Category Archives: Grief Support
The Irreechaa Protocol: How an Ancient Festival Provides a Blueprint for Collective Mental Health Intervention
What if healing from trauma is not meant to be a solitary journey but a communal ritual—one that has been practised for centuries?
In an era where mental health professionals increasingly recognise the limitations of individual therapeutic models for addressing collective trauma, a centuries-old festival offers an unexpected but profoundly effective blueprint. The Oromo people’s Irreechaa—an annual thanksgiving celebration held at sacred water bodies like Hora Arsadii (Bishoftu) and Hora Finfinnee—functions as what scholars describe as “cultural therapy”: a cyclical, collective practice that restores dignity, cohesion, and hope after generations of political marginalisation .
For a people who have endured conquest, linguistic suppression, and systematic cultural erasure, Irreechaa is far more than a seasonal celebration. It is a sophisticated, community-based mental health intervention that has sustained Oromo resilience for centuries. By examining the Irreechaa protocol—its structure, its symbols, and its therapeutic mechanisms—we may find a model for collective healing that transcends cultural boundaries.
The Foundation of Collective Trauma
The Oromo experience of historical trauma is textbook in its severity. Late-19th-century imperial expansion violently incorporated Oromo homelands into the Ethiopian Empire, followed by over a century of political and cultural subordination . Oromo institutions, including aspects of the Gadaa governance system, were constrained or suppressed, and the public status of Afaan Oromoo was systematically diminished .
This represents what scholars term “cumulative, collective wounding”—mass harms that echo across generations through families and institutions . The result is not merely individual psychological distress but a community-wide experience of internalised devaluation, social fragmentation, and disconnection.
Conventional mental health approaches—individual therapy, medication, and cognitive interventions—can address symptoms but often fail to heal the underlying collective wounds. The Irreechaa protocol offers an alternative: a community-based intervention designed to restore what was broken collectively.
The Therapeutic Structure of Irreechaa
Irreechaa’s choreography follows a remarkably consistent pattern: pilgrimage to sacred water, symbolic washing, public prayer, group singing and dancing, and the leadership of elders . This structure is not accidental; it aligns precisely with what anthropologists identify as the key elements of “ritual repair.”
Recognition: Countering Internalised Devaluation
One of the most insidious effects of historical oppression is internalised inferiority—members of marginalised groups absorb the dominant society’s negative messages about their identity. Irreechaa counters this through public, mass affirmation . When millions gather in traditional white attire, singing Dhaanto, and performing the Shaggooyee dance, they are not just celebrating; they are visibly, collectively reclaiming dignity .
For Oromo youth—particularly those in the diaspora—this public celebration of their culture combats marginalisation and fosters confidence . It tells them that their identity is not something to hide but something to celebrate with pride.
Regulation: Choreographing Healing
The physical elements of Irreechaa serve a regulatory function that echoes evidence-based trauma interventions. Structured songs, rhythmic movement, and shared timing “calm bodies and synchronise emotion” . This mirrors approaches like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), where bilateral stimulation helps process traumatic material.
Psychologically, this is “psycho-bio-social regulation” . The body and mind work together to process emotional material, with collective synchrony amplifying the therapeutic effect. When tens of thousands move and sing together, the result is a form of community-wide emotional regulation that no individual therapist could replicate.
Reconnection: Rebuilding Social Bonds
Historical trauma isolates; ritual reconnects. Anthropologists have long described how public rituals generate what they call “communitas”—an intense sense of togetherness that suspends everyday hierarchies . At Irreechaa, this communitas creates “prosocial bonds that reduce isolation and renew civic agency” .
The festival’s multi-generational participation reinforces this reconnection . Elders demonstrate rituals like the Eebba (blessings) and traditional dances , while children and youth participate actively, creating a continuity of social bonds that bridges generations. This is not simply a pleasant experience; it is a vital antidote to the social fragmentation that oppression produces.
The Water Blessing: Symbolic Washing Away
The most iconic Irreechaa ritual involves participants entering sacred water and symbolically washing away hardship . This act operates on multiple levels simultaneously:
Symbolically, it represents cleansing from past trauma and preparation for renewal. Psychologically, it provides a physical mechanism for emotional release. Communally, it creates a shared experience that binds participants together.
For diaspora Oromo, adaptations of this water ritual in park settings serve similar functions, connecting a community separated by geography to the healing practices of their ancestors . Planting trees alongside these symbolic water rituals extends the theme of renewal to ecological consciousness .
The Shadow: When Healing Attracts Threat
The very power that makes Irreechaa therapeutic also makes it threatening to forces seeking to maintain dominance. The 2016 Bishoftu tragedy—where security forces’ crowd control triggered a stampede that killed scores—etched a deep collective trauma into Oromo memory . This event reinforced fears that peaceful cultural gatherings can be violently disrupted.
Subsequent Irreechaa celebrations have often featured heavy policing, preemptive arrests, and restrictions that rights groups criticise as disproportionate . The “securitisation” of Irreechaa reflects a fundamental reality: visible, unified collective identity threatens projects that rely on minimising that group’s visibility and power .
Yet the festival continues to grow. In 2025, tens of thousands gathered in Addis Ababa and Bishoftu, with Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed addressing the crowd . The celebration has become a complex space where cultural resurgence, political symbolism, and community grievance intersect .
A Blueprint for Collective Intervention
What can the Irreechaa protocol teach mental health practitioners, community organisers, and policymakers?
1. Collective Healing Requires Collective Ritual
Individual therapy cannot fully address historical trauma because the wound is communal. Interventions must create spaces where communities can heal together.
2. Symbolism Matters
Water, music, movement, and traditional attire are not superficial decorations; they are therapeutic vehicles that engage the whole person.
3. Intergenerational Participation Is Essential
Children and elders healing together creates continuity that individual approaches cannot achieve.
4. Regularity Builds Resilience
Irreechaa’s cyclical nature—held annually, marking seasonal change—provides ongoing, predictable support.
5. Cultural Grounding Is Strength
Cultural practices adapted to trauma healing are not barriers to evidence-based approaches; they are themselves evidence-based approaches refined over generations.
Conclusion
Irreechaa demonstrates that collective healing is not only possible but has been practised for centuries. Its protocol—recognition, regulation, and reconnection through public ritual—provides a template that could be adapted across cultures and contexts.
As scholars of historical trauma note, healing requires “shared remembrance, mourning, and culturally grounded practices that rebuild meaning and agency” . The Irreechaa protocol provides exactly that: a culturally grounded practice that rebuilds meaning and agency for millions.
For mental health professionals, the lesson is clear: the best interventions may not be found in clinical manuals but in the living traditions of communities that have survived and thrived despite centuries of attempted erasure. The Irreechaa protocol is not just a festival; it is a toolkit for collective mental health, refined over generations and proven effective by the very survival of the Oromo people.
“Irreechaa’s power is double-edged: the very practices that heal—public recognition, shared emotion, embodied solidarity—also unsettle projects that rely on minimising Oromo visibility. The path forward is not to shrink Irreechaa but to secure it: treat it as a national asset, protect rights equally, and let ritual do its quiet work of repair” .
The Two Humiliations of TPLF: A Reflection on Power, Pride, and the Oromo Awakening
In the shifting sands of Ethiopian politics, the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front has suffered wounds that time has not healed—and the Oromo people remain the central characters in this unfolding drama
In the annals of Ethiopian political history, few organizations have risen as high or fallen as dramatically as the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front (TPLF). For nearly three decades, it dominated the political landscape of the Ethiopian Empire, ruling with an iron fist while projecting an image of revolutionary legitimacy. Yet today, the TPLF finds itself nursing wounds that history will not allow it to forget—wounds inflicted not by foreign enemies but by the very people it sought to subjugate.
The reflection of Abba Ebba offers a searing analysis of what he calls the “two humiliations” of the TPLF—humiliations that, in his view, are inextricably linked to the Oromo people and their awakening. These are not merely military defeats but moral and political reckonings that the TPLF has been unable to accept or process.
The First Humiliation: The Fall of Mekelle
“For 27 years, like the saying ‘the hare’s skin cannot cover the elephant,’ the TPLF tried to stretch its hide over an empire too vast for its frame. In the final hour, it was the sons and daughters of Oromo—the Qeerroo and Qarree—who stood before tanks with empty hands and brought down the regime. They made the TPLF retreat to Mekelle, dragging its ill-gotten wealth behind it. This is the first humiliation that remains unhealed to this day.”
The 2018 Oromo protests were not merely a political uprising—they were a seismic shift in the Ethiopian political landscape. The Oromo youth, known as the Qeerroo and Qarree, rose in a wave of popular resistance that the TPLF could not contain. The protests were decentralized, leaderless, and yet remarkably unified in their demands for justice, equality, and an end to the TPLF’s domination .
The TPLF, which had ruled Ethiopia for 27 years, was forced to abandon power and retreat to its northern stronghold of Mekelle. This was not a defeat by a rival military force but a collapse in the face of unarmed civilian resistance. The humiliation was profound and, according to Abba Ebba, has never been truly accepted by the TPLF leadership.
“The TPLF was defeated by the popular wave that ignited from one end of Oromia to the other—a wave that was part of the Oromo liberation struggle. This is an undeniable truth. The Oromo is an elephant; when it tramples, it crushes. The TPLF was forced to swallow this reality, whether it liked it or not.”
The Second Humiliation: The Retreat to Mekelle
The second humiliation followed the first. After initially retreating to Mekelle, the TPLF sought to reassert its influence on the national stage. It formed alliances with various forces—including some within the Amhara political spectrum—and attempted to challenge the Prosperity Party government.
However, this effort ended in another defeat. The TPLF was forced to retreat once again to Mekelle, leaving behind its ambitions and its allies, having consumed itself in the fires it had ignited. This second retreat, Abba Ebba argues, is the other humiliation that remains raw and unprocessed .
“When the TPLF was about to return to Addis Ababa, it found itself burned by the fire it had started. It was forced to retreat to Mekelle—another humiliation that has not faded.”
The Unlearned Lesson
Despite these humiliations, the TPLF has not learned its lesson. Instead, it continues to prepare for a new war, this time under the cover of the Prosperity Party government’s own challenges. After four years of uninterrupted military preparation, the TPLF is once again positioning itself for conflict .
Abba Ebba warns that this preparation is driven by a desire for revenge—a desire to settle scores with the Oromo people who, in the TPLF’s view, are responsible for its humiliations. “Under the cover of the Prosperity Party government, the TPLF is seeking to take revenge on our people for its past humiliations.”
The Unnecessary Price
Abba Ebba poses a pointed question: why must the Oromo people pay the price for the TPLF’s ambitions? Why must Oromia become a battlefield for conflicts that are not of its making?
“The TPLF did not need to travel 600 kilometres into the heart of the country, into the breadbasket of Ethiopia—Oromia. It could have declared Eritrea-style independence when the Derg fell, and it could do so today. All it needs is to settle its accounts and secure the consent of its people.”
The TPLF’s refusal to accept defeat has left the Oromo people caught between multiple threats. On one hand, there is the TPLF’s continued military preparations and its desire for revenge. On the other, there are forces like Fano and other armed groups that have also targeted Oromo communities.
The Oromo Elite’s Responsibility
Abba Ebba also points a finger at the Oromo elite, accusing them of failing to fulfill their responsibilities. The Oromo people, who have paid the heaviest price in the struggle against the Ethiopian Empire, now face a dual threat: the TPLF’s revanchism and the Oromo elite’s failure to protect the gains of the struggle.
“The Oromo elite has failed to protect the historic victory achieved by the Oromo popular struggle. It has also failed to protect the constitutional right to self-determination—the right to democracy, justice, and self-rule—from being undermined.”
This failure, Abba Ebba argues, has allowed the Oromo people to be marginalized and treated with suspicion by their neighbours. The Oromo elite’s failure to step up has left the people vulnerable to manipulation and exclusion.
A Call to Vigilance
Abba Ebba concludes with a call to the Oromo people:
“Our people must prepare themselves for the danger of the approaching war and actively monitor the situation. The war that is being prepared—whether by TPLF or by the Fano forces—poses a threat to the next generation of Oromo. Decisive action must be taken to find a lasting solution.”
He insists that Oromia must not become a doormat for the ambitions of others. “Oromia will not be a doormat for Fano or the TPLF! With its determined sons and daughters, it will stand, honoured and respected, and it will endure forever.”
A Historical Warning
The reflection of Abba Ebba is not merely a commentary on contemporary politics—it is a historical warning. It reminds the Oromo people that the TPLF, despite its humiliations, has not abandoned its ambitions. The two humiliations remain unhealed, and the TPLF continues to seek revenge.
But the reflection also carries a message of hope and resolve. The Oromo people, having risen once, can rise again. The elephant has crushed its enemies before, and it can do so again.
Conclusion
The two humiliations of the TPLF are more than military or political defeats—they are symbolic wounds that the organization has not been able to accept. The TPLF’s refusal to learn from its past has left the Oromo people facing a renewed threat. But the Oromo people, having already demonstrated their power, are not powerless.
As Abba Ebba declares: “Oromia will not be a doormat for Fano or the TPLF! With its determined sons and daughters, it will stand, honoured and respected, and it will endure forever.”
The elephant has crushed its enemies before, and it can do so again.
The Root of Seven Generations: Marriage, Bloodlines, and the Oromo Law of Continuity
By Dhabessa Wakjira
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The fire crackled low in the center of the mana (homestead). Outside, the night wind carried the scent of wild sage and distant rain. Inside, a circle of elders sat in contemplative silence, their white turbans glowing faintly in the ember-light. Before them stood a young man—tall, strong, and visibly nervous. He had come to ask for a bride.
But before any blessing could be spoken, before any milk could be shared, the elders would ask the question that has governed Oromo marriage since time immemorial:
“Sanyiin kee eenyu? Hiddi kee eessa taa’e?” — “Who is your lineage? Where does your root lie?”
For in Oromo culture, marriage is not merely the joining of two hearts. It is the grafting of two ancestral trees. And if those trees are too closely related, the fruit will be weak. If they are too distant, the bond will lack the warmth of shared blood. The balance is found in a sacred number: seven.
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The Mature Son and the Ripened Daughter
The ancient decree, passed from grandfather to grandson, begins with a command of readiness:
“Ilmi gahe haa fuudhu; intalli geesses haa heerumtu.”
“Let the son who has matured take a wife; let the daughter who has ripened be given in marriage.”
In the highlands of Oromia, these words are not mere suggestions. They are biological and social imperatives. Gahe—maturity—signifies a young man who has passed through the crucible of the Gadaa grades, who has proven his courage and earned the calluses of hard labour. Geesse—ripeness—speaks of a daughter who has completed her rites of passage, who understands the weight of motherhood and the dignity of homemaking.
This is not about arbitrary age. It is about readiness of body, mind, and spirit. The Oromo understand that strong families begin with strong individuals. A boy who marries before he can defend a homestead invites disaster. A girl who bears children before her hips have widened risks her life. The elders watch, and they wait. They do not rush the river, and they do not rush the harvest.
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The Sacred Distance: Seven Generations
Then comes the law that sets Oromo marriage apart—a precept so deeply embedded in the culture that it rivals the Gadaa itself in its authority:
“Dhalooti walfuudhan, sanyii dhaloota torba booda haa ta’u.”
“Let the lineages intermarry only after [the separation of] seven generations.”
This is the exogamy rule—the absolute prohibition against marrying anyone within seven paternal generations of one’s own clan. The Oromo do not trace this to modern genetics; they arrived at it through centuries of observation. They saw that when cousins married, children were often sickly. When distant clans intermarried, children were robust. The earth taught them what science would later confirm: genetic diversity creates strength.
But this rule is not merely biological—it is deeply social. Seven generations represent a clean break. By the time seven fathers have passed, the ancestral spirits of the two families have “forgotten” their closeness. The bloodlines have cooled. The sanyii (seed) can be safely mixed without angering the ancestors or weakening the clan.
To violate this law is to commit akka hin taane—the unforgivable. It brings drought, stillbirth, and the displeasure of Waaqa (God). The Oromo elders are the gatekeepers of this sacred distance, reciting genealogies that stretch back two hundred years to ensure that the young couple stands on opposite branches of the family tree.
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The Root That Must Not Be Severed
But the Oromo do not marry merely to create healthy children. They marry to continue the root itself:
“Gaa’elli karaa itti hiddi dhalootaa itti fufu.”
“Marriage is the path by which the root of the generations continues.”
Imagine an ancient sycamore. Its branches reach for the sky, but its strength lies beneath the earth. Each child born is a new branch; each generation is a new layer of rings. If the tree stops producing new shoots, it dies. Similarly, the Oromo believe that a family line that ceases to reproduce ceases to exist—not just physically, but spiritually. The ancestors who came before, the hundreds who tilled the soil and fought the wars and sang the songs, rely on the living to keep their names alive.
Marriage, therefore, is not a romantic luxury. It is a sacred debt. The young man who takes a wife is not just seeking companionship—he is paying back the ancestors who gave him life. The young woman who bears children is not just fulfilling a social role—she is threading the needle of time, sewing the past to the future.
When an Oromo couple stands before the elders, they are not just looking at each other. They are looking backward at the seven generations who made them, and forward at the seven generations who will come from them.
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The Final Seal: Blessings and Abundance
And so, when all the genealogies are recited, when the seven-generation gap is confirmed, when the bride-price is negotiated and the Qaallu (spiritual leader) has offered the libation of milk to Waaqa, the elders rise. They lift their right hands to the sky. They speak the final, triumphant words:
“Eebbaa fi marabbaan haa raawwatu.”
“Let it be completed with blessings and abundance.”
Eebbaa—blessing. The approval of God, the smile of the ancestors, the goodwill of the community.
Marabbaa—abundance. Not just wealth, but fertility of the womb, richness of the soil, fatness of the cattle, and joy in the household.
These are not empty wishes. In the days that follow the wedding, the community will bring gifts of butter, honey, and grain. The couple will eat together from a single gibira (wooden platter), symbolising their shared fate. The elders will return to their homesteads, satisfied that the lineage is safe for another generation.
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A Living Law
Today, as globalisation and urbanisation reshape Oromo society, some young people question the old rules. “Seven generations is too long,” some say. “We are modern now. We follow our hearts, not a counting cord.”
But the elders smile. They have heard this before. And they know that a river may change its course, but it never forgets its source. The rule of seven generations is not a chain that binds—it is a shield that protects. It ensures that the Oromo people remain strong, healthy, and connected to their roots.
In the diaspora, too, the Oromo carry this law. They trace their lineages through apps and family elders, seeking out potential partners from clans far removed from their own. They understand that marrying within the bloodline invites not just genetic risk, but spiritual fragmentation. They know that their strength lies in diversity, their continuity lies in discipline, and their future lies in their past.
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The Eternal Cycle
As the fire dies down and the young man departs with the elders’ blessing, he carries more than a wife’s name on his lips. He carries the weight of a thousand years. He carries the hope of his ancestors that he will not fail. He carries the DNA of seven generations—and the responsibility to ensure that the seventh generation after him will carry his.
Because in Oromo tradition, a person is never truly an individual. They are a living link in an endless chain. And marriage is the forge where that chain is reforged, stronger with every generation.
“Dhaloonni jajjaboo akka dhalataniif…” — “So that strong offspring may be born…”
The words echo across the valley, carried by the wind, whispered by the grass, repeated by the elders. They are a prayer. They are a law. They are the heartbeat of a people who understand that love is beautiful, but lineage is sacred; that romance is sweet, but the root is eternal.
And so, generation upon generation, the Oromo marry—not just for today, but for the seven tomorrows yet to come.
The Unseen Work and the Unyielding Bloom: How the Oromo Struggle Flourishes Beyond the Enemy’s Gaze
By Daandii Ragabaa
While the enemies of Oromia may have closed their eyes and convinced themselves that the OLF/ABO had faded into irrelevance, the ground beneath their feet has been shifting all along. The struggle for Oromo liberation has never been a spectacle performed for the approval of adversaries; it is a quiet, relentless tide that reshapes the landscape even when the world is not watching. Today, as the movement reflects on its journey, one truth stands undeniable: the work has continued, the fruits have multiplied, and the foundation of Oromo nationhood has never been stronger.
The Myth of Stagnation
There is a dangerous assumption that silence equals surrender. For years, the detractors of Oromo freedom have pointed to periods of tactical recalibration and claimed that the cause was dead. They were wrong. As the reflection reminds us, “Diinonni Oromoo otuu hin beekiin hojiilee ABO hojjataa ture”—the enemies were unaware of the work being done. The OLF/ABO did not vanish; it adapted. It built. It planted seeds that are now breaking through the concrete of oppression.
The struggle is not a straight line; it is a winding river that carves canyons over time. There have been moments of setback, times when the fighters themselves stumbled into unfamiliar terrain. “Yeroo garii qabsaa’oti waan muuxannoo itti hin qabneef danqamuun ifaa dha.” To be hindered, to face the unknown, is a natural and illuminating part of any liberation journey. But the reflection makes a critical distinction: “Danqamuun garuu qabsoo irraa yeroof duubatti deebi’uu malee qabsoo dhiisuu jechuu miti.”
Setbacks are not stop signs; they are detours. Retreating for a moment to assess, regroup, and strike with greater intelligence is not defeat—it is the hallmark of a movement that intends to win, not just to survive.
The Tangible Fruits of an Unyielding Will
While critics focused on imagined weaknesses, the Oromo struggle was quietly accumulating victories that cannot be erased. The reflection catalogs these achievements with a quiet, earned pride:
Oromia has risen. No longer can the oppressor pretend that Oromia is an abstraction. It is a recognized entity, a homeland with a name that commands respect and a history that demands justice. “Oromiyaan bobaa diinaa jalaa bahee beekamee jira.” The nation has emerged from under the shadow of denial into the light of international and domestic recognition.
The language has taken its rightful place. Afaan Oromoo, once relegated to the margins of private life, now stands tall as a language of instruction and government work. “Afaan Oromoo afaan barnootaa fi hojii mootummaa ta’eera.” This is not a small concession; it is a revolutionary shift. When a people’s tongue becomes the language of the classroom and the office, the soul of that people is officially acknowledged.
The script lives. “Qubeen Afaan Oromoo kan Afaan Oromoo ittiin barsiisan ta’eera.” The Oromo alphabet—once banned, once erased—is now actively used to teach children the beauty of their own heritage. Alphabetization is liberation. To read in one’s mother tongue is to reclaim the mind from colonial subjugation.
The flag waves undefeated. “Alaabaan Oromoo mallattoo diddaa fi bilisummaa qabsoo Oromoo ta’ee beekamee jira.” The Oromo flag is no longer a secret symbol of insurgency; it is a recognized emblem of resistance and freedom. It flies at gatherings, in diaspora halls, and in the hearts of millions. It is the colors of a nation that refuses to be renamed.
The Bloom of the Seed
The reflection speaks of a beautiful and profound transformation: “Akkanaan sanyiin bilisummaa facaafamee daraaree hundee sabboonummaa Oromoo fi Oromummaa ta’aa jira.”
The seeds of freedom, scattered across the difficult soil of the struggle, are now blossoming. They are taking root in the very foundations of Oromo identity and nationhood. This is not a fleeting victory; it is a generational shift. The Oromo people are witnessing the flowering of what their ancestors sacrificed for. The identity is no longer just a memory—it is a living, breathing reality that grows stronger with each passing day.
The Sacred Duty of Continuation
Yet, the reflection is not a song of complacency. It carries a sobering and determined promise: “Kun haga hireen murteeffannaa ummata Oromoo dhugoomutti jabaatee kan itti fufu ta’a.”
This journey will continue—vigorously, unapologetically, and with increasing momentum—until the fundamental rights of the Oromo people are fully realized. Until self-determination is not a demand but a fact. Until the land of Oromia is governed by the will of its own children.
The current chapter of the struggle is not an anomaly; it is the direct product of that unyielding resolve. “Waanti amna qabsoo keessatti argaa jirrus dhugaadhuma kana.” What we see today is the pure, unadulterated truth of a people who refused to kneel.
A Legacy of Resistance, A Future of Justice
“Qabsoon Bilisummaa fi haqa Oromoo kabachiisuuf yoomiyyuu jabatee itti fufa; hireen murteeffannaa ummata Oromoof godhamus kan wareegama keenyaan dhugoomuu dha.”
The struggle to honor the freedom and justice of Oromia will continue with unwavering strength—forever and always. The rights that the Oromo people are fighting for are not gifts to be begged for; they are inherent truths to be realized. And the fulfillment of those rights is not merely a political ambition; it is a sacred trust, a responsibility that falls upon the shoulders of every Oromo, whether in the homeland or in the far reaches of the diaspora.
The enemies may have looked away. They may have assumed the work had stopped. But the Oromo people are digging deeper than ever, planting seeds that will outlast the oppressors, and building a nation that will stand for millennia.
The unseen work is now visible. The planted seeds are blooming. And the struggle, tested by fire and tempered by patience, marches ever forward—determined, consistent, and invincible.
IUOf!
The Political Boat Called “Tsimdo”: Where Are the Far-Right and Far-Left Extremists Steering It?
In the strange theater of modern politics, strange bedfellows emerge—temporary alliances born not of shared vision but of shared hatred
By Ibsaa Nagawoo
In the annals of modern political history, few phenomena are as remarkable—and as dangerous—as the spectacle of ideological opposites joining forces against a common enemy. The far-right and far-left, whose philosophies on economics, governance, and the role of the state stand in irreconcilable opposition, sometimes find themselves on the same side of a political struggle. Their alliance, however, is not built on shared principles or a common vision for the future. It is built on a single, fragile foundation: shared enmity.
This is the political boat called “Tsimdo” (or Cimdii)—a vessel that carries strange passengers, navigates treacherous waters, and ultimately leads nowhere good for anyone aboard.
The Strange Alliance
“One of the surprising phenomena in modern world politics is the emergence of forces that fundamentally oppose each other in their political philosophy, economic policies, and views on the role of government, yet temporarily unite against a common enemy.”
This is not a new phenomenon, but it is one that has become increasingly visible in recent years. The left and right, traditionally locked in ideological struggle, discover that their hatred for a particular leader, government, or political direction outweighs their differences. They form a temporary alliance—an “unholy coalition” that promises to overthrow the common enemy but offers no coherent vision for what should come after.
“However, such alliances are often short-lived because they are based not on shared vision and common political principles, but on shared animosity.”
This is the fatal flaw of these coalitions. They are unions of convenience, not conviction. They can tear down, but they cannot build. They can oppose, but they cannot propose. They can unite in hatred, but they cannot govern in peace.
Ethiopia’s Own Experience
“Both world history and Ethiopia’s political history provide many examples that confirm this.”
In recent years, Ethiopia has witnessed this phenomenon in stark relief. The conflict between the federal government and the TPLF, and the alliances that formed around it, created some of the most improbable political marriages in the country’s history.
“In Ethiopia, this trend has been clearly seen in recent years. One can observe and analyze the strange political alliances formed during the TPLF provocation, the war between the Federal Government of Ethiopia and the TPLF, and the resulting unconventional political marriages.”
Groups that had spent decades opposing each other—ideologically, politically, and sometimes militarily—found themselves on the same side of a conflict. The shared goal of removing the TPLF from power created a temporary unity that papered over fundamental disagreements about Ethiopia’s political future.
The Unholy Alliance Against Oromo Gains
“The far-right and far-left extremist forces that shed crocodile tears in the name of the Oromo people, the Amhara, the Tigray, and the Ethiopian people—no matter how strong their unholy alliance becomes—the Oromo people will not easily surrender the political, economic, and legal rights they have won through long struggle and years of sacrifice.”
This is the central warning of the reflection: the Oromo people, who have fought for generations to secure their rights, are not about to hand them over to an alliance of convenience—whether that alliance claims to speak for the Oromo or not.
“The matter has become one of survival. And the victory achieved is not something that can be stolen through temporary political pressure or false propaganda.”
The Oromo struggle is not a passing phase or a fleeting moment of political mobilization. It is a deep, sustained, and principled movement that has survived decades of repression, co-optation, and marginalization. It will not be undone by an alliance whose only common ground is opposition to Oromo self-determination.
The Blindness of Some Oromo
“As the struggle of the Oromo people within Ethiopia has been strengthening and registering some victories, some Oromo individuals and groups who could not see—or refused to believe—that organized anti-Oromo sentiment had been building for a long time, have failed to understand that the exaggerated political hatred, character assassination, and coordinated propaganda campaign against the reformist Prime Minister Dr. Abiy Ahmed is ultimately not just about Dr. Abiy but about the Oromo as a whole.”
This is a painful truth that some Oromo have been reluctant to face. The campaign against Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed is not merely a personal vendetta against one individual. It is an attack on Oromo leadership, Oromo gains, and Oromo aspirations. The fact that some Oromo have joined in this campaign, or remained silent in the face of it, is a betrayal of the Oromo cause.
“Only they themselves can answer why this happened.”
The reflection leaves this question hanging in the air, inviting self-examination. Why have some Oromo joined forces with those who fundamentally oppose Oromo rights? Why have some remained silent when anti-Oromo rhetoric has reached dangerous levels? Why have some failed to see that the attack on one Oromo leader is an attack on all Oromo?
The Washington Statement and Its Aftermath
“There is one thing we all cannot forget. The statement by the international Fano ‘intellectuals’ that was read in Washington contained dangerous rhetoric: ‘We will return the Gallas to Madagascar.’ This is still being echoed by Mahayimannu Fano. This hate speech did not remain merely words—many believe it has found expression in acts of violence against innocent Oromo in various places, especially today in East Wollega and Dera.”
This is a chilling reminder of the stakes involved. The anti-Oromo rhetoric that has been circulating is not harmless—it has real-world consequences. Innocent Oromo people have been targeted, attacked, and killed. The words of hate have become acts of violence.
“The sad part is that some forces who call themselves ‘freedom fighters’ have silently covered up or overlooked this issue. This silence itself carries a major political message.”
The silence of those who claim to fight for freedom is deafening. When the self-proclaimed champions of liberation refuse to condemn violence against Oromo, they reveal their true priorities. Their silence is not neutrality—it is complicity.
The Poisoned Boat
“Some Oromo politicians and activists, having lost their own political direction, have found themselves unwittingly in the same political boat (Tsimbo) as Amhara extremist unitarist far-right extremists. Since this act conflicts with the common interest and political will of the Oromo people, it should be remembered as a political lesson and historical warning for generations.”
This is perhaps the most pointed criticism in the reflection: some Oromo have lost their way. They have abandoned the principles of Oromo liberation and joined forces with those who have historically opposed—and continue to oppose—Oromo rights.
“Any individual or political organization that organizes in the name of Oromo must distance itself from political ideologies, philosophies, and economic policies that divide the Oromo people. Any idea presented as a ‘political reality’ that weakens Oromo unity, if it conflicts with the interests of Oromia, Ethiopia, and the Oromo nation, should not be accepted.”
This is a clear call to Oromo political actors: know who you are, know what you stand for, and know who your true allies and enemies are. The lines must be drawn clearly. There is no room for ambiguity when the survival of the Oromo people is at stake.
A Call to Abandon the Boat
“Therefore, if you find yourself in this propaganda of organized anti-Oromo hatred, you should distance yourself from this destructive political boat (Tsimbo). This boat does not benefit the Oromo people—it represents hatred, division, and destructive ideologies. It is not too late to distance yourself from this extremist political direction; the beneficial thing is to stop it.”
This is a call to choose. A call to abandon the alliance of hatred and return to the principles of justice, self-determination, and unity. A call to recognize that the path of extremism leads nowhere good.
“It is not too late to distance yourself from this extremist political direction; the beneficial thing is to stop it.”
There is still time to turn back. There is still time to choose the path of dialogue, mutual respect, and peaceful political competition. There is still time to build rather than destroy.
The Role of External Forces
“Finally, this extremist political and war ‘Tsimbo’ is not just an internal problem—it can also be a tool for the interests and proxy wars of external forces, and it is targeted as such. Therefore, it does not bring lasting benefit to the Oromo, the Amhara, the Tigray, or other nations and nationalities, nor to the Ethiopian people in general.”
The reflection recognizes that the forces driving the “Tsimbo” are not purely domestic. External actors have their own interests in Ethiopia’s political landscape. They seek to exploit divisions, weaken the country, and advance their own agendas. The Tsimbo serves their purposes, not the purposes of the Ethiopian people.
“Therefore, I believe that abandoning this politics of hatred, division, and extremism and returning to dialogue, trust, and peaceful political competition is the beneficial path for everyone.”
This is a vision of hope: a return to politics as a means of resolving differences, not a weapon for destroying enemies. A return to the belief that dialogue and trust are possible. A return to the conviction that Ethiopia’s future will be built, not destroyed.
The Way Forward
“Ethiopia’s future destiny will not be found in an alliance based on hatred. The country’s lasting peace, stability, and democratic progress can only be ensured when they are based on constitutional supremacy, the rule of law, mutual respect, genuine democratic dialogue, and a shared national vision.”
This is the heart of the message: the future belongs not to those who hate, but to those who build. Not to those who divide, but to those who unite. Not to those who destroy, but to those who create.
“One truth, however, is clear: an alliance based on hatred may change a government, but it cannot build a country.”
This is a profound insight. The Tsimbo may succeed in its immediate objective—the removal of a particular leader or the overthrow of a particular government. But what then? What vision does it offer for the future? What principles will guide it? What foundation will it build upon?
The answer is: none. An alliance based solely on hatred can only destroy; it cannot create. It can tear down; it cannot build. It can oppose; it cannot govern.
Conclusion: A Choice to Make
The political boat called Tsimbo is a dangerous vessel. It carries those who have lost their way, those who have confused hatred for principle, those who have abandoned the struggle for justice in favor of the easier path of revenge.
But there is another path. The path of dialogue, trust, and peaceful political competition. The path that builds rather than destroys. The path that unites rather than divides. The path that leads to lasting peace, stability, and democracy.
The choice is clear. The time for choosing is now.
“An alliance based on hatred may change a government, but it cannot build a country.”
Let us choose to build. Let us choose to unite. Let us choose the path of peace, justice, and shared national vision.
May we all make the right choice.
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*The above feature article is based on the reflection of Ibsaa Nagawoo
Why Oromia Needs Oromo Truth-Telling
A nation cannot move forward while refusing to honestly face its past. The wounds of history will not heal until they are acknowledged, understood, and addressed.
There is a profound truth that echoes across cultures and continents, through generations and civilizations: a society that refuses to confront its past is condemned to repeat its mistakes. The wounds left unacknowledged do not heal—they fester. The stories left untold do not disappear—they haunt. The injustices left unaddressed do not fade—they endure.
For Oromia, the need for truth-telling is not a luxury. It is a necessity. It is the foundation upon which a just and equitable future must be built.
The Great Silence
Many Oromians were never taught the full history of colonisation.
This is not an accident. It is a deliberate choice—a systematic erasure designed to serve the interests of those who benefit from the continued subjugation of the Oromo people.
Generations of Oromo children have grown up learning history through the lens of the colonizer. They have been taught to celebrate conquerors while mourning the victims. They have learned the names of emperors and generals while remaining ignorant of the heroes who resisted. They have memorized the dates of battles while never understanding the human cost of those wars.
The history of colonisation is not a distant, academic subject. It is the story of how Oromia became what it is today. It is the story of how our grandparents’ grandparents lost their land, their freedom, and their way of life. It is the story of how the very fabric of our society was torn apart and rewoven according to the designs of others.
The Unlearned Lessons
The gaps in Oromo historical education are vast and consequential. Consider what has been left untaught:
Frontier Violence: The wars of conquest that swept through Oromia in the late 19th century were not gentle expansions—they were brutal campaigns of subjugation, marked by massacre, displacement, and destruction on an unimaginable scale. The stories of villages burned, families torn apart, and communities annihilated have been systematically silenced.
Stolen Land and Culture: The land of Oromia did not come to its current configuration through peaceful negotiation. It was taken—through force, through deception, through the imposition of alien legal systems that recognized neither the land rights nor the humanity of the Oromo people. Along with the land, the culture was attacked—the language forbidden, the traditions suppressed, the identity denied.
The Colonisation: Oromo colonisation is a unique and often misunderstood phenomenon. It was not a conquest from across the sea, but from within the continent—an African empire building itself upon the subjugation of other African peoples. This internal colonisation has been particularly insidious, as it has been denied, minimized, and even celebrated as “national unity.”
The Marginalised Generations: Not all Oromo experienced colonisation in the same way. Some were displaced; others were co-opted. Some were killed; others were enslaved. But generations of Oromo have lived under the shadow of this system—their opportunities limited, their voices silenced, their potential unrealized.
The Laws That Controlled Oromo Lives: The legal and administrative structures of colonisation were not neutral instruments—they were tools of control. From the forced labor systems to the land tenure regimes, from the restrictions on movement to the prohibitions on cultural expression, the laws of the Ethiopian Empire were designed to maintain Oromo subjugation.
The Past Is Not Past
Those events are not disconnected from the present. Their impacts can still be seen in families, communities, and institutions today.
The colonisation of Oromia is not a chapter of history that ended with independence or the signing of a treaty. Its effects continue to ripple through time, shaping the lives of Oromo people in ways both obvious and subtle.
In Families: The trauma of colonisation has been passed down through generations. The loss of land, the separation of families, the suppression of culture—these experiences have created patterns of pain that continue to manifest in family dysfunction, mental health challenges, and the intergenerational transmission of trauma.
In Communities: The divisions created by colonisation persist in the social fabric of Oromo communities. The legacy of divide-and-rule policies, of co-opting some Oromo against others, of creating hierarchies that served the colonizer—these continue to affect how Oromo relate to each other.
In Institutions: The colonial structures that were imposed on Oromia have not disappeared. They have been transformed, repurposed, and rebranded, but they remain—the legal systems, the administrative frameworks, the educational institutions, the economic structures. They continue to reflect the priorities and power dynamics of their colonial origins.
The Power of Truth-Telling
Oromo Truth-telling creates a shared understanding of how Oromia became the country it is.
Truth-telling is not about assigning blame or dwelling on grievances. It is about creating a common foundation of understanding upon which a just future can be built. It is about giving the Oromo people the tools they need to understand their own history and to chart their own destiny.
It allows Oromo voices to be heard instead of having our history explained for us.
For too long, the story of Oromia has been told by others—by conquerors who justified their actions, by governments that denied their crimes, by academics who studied Oromo from a comfortable distance. Oromo truth-telling reclaims the narrative. It gives Oromo people the opportunity to tell their own story, in their own words, from their own perspective.
This is not an act of aggression—it is an act of liberation.
From Understanding to Action
It is not about living in the past. It is about understanding the past so Oromia can build a fairer future.
Truth-telling is not about dwelling on grievances or nurturing resentments. It is about clearing the ground upon which a new society can be built. Just as a building cannot be constructed on a foundation of lies, a just society cannot be built on a denial of history.
To build a fairer future, Oromia must first understand:
- How the land was taken
- How the people were divided
- How the culture was suppressed
- How the institutions were designed
- How the wounds were inflicted
Only with this understanding can the work of healing truly begin. Only with this knowledge can the cycle of injustice be broken.
The Moral Imperative
You cannot heal what you refuse to acknowledge.
This is perhaps the most profound truth of all. Denial is not healing—it is a form of imprisonment. By refusing to acknowledge the past, we remain trapped in its patterns. By denying the wounds, we prevent their treatment. By silencing the stories, we perpetuate the suffering.
For Oromia, the refusal to acknowledge the history of colonisation has come at a tremendous cost. It has allowed the perpetrators to avoid accountability. It has denied the victims the recognition they deserve. It has prevented the healing that is possible only when the truth is spoken.
The moral imperative is clear: the truth must be told.
The Process of Truth-Telling
What would Oromo truth-telling look like? It would be:
Comprehensive: It would address the full scope of Oromo experience—the wars of conquest, the land dispossession, the cultural suppression, the legal discrimination, the economic exploitation.
Inclusive: It would center Oromo voices and perspectives, particularly those of the marginalized and the vulnerable. It would create space for all Oromo to share their experiences and their wisdom.
Courageous: It would face the difficult truths—the collaboration of some Oromo with the colonizer, the divisions that were created and exploited, the internal conflicts that weakened the resistance.
Forward-looking: It would be oriented toward building a better future—one that learns from the past without being imprisoned by it, one that acknowledges the wounds while working toward healing, one that seeks justice without perpetuating cycles of revenge.
Truthful: It would be honest about what happened and what continues to happen. It would not sanitize, minimize, or deny.
The Role of Oromo Journalism
The work of Oromo truth-telling has been carried forward by Oromo journalists, writers, and historians. From the early pioneers who risked imprisonment to publish in Afaan Oromo to the modern scholars who document the full scope of Oromo history, Oromo truth-tellers have kept the story alive.
Bariisaa, Yeroo, the Voice of Oromo Liberation—these and countless other Oromo media have been instruments of truth-telling, shining light into the darkness of suppression, giving voice to the voiceless, and preserving the memory of the Oromo people.
Oromo journalism is not just about reporting the news—it is about telling the truth. It is about documenting the history that others would erase, speaking the words that others would silence, and bearing witness to the experiences that others would deny.
The Healing Power of Truth
Truth-telling is not an end in itself—it is a beginning. It is the necessary first step on the long road to healing.
When Oromo history is finally told—in all its complexity and pain—it will not be an act of revenge. It will be an act of liberation. It will free the Oromo people from the burden of carrying a history they do not understand. It will free future generations from the weight of secrets and lies. It will create the conditions for genuine healing, reconciliation, and justice.
Truth-telling is not about keeping wounds open—it is about allowing them to heal properly. It is not about dwelling in the past—it is about building a future that is not haunted by it.
A Call to the Oromo People
The call to truth-telling is not a call to despair—it is a call to courage. It is a call to face the difficult truths of our history so that we can build a better future for our children and grandchildren.
It is a call to:
- Learn the history that was denied to us
- Speak the truth that was silenced
- Listen to the voices that were marginalized
- Remember the stories that were forgotten
- Heal the wounds that were ignored
- Build the future that is our birthright
The truth may be painful, but it is also liberating. The truth may be difficult, but it is also healing. The truth may be resisted, but it is also inevitable.
A Call to the International Community
The truth-telling imperative extends beyond Oromia. The international community has a role to play in supporting Oromo truth-telling, in recognizing the history of colonisation, and in working toward justice.
This is not about intervening in domestic affairs—it is about upholding universal principles of human rights, dignity, and justice. It is about recognizing that the past has not passed, that the impacts of colonisation continue to be felt, and that justice cannot be achieved without truth.
For Oromia to heal, the truth must be told. For Oromia to move forward, the past must be acknowledged. For Oromia to be free, the history of colonisation must be understood.
Conclusion: The Unfinished Work
The work of Oromo truth-telling is unfinished. It has been carried forward by generations of courageous individuals who refused to be silenced, who risked everything to tell the truth, who believed that justice would ultimately prevail.
We who stand today are the inheritors of that legacy. We are the ones who must complete the work. We are the ones who must tell the truth.
For the children who will grow up knowing their history—not the version sanitized by colonizers, but the full, complex, painful, and beautiful truth. For the communities that will finally understand how they were divided and how they can be healed. For the institutions that can be reformed and rebuilt on a foundation of justice. For the future that can be fairer and more equitable than the past.
You cannot heal what you refuse to acknowledge.
Let us acknowledge. Let us understand. Let us heal. Let us build.
“Oromo Truth-telling creates a shared understanding of how Oromia became the country it is. It allows Oromo voices to be heard instead of having our history explained for us. It is not about living in the past. It is about understanding the past so Oromia can build a fairer future.”
The work continues. The truth will be told. And Oromia will be free.
Carrying the Torch: 50 Years of the Oromo Freedom Struggle
Reflecting on half a century of resistance, resilience, and the unbreakable spirit of a people
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On a quiet day in 2023, as the world continues to spin through its cycles of change and upheaval, the Oromo people pause to mark a profound milestone. Fifty years have passed since the Oromo Liberation Struggle formally began its modern political and armed phase. The commemoration, held under the theme “50 Years of Oromo Freedom Struggle,” is not merely a glance backward at the pages of history. It is a declaration—a powerful affirmation that the strength of the past must be carried forward into the future.
As the saying goes, “Kunis waan nu ibsuu fi nu boonsu tokko akka baatee jiru mirkaneessa” —this confirms that there is something that defines us and makes us proud. Indeed, there is.
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A People of Ancient Heritage
To understand the significance of this fifty-year mark, one must first appreciate the depth from which the Oromo struggle springs. The Oromo are not a recent invention of political convenience; they are the custodians of one of the oldest and most sophisticated cultural civilizations in the world.
The Gadaa system, a traditional democratic governance structure that has guided Oromo society for centuries, stands as a testament to their organizational genius. Long before modern democracies adopted the principles of checks and balances, term limits, and participatory governance, the Oromo had perfected these ideals through Gadaa. Every eight years, power would transfer peacefully from one generation to the next—a cycle of leadership renewal that ensured accountability and collective decision-making.
Then there is Waaqeffannaa, the indigenous Oromo belief system that reveres a single supreme being, Waaqa (God), and emphasizes harmony with nature, truth, and justice. The annual Irreecha festival, celebrated at sacred lakes and hilltops, is not merely a cultural event but a spiritual renewal—a thanksgiving for life, health, and the blessings of creation. Millions gather to raise their hands in prayer, adorned in traditional attire, singing songs that have echoed across the ages.
This is the Oromo identity: ancient, proud, and resilient. A civilization that has survived empires, invasions, and attempts at erasure. It is this identity that the freedom struggle seeks to protect and restore.
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The Unfinished Story
The Oromo freedom struggle, as formally recognized in its modern phase over the past fifty years, is not a story of violence for its own sake. It is a story of a people demanding what is rightfully theirs: recognition, dignity, self-determination, and a place at the table of nations.
The archives of this struggle are filled with names that will never be forgotten. Some are written in blood, others in ink, but all are etched in the collective memory of the Oromo people. This struggle has chronicled a history of heroism that refuses to conclude—a narrative that continues to unfold with each passing year.
What makes this struggle unique is its deeply rooted cultural foundation. The Oromo are not fighting to create something new; they are fighting to reclaim something old. They are fighting to ensure that the Gadaa principles of justice, the Waaqeffannaa values of truth, and the Irreecha spirit of thanksgiving are not confined to textbooks or tourist brochures but are lived realities for future generations.
“Qabsoon Bilisummaa Oromoo seenaa boonsaa himamee hin dhumne galmeessee jira” —The Oromo liberation struggle has recorded a history of heroism that has not yet concluded. Indeed, it is a living document, written anew with every act of courage, every song of resistance, and every child raised to know their heritage.
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A Story for All Generations
Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of this commemoration is its recognition that the struggle transcends any single generation. It is a legacy passed down from grandparents to parents, from parents to children. It is a story that is sung in lullabies, debated in classrooms, and whispered in prayers.
“Kun barayyuu dhalootaan kan leellifamuu fi faarfamuu dha” —This is a story that will be praised and sung by future generations. It is not a chapter to be closed but an anthem to be repeated, a lesson to be taught, and a flame to be kept alive.
The young Oromo today carry the weight of this legacy, but they also carry the hope. They are the ones who will take the baton from the veterans of the struggle and run the next lap. They are the ones who will ensure that the dream of a free, dignified, and prosperous Oromia becomes more than a slogan—it becomes reality.
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Looking Ahead with Strength
As the Oromo people mark fifty years, they do so with a clear-eyed understanding of the road ahead. Challenges remain immense. The struggle is far from over. But the very act of commemorating half a century is itself an act of defiance—a declaration that the Oromo are still standing, still resisting, and still believing.
The world has witnessed the resilience of the Oromo. From the highlands to the lowlands, from the cities to the countryside, the spirit of Oromia remains indomitable. The freedom struggle is not merely a political movement; it is a cultural renaissance, a spiritual awakening, and a moral imperative.
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Conclusion
Fifty years. It is a number that carries weight—the weight of sacrifice, the weight of hope, and the weight of an unfinished journey. The Oromo freedom struggle has been a long and arduous road, paved with both tears and triumphs. But as the Oromo gather to reflect on this milestone, they do not do so with bitterness or despair. They do so with the quiet confidence of a people who know who they are and what they deserve.
The theme “50 Years of Oromo Freedom Struggle” is not just about honouring the past. It is about carrying that strength forward, about ensuring that the next fifty years will be marked by even greater progress and eventual victory. It is about making sure that the Gadaa, the Waaqeffannaa, and the Irreecha remain not just memories but living traditions that guide the Oromo into a brighter tomorrow.
The Oromo story is one of the great epics of human history—a story of endurance, culture, and the unquenchable thirst for freedom. And as long as there are Oromo to tell it, sing it, and live it, that story will never end. It will be praised and sung by future generations, as it deserves to be.
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“Qabsoon keenya bilisummaa fi mirga namaa kan mata keenyaati. Kun hidhannoo keenyatti amanuufi dhaloota dabarsuuti.”
“Our struggle is for freedom and human rights. This is our commitment to the future and to the generations to come.”
The Weight of Struggle: Why We Must Honor, Not Diminish, the Oromo Journey
Those who have walked the long road—through displacement, persecution, and sacrifice—deserve our deepest respect, not our casual dismissal
There is a dangerous tendency in our time—a habit of diminishing the sacrifices of those who came before us. It is easy to dismiss the struggles of others when we have not walked in their shoes, easy to minimize their pain when we have not felt its weight, easy to judge their choices when we have not faced their impossible dilemmas.
The reflection before us offers a powerful corrective to this tendency. It calls us to recognize the immense journey that the Oromo people have traveled—the trials they have endured, the sacrifices they have made, and the dignity they have maintained despite everything.
A People on the Move
“Nama Oromoo bu’aa bahii hedduu keessa darbuun har’a gahe, xiqqeessuu fi salphisuun faayidaan argamu hin jiru; jiraatus yoo nutti hafe wayya.”
The Oromo person who has passed through many trials to reach today—there is no benefit in belittling or diminishing them. Even if something remains, it would be better if it were left to us.
This statement is a profound meditation on the relationship between generations. It recognizes that the Oromo people have endured extraordinary hardships—centuries of colonization, decades of cultural suppression, generations of displacement, and waves of brutal repression.
The Oromo who stand before us today are the products of that struggle. They carry the scars of battles fought long before we were born. They speak with voices that have known silence, cry with eyes that have seen too much, and hope with hearts that have been broken and rebuilt countless times.
To diminish them is to diminish ourselves. To belittle their achievements is to belittle the very foundation upon which we stand.
The Journey of Exile
“Oromoon hedduun imala godaansaa keessatti gidiraa hedduu keessa darban.”
Many Oromo have passed through great difficulties during their journey of displacement. The Oromo diaspora is not a story of voluntary migration—it is a story of flight, of seeking refuge from persecution, of leaving everything behind to preserve life itself.
The Oromo exile began long before the modern era. Generations of Oromo have been forced to flee their homeland—escaping war, famine, political repression, and the systematic destruction of their communities. They have crossed borders, oceans, and continents in search of safety.
This is not a journey of choice. It is a journey of survival. And every Oromo who has made this journey carries with them the weight of what they have lost and the hope of what they might yet find.
Trials by Fire
“Biyya baqannaa keessatti qormaata hedduuf saaxilanii darban.”
In the lands of refuge, they have faced countless trials. The experience of exile is not a simple escape from danger—it is an entry into new forms of struggle. Oromo refugees and migrants have faced xenophobia, discrimination, economic exploitation, cultural isolation, and the constant anxiety of uncertain legal status.
They have had to rebuild their lives from nothing—learning new languages, adapting to new cultures, accepting menial jobs that their education and skills should have surpassed. They have been separated from families, disconnected from communities, and forced to navigate systems that were never designed for them.
And yet they have persisted. They have built new communities in foreign lands. They have preserved their language, their culture, and their identity against all odds. They have sent remittances home to support the struggle. They have educated their children, established organizations, and kept the flame of Oromo identity burning bright.
The Danger of Diminishment
“Qormaata isaan mudatee fi keessa darban kan akka tasaa ykn beekaa nu harka gale baafnee ittiin isaan salphisuu fi xiqqeessuuf yaaluun akka naamusa hojiittis akka safuu hojiittis fudhatama hin qabu.”
To try to belittle and diminish the trials they have endured and passed through—by claiming that we have miraculously or knowingly achieved what they could not—is unacceptable as a matter of both professional ethics and moral decency.
The reflection speaks directly to a troubling phenomenon: the tendency of some to dismiss the struggles of earlier generations, to claim that they somehow would have done better, or to minimize the sacrifices that made current achievements possible.
This is not merely disrespectful—it is historically and morally wrong.
Those who walked the path before us faced challenges we cannot fully comprehend. They operated under conditions we have never experienced. They made choices with limited information and in impossible circumstances. Their achievements, whatever their limitations, are the foundation upon which our current position is built.
The Ethics of Respect
The reflection argues that belittling the struggles of others is unacceptable for two reasons:
First, as a matter of professional ethics—”naamusa hojii” —there is a standard of conduct that requires us to respect the work of those who came before. In any field, to dismiss the contributions of predecessors is to reject the very tradition that made our own work possible.
Second, as a matter of moral decency—”safuu hojii” —there is a basic human obligation to honor the sacrifices of others. To diminish someone’s suffering is a form of violence. To deny someone’s struggle is a form of erasure.
Those who have sacrificed for the Oromo cause deserve our gratitude, not our judgment. They deserve our respect, not our condescension. They deserve to be honored, not diminished.
Lessons for the Current Generation
The reflection offers several important lessons for those of us who inherit the legacy of the Oromo struggle:
1. Recognition: We must recognize that our current position—whatever it may be—is built upon the foundations laid by others. We did not create Oromo identity; we inherited it. We did not invent the Oromo struggle; we continue it.
2. Humility: We must approach the achievements of earlier generations with humility. We may have advantages they did not—better technology, more resources, greater international awareness—but we also face challenges they did not. Neither generation is superior; each has played its part.
3. Gratitude: We must be grateful for the sacrifices of those who came before. Every Oromo who can read and write in Afaan Oromo today owes a debt to those who risked imprisonment to publish in the language. Every Oromo who can express pride in their identity owes a debt to those who were tortured for doing the same.
4. Continuity: We must understand that we are part of a continuing story. The Oromo struggle did not begin with us, and it will not end with us. Our role is to carry forward the legacy, to build upon the foundations, and to pass on something better to those who will come after.
The Unfinished Journey
“Nama Oromoo bu’aa bahii hedduu keessa darbuun har’a gahe…”
The Oromo person who has passed through many trials to reach today—this is not a description of a completed journey. It is a description of a journey still underway.
The Oromo people are still struggling. They are still fighting for recognition, for rights, for self-determination. They are still facing oppression, discrimination, and violence. The fact that some have found refuge in other countries does not mean the struggle is over. The fact that some have achieved success in exile does not mean the homeland is free.
Each generation has its role to play. Each generation faces its own challenges. And each generation must honor the sacrifices of those who made its own achievements possible.
The Weight of Legacy
The reflection calls us to consider the weight of what we have inherited. The Oromo people have a long and painful history—a history of colonization, suppression, exile, and struggle. But it is also a history of resilience, resistance, cultural preservation, and hope.
When we diminish the struggles of those who came before, we diminish the entire Oromo story. When we belittle their achievements, we belittle the foundation upon which our own identity is built.
Instead, we should approach the Oromo journey with reverence—understanding that every scar tells a story, every sacrifice has meaning, and every achievement is a victory against overwhelming odds.
The Call to Unity
At its heart, this reflection is a call to unity—a call to recognize that we are all part of the same story, that we are all connected by the same struggle, that we all owe a debt to those who came before.
To dismiss the struggles of earlier generations is to divide the Oromo community. It is to create false hierarchies between generations. It is to claim that some are more authentic, more committed, or more deserving than others.
This is a dangerous path. It leads to fragmentation, resentment, and the weakening of the collective struggle. It serves only the interests of the oppressor, who benefits when the oppressed are divided.
Conclusion
“Nama Oromoo bu’aa bahii hedduu keessa darbuun har’a gahe, xiqqeessuu fi salphisuun faayidaan argamu hin jiru; jiraatus yoo nutti hafe wayya.”
The Oromo person who has passed through many trials to reach today—there is no benefit in belittling or diminishing them. Even if something remains, it would be better if it were left to us.
This is a statement of respect. It is a statement of gratitude. It is a statement of continuity.
We who inherit the Oromo legacy must approach it with humility. We must recognize that we stand on the shoulders of giants—of those who preserved the language when it was forbidden, who kept the culture alive when it was suppressed, who fought for justice when it was dangerous, and who maintained hope when all seemed lost.
Let us honor their sacrifices. Let us build upon their foundations. Let us continue their struggle. And let us never forget that we are part of a long and noble tradition—a tradition of resilience, resistance, and the unwavering pursuit of freedom.
“Nama Oromoo bu’aa bahii hedduu keessa darbuun har’a gahe…”
The Oromo person who has passed through many trials to reach today…
May we always honor that journey. May we always respect that struggle. And may we always remember that we are the inheritors of a legacy that demands our deepest gratitude and our most dedicated service.
The journey continues. The struggle endures. And the story of the Oromo people will be told with the dignity it deserves.
The Oromo Question: Beyond the Tongue and Into the Hands
By Daandii Ragabaa
There is a moment in the life of every nation when words are no longer enough. When the poetry of identity must translate into the prose of action. When the comfort of speaking like a people must give way to the discipline of living like that people.
The Oromo nation stands at that crossroads today.
A sharp and unsettling observation cuts through the community: “Amma illee namoonni hedduun akka Oromootti dubbatan, malee akka Oromootti hojjataa hin jiran. Namoota akka Oromootti yaadanii, akka Oromootti hojjatan hedduu nu barbaachisa. Waan Oromoof furmaata fidu hojjadha; Oromoo ta’a!”
Translated, it reads: “Even now, many people speak like Oromos, but they do not act like Oromos. We need many people who think like Oromos and act like Oromos. Do what brings a solution to Oromos; be Oromo!”
This is not a statement of despair. It is a declaration of accountability. It is the sound of a people waking from the dream of rhetoric and stepping into the reality of responsibility.
The Crisis of Performance
There is a dangerous phenomenon that plagues nations in struggle: the widening chasm between speech and action. It is easy to speak the language of resistance. It is fashionable to adopt the symbols of identity. It is comfortable to gather in crowds and chant the slogans of liberation.
But speaking like an Oromo is not the same as being an Oromo.
To speak like an Oromo is to know the words. To be an Oromo is to embody the values. To speak like an Oromo is to recite the grievances. To be an Oromo is to engineer the solutions.
The observation rings true across the Oromo world—from the villages of Wallo to the streets of Minneapolis, from the universities of Adama to the refugee camps of Kenya. There is no shortage of Oromo voices. There is a shortage of Oromo hands. There is no shortage of Oromo critics. There is a shortage of Oromo builders.
The Anatomy of Authentic Oromo Action
What does it mean to act like an Oromo? The answer lies not in grand gestures, but in the quiet architecture of daily life.
1. The Economics of Liberation
An Oromo who acts like an Oromo does not just lament economic marginalization—they build alternatives. They support Oromo-owned businesses. They create cooperative financial institutions. They invest in Oromo education. They understand that economic dependency is the leash of oppression, and they work tirelessly to break it.
2. The Politics of Organization
An Oromo who acts like an Oromo does not just attend rallies—they organize communities. They build institutions that outlast individuals. They develop systems of governance that reflect the principles of the Gadaa—consensus, accountability, and the rotation of power. They move from protest to program.
3. The Culture of Excellence
An Oromo who acts like an Oromo does not just celebrate Oromo culture—they excel in their chosen field. They become the finest doctors, engineers, lawyers, teachers, artists, and entrepreneurs. They understand that mediocrity is not a mark of authenticity; excellence is. They know that the world respects competence, and they refuse to give the world any reason to dismiss them.
4. The Discipline of Unity
An Oromo who acts like an Oromo does not just talk about unity—they practice it. They subordinate personal ambition to collective good. They reject the divisive whispers of clan, region, and religion. They recognize that the enemy’s greatest weapon is fragmentation, and they refuse to hand them that weapon.
Thinking Like an Oromo: The Intellectual Foundation
But action without thought is blind. The call is not just for action, but for Oromo thought—a philosophy that guides the hand.
To think like an Oromo is to recognize that the struggle is not a sprint but a marathon. It is to understand that liberation is not a single event but a process. It is to reject the false binary of “either/or” and embrace the Oromo genius of “both/and”—both culture and modernity, both tradition and innovation, both resistance and construction.
To think like an Oromo is to root oneself in the history of the ancestors while planting seeds for generations yet unborn. It is to understand that the Gadaa system was not just a political structure but a way of knowing—a methodology for solving problems, managing resources, and building consensus.
To think like an Oromo is to know that the enemy is not just outside the community but can also reside within. It is to be vigilant against the internal forces of corruption, greed, and short-term thinking that have crippled so many liberation movements.
The Urgent Need: Builders Over Talkers
The statement is clear: “Namoota akka Oromootti yaadanii, akka Oromootti hojjatan hedduu nu barbaachisa.” — “We need many people who think like Oromos and act like Oromos.”
This is not a call for blind nationalism. It is a call for strategic nationalism. It is a recognition that the Oromo nation has been blessed with orators but cursed with a shortage of engineers. We have been rich in poets but poor in planners. We have been abundant in critics but scarce in builders.
The time has come to recalibrate. The Oromo people do not need more voices—they need more hands. They do not need more slogans—they need more systems. They do not need more promises—they need more proof.
The Call to Action
The final charge is both a command and an invitation: “Waan Oromoof furmaata fidu hojjadha; Oromoo ta’a!” — “Do what brings a solution to Oromos; be Oromo!”
This is the ultimate definition of Oromo identity. It is not found in bloodline alone. It is not found in language alone. It is found in the relentless pursuit of solutions. It is found in the refusal to accept the status quo. It is found in the determination to build a future worthy of the ancestors and deserving of the children.
To be Oromo is to solve problems. To be Oromo is to build institutions. To be Oromo is to live the values of Gadaa—justice, peace, and collective well-being. To be Oromo is to act like an Oromo, not just speak like one.
The Unfinished Revolution
The Oromo nation stands at a pivotal moment in its history. The opportunities are immense. The challenges are immense. And the need for authentic, thinking, acting Oromos has never been greater.
The tongue is a gift. But the hand is a choice. The voice is a blessing. But the action is a legacy.
Let us not be a people of words alone. Let us be a people of works. Let us not be a nation of spectators. Let us be a nation of participants. Let us not wait for solutions to come from elsewhere. Let us be the solution.
“Namni of hin beekne, nama hin beeku” — “He who does not know himself, cannot know others.”
And those who know themselves—truly know themselves—do not just speak their identity. They live it. They build it. They become it.
Oromoo ta’aa! Be Oromo—not in word only, but in deed. Not in tongue only, but in truth.
—
The ink of identity is washed away by time. But the architecture of action stands forever.
From Supplication to Power: The Unfinished Revolution of Empowerment
By Dhabessa Wakjira
There is a moment in every struggle, a tipping point that shifts the narrative from one of passive suffering to one of active agency. For many across the globe—from the rural villages of Oromia to the urban sprawls of the diaspora—that moment is captured in a powerful, defiant axiom:
“Waan nu godhan otuu hin taane, waan barbaadnu himachuu fi dhaadhessuu qabna. Kun empowerment theory dha.”
Translated from the Afaan Oromo, it means: “We are not what they make us; we have the power to ask for and get what we want. This is empowerment theory.”
This is not merely a statement; it is a declaration of intellectual and political sovereignty. It is the sound of a people moving from the margins to the center of their own destiny, guided by the principles of a theory that has reshaped social work, psychology, and community development worldwide.
The Core of the Theory: Rejecting the Script
At its heart, the statement dismantles the foundational myth of the “victim.” Empowerment theory, as pioneered by scholars like Julian Rappaport and Barbara Solomon, posits that problems are not located within individuals, but within the power structures that surround them.
The phrase “waan nu godhan”—”what they make us”—is a stark acknowledgment of systemic oppression. It names the elephant in the room: the historical, economic, and social forces that attempt to define a person’s limits based on ethnicity, gender, or class. To reject that label is the first act of liberation.
The theory argues that true change cannot be granted from the top down; it must be built from the bottom up. It shifts the focus from “fixing” people to providing them with the tools, resources, and confidence to navigate and challenge the systems that marginalize them.
The Art of Asking and Achieving: Himachuu fi Dhaadhessuu
The second part of the statement—“waan barbaadnu himachuu fi dhaadhessuu qabna” (we can ask for and get what we want)—is the action phase. In the context of empowerment, “asking” is not a sign of weakness. It is the strategic articulation of need. It is the demand for a seat at the table, the request for equity, and the negotiation for justice.
However, the theory recognizes that “asking” is not enough. The subsequent element—dhaadhessuu (achieving)—requires capacity building. It involves:
· Access to Information: Knowing your rights, understanding the bureaucracy, and demystifying the systems of power.
· Critical Awareness: The “conscientization” process described by Paulo Freire, where people analyze their social reality to understand the root causes of their oppression.
· Collective Action: Recognizing that individual empowerment is fragile, but community empowerment is resilient.
A Global Context, A Local Identity
While empowerment theory is a global framework, its application is deeply personal. For the Oromo people, a nation with a rich heritage but a history of political marginalization, this statement is a codified resilience.
It is the local farmer using modern agricultural techniques to break the cycle of dependency. It is the youth in the diaspora reclaiming their language and history. It is the mother organizing a cooperative to provide for her children, not through charity, but through enterprise.
Dr. Kene Gemechu, a sociologist specializing in Horn of Africa studies, notes, “This isn’t just about economic upliftment. It’s psychological decolonization. When you say, ‘I am not what you made me,’ you are reclaiming the narrative. Empowerment theory gives the vocabulary to that experience, validating that the struggle for agency is as important as the struggle for food.”
The Path Forward: From Theory to Praxis
The beauty of empowerment theory is that it is inherently a practice. It manifests in various forms:
· In Education: Curricula that reflect the culture and history of the students, rather than a foreign narrative.
· In Economics: Microfinance initiatives and cooperative models that give communities control over their capital.
· In Governance: Participatory budgeting and community policing that treat citizens as partners, not subjects.
The challenge, however, is systemic backlash. Empowerment is disruptive. It challenges those who benefit from the status quo. The struggle of dhaadhessuu (achievement) is often met with resistance, requiring an even greater resolve from the community.
Conclusion: The Loudest Voice
In the end, the theory has a simple, yet profound, conclusion: power is not a finite resource to be hoarded; it is an infinite resource to be generated.
The statement “waan nu godhan otuu hin taane” is a shield against despair. It is the refusal to internalize the lie of inferiority. And the call to “waan barbaadnu himachuu fi dhaadhessuu” is the sword of agency.
This is the essence of empowerment. It is not about asking for permission; it is about declaring your existence. It is the understanding that the voice of the people is louder than the silence of oppression.
As the Oromo proverb goes, “Namni of hin beekne, nama hin beeku”—”He who does not know himself, cannot know others.”
And those who know themselves, know their power. They know that they are not what they are made to be, but what they dare to become.
Advocacy for Oromia 