African unity. Now I lock my door and pray my children return from school alive.”
Bontu’s story is echoed across the country. Migrants who fled political instability, ethnic conflict, and economic collapse have found themselves facing a new nightmare—xenophobic violence that South African authorities have been slow to address.
Documentation of Widespread Violence
Representatives from affected communities have compiled extensive video evidence and firsthand testimonies documenting the severity of the crisis. The footage reveals disturbing scenes of organized brutality:
Economic Warfare and Property Destruction: In coordinated operations that appear strategically planned, businesses owned by African migrants have been systematically looted and destroyed. In Tembisa, Soweto, and other townships, foreign-owned shops have been reduced to smoldering shells. Vehicles have been set ablaze in broad daylight as onlookers record the destruction on their phones.
Organized Mob Violence: Victims describe targeted mass beatings and physical harassment. “They came in groups, armed with pangas and iron bars,” recounts Tadesse, an Oromo shopkeeper in Pretoria. “They didn’t ask for money. They wanted to destroy everything. They told us to ‘go back home.'”
Administrative Blockades and Intimidation: Even routine bureaucratic processes have become battlegrounds. Migrants report being subjected to threats and deliberate delays when attempting to renew residency permits or legal documentation—an essential process for maintaining lawful status in the country.
The Psychological Toll
Perhaps most devastating is the invisible wound—the psychological trauma inflicted upon entire communities. Parents across the nation have stopped sending their children to schools, fearing they may not return. Families remain confined to their homes, living in what victims describe as “continuous high anxiety.”
“My daughter asks why we can’t go to the park anymore,” says Bontu. “How do I explain to a seven-year-old that her skin, her language, her origins make her a target in a country that was supposed to welcome us all?”
Children who once dreamed of becoming doctors and teachers now live with nightmares of masked men breaking down their doors.
Operation Dudula: A Movement Under Scrutiny
Operation Dudula, which translates to “force” or “push back” in isiZulu, has positioned itself as a grassroots movement addressing legitimate concerns about unemployment and housing shortages in South African communities. However, critics argue the movement has crossed into dangerous territory by targeting vulnerable migrant populations rather than advocating for systemic solutions to the country’s deep-seated socioeconomic challenges.
March 1 March, another anti-migrant initiative, has similarly been linked to escalating tensions and violence against foreign nationals.
Both groups have denied accusations of xenophobia, maintaining they are addressing the strain that undocumented migration places on local resources. Yet the victims’ testimonies paint a different picture—one of organized intimidation targeting law-abiding residents who have contributed to their communities for years or even decades.
A Call to Action
Spokespersons from affected communities are distributing their documented evidence to international media outlets, civil society organizations, and human rights watchdogs. Their plea is clear: the South African government, law enforcement agencies, and the international community must act immediately to:
- Protect Vulnerable Populations: Deploy law enforcement to prevent further attacks and ensure perpetrators face consequences
- Uphold the Rule of Law: Ensure all residents, regardless of nationality, have equal access to legal protections and administrative services
- Address the Root Causes: Develop comprehensive strategies to address unemployment and service delivery challenges without scapegoating foreign nationals
- Promote Social Cohesion: Invest in community dialogue and education programs that counter xenophobic narratives
The Broader Context
South Africa has a complex history with migration. As the continent’s most industrialized economy, it has long attracted workers and entrepreneurs from across Africa. Yet recurring waves of xenophobic violence—in 2008, 2015, 2019, and now ongoing—have tarnished the nation’s reputation and contradicted its constitutional commitment to human dignity.
The Oromo diaspora, numbering in the thousands, represents a particularly vulnerable population. Having fled political persecution and ethnic conflict, many lack the robust social networks that might offer protection. They arrived with skills, determination, and hope—qualities that have enriched South African communities when given the opportunity.
An African Tragedy
As the sun sets over the continent, the irony is not lost on those caught in this crisis. African refugees who fled conflict zones, seeking safety within their own continent, now face violence from the very communities they sought to join.
“The dream of a united Africa feels very far away,” reflects Tadesse. “But I still believe. We must not let the actions of some destroy the vision of all. Our children deserve to inherit a continent of solidarity, not suspicion.”
The international community and African Union have mechanisms to address such crises—protocols on the protection of refugees, conventions on human rights, frameworks for continental solidarity. What remains to be seen is whether these instruments will translate into meaningful action before more lives are destroyed.
The Way Forward
South African civil society organizations have called for urgent dialogue between migrant communities, government representatives, and local leaders. Some municipalities have begun establishing community forums to address tensions constructively.
Human rights lawyers are preparing legal challenges against the most egregious violations, while grassroots peacebuilding initiatives work to rebuild trust between South African residents and their migrant neighbors.
Yet time is of the essence. The violence continues, the fear deepens, and the economic damage mounts. For every day that passes without meaningful intervention, more families are displaced, more livelihoods destroyed, and more children grow up in a world where “foreigner” has become synonymous with “target.”
A Shared Humanity
As one Oromo elder noted during a community meeting in Johannesburg, “We have forgotten that we are all African. The borders that divide us were drawn by colonial powers who wished to keep us fighting each other. Our strength lies in remembering our shared humanity.”
The crisis facing African migrants in South Africa is not merely a matter of domestic policy—it is a test of the continent’s commitment to the principles of pan-African unity and solidarity. How South Africa responds to this moment will send a message far beyond its borders.
In the meantime, families continue to lock their doors, children remain home from school, and communities pray for a dawn that brings not fear, but hope.
The Unwritten Code: Why Word Order Holds the Key to Oromo Identity
By Dhabessa Wakjira
In a world increasingly dominated by linguistic homogenization, the quiet persistence of grammatical structure might seem like an esoteric concern for academics and purists. But in Ethiopia, a battle for cultural identity is being waged not on battlefields, but in the subtle ordering of nouns and adjectives. For the Oromo people, the rule “maqaa dursee, ibsituu gala”—placing the noun before the adjective—is not merely a stylistic quirk. It is a declaration of intellectual sovereignty.
A Language’s Silent Logic
Consider the geography of the Oromo homeland. We speak of Oromiyaa Lixaa (Western Oromia), Oromiyaa Bahaa (Eastern Oromia), Oromiyaa Kibba Bahaa (Southeastern Oromia), and Oromiyaa Giddugalaa (Central Oromia). The pattern is unmistakable: the subject—the nation itself—comes first. Its attributes, its regions, its descriptions follow. This is the bedrock of Afaan Oromo syntax.
Yet, this natural rhythm is under siege. The dominant linguistic forces in the region—Amharic and English—operate on an inverse logic. In English, one says “Western Oromia” (adjective + noun). In Amharic, the structure is Mirab Oromiyaa (Adjective + Noun). When speakers of these languages apply their grammatical framework to Oromo, the result is a linguistic Frankenstein: Lixaa Oromiyaa instead of Oromiyaa Lixaa.
Beyond Grammar: A Question of Respect
For Habtamu Boru, a linguist at Addis Ababa University, this is more than a grammatical faux pas. “Language is the blueprint of thought,” he argues. “When you alter the word order of a language, you are not just making a grammatical error; you are attempting to rewrite its cognitive DNA. The Oromo mind identifies the entity first—the nation, the person, the object—and then considers its qualities. To reverse that is to impose a foreign way of seeing the world.”
This becomes glaringly evident when we look at proper naming conventions. The historically and linguistically correct forms are:
· Arsii Bahaa (Eastern Arsi)
· Gujii Lixaa (Western Guji)
· Harargee Bahaa (Eastern Hararghe)
· Shawaa Lixaa (Western Shewa)
· Wallaggaa Bahaa (Eastern Wallagga)
When these are inverted—Bahaa Arsi or Lixaa Gujii—they cease to be authentic Oromo expressions. They become colonial imitations, betraying the speaker’s unfamiliarity with the soul of the language.
Why It Matters in 2026
As of 2026, Afaan Oromo is one of the most spoken languages in the Horn of Africa, with tens of millions of speakers. It is the working language of the Oromia Regional State and is increasingly used in education and media. Yet, the infiltration of foreign syntactic structures poses a silent threat.
The danger is insidious. Children learning Afaan Oromo in urban centers often adopt the adjective-first structure, mistaking it for modernization or fluency. The media, swayed by translation conventions from English and Amharic news sources, increasingly broadcast geographic and descriptive phrases that violate the core rule.
A Call to Linguistic Arms
The call to “Hordofuun Barbaachisaa Dha” (It is necessary to follow) is not about rigid prescriptivism. It is about preservation. It is a plea to remember that language is not a mechanical tool for communication; it is a vessel for history, for worldview, for dignity.
When we say Biyya Keenya (Our Country) and not Keenya Biyya, we affirm that the country belongs to us, not the description to the country. When we say Namuma Gaarii (A Good Person) and not Gaarii Namuma, we affirm that the person precedes their qualities.
As the Oromo proverb goes, “Afaan namatti haasa’uu akka ofii isaati”—speak to people in their own language. And to speak to the Oromo truly is to place their noun before the adjective.
The Path Forward
The solution lies in vigilance. Parents must correct their children. Educators must emphasize this rule alongside vocabulary. Media houses must hire competent editors who understand the structural integrity of Afaan Oromo. Most importantly, non-native speakers must recognize that adopting this rule is a gesture of respect, an acknowledgment that they are engaging with a culture that has its own logic, its own beauty, and its own way of ordering the world.
The rule is simple: Maqaa dursee, ibsituu gala. The noun first, the adjective follows. It is the key to a grammar, but it is also the key to a culture.
It is time to unlock it.
THE GENERATION OF THE BOOK: How the Keepers of Knowledge Forged a Living Purpose for Their Nation
They did not pick up arms alone; they picked up pens, manuscripts, and the dusty archives of memory—and in doing so, they gave their people a future worth fighting for.
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By Our Staff Writer
There is a generation that walks among us—unassuming, often overlooked, yet carrying the weight of centuries upon their shoulders. They are not soldiers in the conventional sense. They do not stand on barricades with rifles. Their weapons are older, sharper, and far more enduring: books, scrolls, oral epics, and the sacred duty of remembrance.
This is the generation that read the book of knowledge not for personal glory, not for academic titles, but for their nation and their country. They understood that a people who forget their past are a people condemned to wander in the darkness of others’ narratives. So they opened their eyes, their ears, and their hearts to the whispers of their ancestors, and they transcribed those whispers into a living, breathing blueprint for the future.
They have set a Living Purpose—a compass not carved in stone, but etched into the very soul of the Oromo nation.
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The Archive of Silence No More
For decades, the history of Oromia was a forbidden text. Colonial anthropologists wrote of the Oromo as a “stateless” people, a footnote to Ethiopian imperial narratives. State-sponsored textbooks erased the Gadaa system, reducing a 500-year-old democracy to a “primitive” custom. The language itself was relegated to the shadows, its beautiful rhythms and proverbs deemed too dangerous for the public sphere.
Then came the generation of the book.
They began in secret—under the flickering light of kerosene lamps, in the basements of diaspora homes, in the prayerful silence of elders’ huts. They transcribed oral histories that had survived the swords of conquerors. They translated ancient poems and legal codes. They documented the names of heroes whose graves had been deliberately unmarked. They studied the sciences of agriculture, linguistics, law, and political theory, not as abstract disciplines, but as tools for liberation.
This was not merely academic curiosity. It was archaeology of the soul. Every recovered manuscript, every restored lineage, every corrected historical distortion was a brick laid in the foundation of a nation that had been told it had no foundation at all.
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The Book as the Blueprint
But this generation did not stop at remembrance. They were forward-looking—future-casting visionaries who understood that the past, no matter how glorious, is only the starting line.
They read, yes. But they also interpreted. They asked: What does the Gadaa system teach us about governance today? How can the Oromo philosophy of Nagaa (peace) inform conflict resolution in a fractured region? What economic models are sustainable for the pastoralists of the Borana and the farmers of Arsi? How can the Oromo diaspora, scattered across the globe, remain connected to the homeland without losing their hard-won international solidarity?
The generation of the book synthesized these questions into a Living Purpose—a dynamic, evolving vision that adapts to changing circumstances while remaining rooted in eternal values. They did not propose a rigid ideology, but a method: a way of being Oromo that is simultaneously ancient and modern, particular and universal, rooted and reaching.
This purpose is not a document gathering dust on a shelf. It is a living will, passed from elder to youth, from rural village to urban university, from the highlands to the diaspora. It grows, it breathes, it argues with itself—and in that self-critique, it becomes stronger.
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The Pedagogy of the Rising Sun
How do you teach a nation to read its own future?
The generation of the book understood that literacy is not merely the ability to decode letters; it is the capacity to decode power. They established schools where none existed—underground classrooms beneath the shade of the Odaa tree, where children learned their mother tongue while the state listened for whispers of sedition. They published pamphlets, newsletters, and eventually, fully-fledged books that laid bare the mechanisms of their oppression and the pathways to their emancipation.
They also taught critical reading. They encouraged their students to question, to cross-reference, to recognize bias in official narratives. They did not want obedient subjects; they wanted sovereign minds—citizens capable of discerning truth from propaganda, justice from ritualized injustice.
In this way, the book became a liberation pedagogy. Every page read, every footnote examined, every historical contradiction exposed, was an act of resistance more potent than any weapon. Because an army can be defeated; a regime can fall; but a generation that knows how to think? That is a force no tyranny can suppress.
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The Living Purpose in Action
Today, we see the fruits of that labor.
In the global forums of human rights advocacy, Oromo intellectuals cite their own traditions of democratic governance to challenge international observers. In the digital corridors of social media, a new generation of Oromo writers, poets, and meme-makers use their ancestors’ wit to dismantle contemporary prejudice. In the universities of the diaspora, students majoring in Oromo studies reclaim a heritage that was once “impractical” and “irrelevant” to Western academia.
The Living Purpose is materialized in the Oromo flag—that trinity of black, red, and white—which is not just a piece of cloth, but a summary of the book they read: black for the land, red for the sacrifice, white for the dawn to come. It is manifested in the Irreechaa festival, where thousands gather to give thanks, not as a ritualistic relic, but as a vibrant, contemporary expression of ecological spirituality.
And it is embodied in the quiet dignity of an Oromo mother who, despite the threat of arrest, teaches her child to say, “Ani Oromoo”—I am Oromo—with the same natural, unbreakable pride with which she breathes.
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The Unfinished Chapter
Yet, the book is not complete. This generation knows that their task is not finished. The Living Purpose is not a destination; it is an open road.
There are still histories to recover, languages to revive, and systems to redesign. There are still young minds, especially in rural communities, who lack access to the very books that could set them free. There are still regimes that burn libraries and persecute poets, believing that if they destroy the words, they destroy the nation.
But they have already lost. Because the generation of the book has ensured that the words live within the people. No fire can burn a book that has been committed to memory. No censorship can silence a story that is carried on the tongue and passed through the blood.
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A Final Leaf
As the sun descends over the Oromo homeland, casting its long shadows across the Rift Valley, one can almost hear the turning of pages—the rustle of a billion hopes, inscribed not in ink, but in action.
The generation that read for their nation has set a purpose that will outlive them. They have planted a forest of knowledge, and though they may not sit in its final shade, they have ensured that their children, and their children’s children, will.
They read the book. They understood the mission. And they passed it on—not as a relic, but as a flame.
The pages turn. The purpose lives. And the nation, at last, begins to write its own destiny.
Advocacy for Oromia 