Category Archives: mental health

Beyond the Title: A Social Worker’s Journey of Service and Liberation

By Dhabessa Wakjira


Introduction: More Than a Profession

There are moments in life when a career becomes a calling—when the work you do ceases to be simply a job and transforms into an expression of who you are. For me, that moment came when I realised that being a Social Worker is not just about earning a degree or holding a title. It is a profound commitment to serve with compassion, to advocate for justice, and to stand beside those who need support the most.

I am Dhabessa Wakjira, and I am proud to be a Social Worker in the making.


The Heart of Social Work

What does it truly mean to be a Social Worker? It means waking up each day with a purpose that extends beyond personal gain. It means choosing to be a voice for the voiceless, a shield for the vulnerable, and a bridge for those who feel isolated from the world around them.

Social Work is rooted in the belief that every person matters—regardless of their background, their struggles, or their circumstances. It is a profession that:

  • Gives hope to the vulnerable and marginalised
  • Empowers individuals and families to find their strength
  • Protects children’s rights and ensures their safety
  • Strengthens communities from within
  • Reminds people that they are seen, heard, and valued

Every life touched, every voice heard, every child protected, and every family empowered is a step toward a better society. These are not just words on a page—they are the daily realities of those who choose this path.


Who I Am

Allow me to reintroduce myself.

My name is Dhabessa Wakjira, and I carry my identity with pride. I am an Oromo, and I am a Social Worker. These two truths are not separate—they are woven together into the fabric of who I am and what I stand for.

In my work and in my life, I choose:

  • Empathy over judgment — Understanding that every person carries a story I have not lived
  • Service over status — Recognising that true worth lies not in titles but in impact
  • Impact over recognition — Knowing that the change I help create matters more than the credit I receive

These are not abstract ideals. They are the compass that guides my daily actions.


What I Do

As a Social Worker, I am called to:

  1. Empower — Helping individuals and communities discover their own strength and capacity for change
  2. Protect — Safeguarding the rights and well-being of children, families, and vulnerable groups
  3. Support — Walking alongside people in their times of greatest need
  4. Educate — Sharing knowledge that equips others to advocate for themselves
  5. Mobilise — Bringing communities together to address shared challenges
  6. Care — Offering compassion and humanity in every interaction
  7. Organise — Creating systems and structures that uplift rather than oppress
  8. Collaborate — Building partnerships that amplify the impact of service
  9. Serve — Placing the needs of others at the centre of my work

Each of these actions is a deliberate choice—a commitment to creating positive change, one person, one family, and one community at a time.


The Intersection of Identity and Purpose

There is a phrase that I carry close to my heart: “Oromo Freedom Fighter isn’t just what I do—it’s who I am.”

For me, this is not a contradiction to my work as a Social Worker—it is an extension of it. The fight for Oromo liberation and the fight for social justice are intertwined. When I advocate for the rights of children, families, and communities, I am also contributing to the broader struggle for freedom, dignity, and self-determination.

Social Work is, at its core, about addressing the systems and structures that perpetuate inequality and suffering. It is about recognising that individual struggles are often rooted in larger historical and political realities. To be an Oromo Social Worker is to understand that the path to healing requires not only individual support but also collective liberation.


The Journey Ahead

I am still a Social Worker in the making—and that is a truth I embrace. Every day brings new lessons, new challenges, and new opportunities to grow. I am learning to hold space for the pain of others while also tending to my own. I am learning to navigate systems that are often broken while never losing sight of the humanity they are meant to serve.

I am learning that change is slow, and that patience is a form of strength. I am learning that even when progress feels invisible, every act of compassion plants a seed that will one day bloom.


A Call to the World

To anyone who reads this, I offer this reflection: Social Work is not a profession reserved for the few. It is a way of being that we can all embody—in our families, in our neighbourhoods, in our daily encounters with strangers. You do not need a degree to choose kindness. You do not need a title to stand up for what is right.

But for those who do choose this path—who answer the call to serve—know that you are part of something greater than yourself. You are part of a legacy of compassion, resistance, and hope that stretches across generations and continents.


Conclusion: Here’s to Change

Here’s to creating positive change, one person, one family, and one community at a time. 💜

Here’s to the vulnerable who teach us resilience. Here’s to the families who trust us with their stories. Here’s to the children whose futures we are fighting to protect. Here’s to the Oromo people and to all peoples who continue to struggle for freedom and dignity.

I am Dhabessa Wakjira. I am a Social Worker in the making. I am an Oromo Freedom Fighter. And I believe—with every fibre of my being—that a more just world is possible.


“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” — Mahatma Gandhi

A Response from Within: Correcting the Narrative on Ethiopia’s National Dialogue

A four-year participant challenges the critique that the National Dialogue began with the “wrong first question,” offering a detailed defence of the process and an invitation for critics to join the table.


ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA — In the ongoing public debate over Ethiopia’s National Dialogue, one critique has stood out: that the process began with the wrong question, focusing on divisions rather than shared aspirations. Mr Kebour Ghenna articulated this view in a widely discussed reflection, arguing that the Dialogue should have begun by asking, “What future do Ethiopians wish to build together?” rather than “What divides Ethiopians?”

Now, a direct participant in the Dialogue has responded. Mr Zenayeneh Girma, who has served for four years as a representative of Civil Society Organisations (CSOs) in the National Dialogue process, has offered a corrective perspective—one grounded in direct participation rather than external observation.

“The evidence contradicts your central claim that the Dialogue began with the ‘wrong first question,'” Zenayeneh wrote, respectfully challenging Kebour’s thesis.


A Painstaking Process

Zenayeneh begins by correcting what he describes as a factual error. The National Dialogue did not begin by collecting grievances alone. It began by collecting issues from across the country—over 10,000 specific concerns raised in consultations across all woredas .

These were systematically aggregated into 2,000 themes, then distilled into 8 major national agenda pillars . These pillars cover nation-building and identity; state structure and form of government; the status of federal cities; religious affairs; institution building and the rule of law; social and economic issues; corruption and good governance; and peacebuilding and national reconciliation .

“This was not a hurried exercise but a painstaking process designed to ensure every voice—no matter how remote or marginalised—was heard,” Zenayeneh states.

He challenges Kebour’s suggestion that only divisions were documented. “In every consultation, participants were asked what future they desired for their communities and Ethiopia collectively. The 8 pillars emerged not from ‘what divides us’ but from what Ethiopians chose to discuss as urgent national questions—including the most difficult and deadlocked ones.”


Unprecedented Inclusivity

Zenayeneh argues that the Ethiopian process is unprecedented in its inclusivity. For the first time in the country’s history, Ethiopians from all regions, ethnicities, religions, and political affiliations—including diaspora communities—were brought together to question issues once considered “untouchable”: the flag, federalism, the status of Addis Ababa, the constitutional order, corruption, and institutional reform .

“This is not ‘organising disagreement.’ This is building a foundation for consensus,” he writes.


A Call for Participation, Not Observation

One of Zenayeneh’s most pointed observations is directed at the role of intellectuals who critique the process from outside. “You critique from outside while refusing to enter,” he writes, directly addressing Kebour.

As a prominent intellectual, Zenayeneh notes, Kebour could have contributed expertise to advisory panels. Instead, he has consistently critiqued from a distance. “Observing by ‘sitting outside’ and then writing based on hearsay is an easy task. Building a process that engages 4,000+ communities across a vast, diverse country is not.”

Zenayeneh acknowledges that some opposition figures remain outside the process—some by choice, others by circumstance. But the Commission has extended invitations repeatedly. “A dialogue that waits for everyone to agree to participate may wait forever. The process must move forward while continuing outreach.”


What History Will Remember

Zenayeneh concludes with a prediction about what history will actually remember: a moment when Ethiopians—for the first time—sat together across all divides and spoke honestly about their deepest political questions. It will remember a Commission that organised not just grievances but aspirations, not just complaints but solutions.

“The Dialogue is not perfect. But perfection is not the standard—participation is. And by that measure, Ethiopia has achieved something unprecedented.”

His message to intellectuals and critics is clear: “Instead of theorising from outside, consider contributing your expertise. The nation needs thinkers like you inside the room—not just observers outside it.”


Conclusion

Zenayeneh’s response offers a powerful counter-narrative to critiques of Ethiopia’s National Dialogue. It defends the process as painstaking, inclusive, and historic. It acknowledges imperfections while arguing that participation—not perfection—is the standard by which the Dialogue should be judged.

“Thank you for keeping the debate alive,” Zenayeneh writes. “But please, let us not allow perfect to become the enemy of progress.”


This feature news is based on the response of Mr Zenayeneh Girma to Kebour Ghenna, published on July 31, 2026.

Swedish Football Dream Turns to Mystery as 20 Ethiopian Youth Players Go Missing After Gothia Cup

GOTHENBURG, Sweden – What was supposed to be a triumphant return home for Ethiopia’s young football ambassadors has instead become a quiet international mystery. Swedish authorities have confirmed that approximately 20 members of an Ethiopian youth football delegation are unaccounted for, having vanished on the final day of the prestigious Gothia Cup in Gothenburg.

The players, part of a delegation that had traveled to Sweden to compete in the world’s largest youth football tournament, did not board their scheduled flight back to Addis Ababa. According to police, the group left the school where they were housed during the tournament and simply did not return.

“They were present at the closing ceremonies, but when the time came to gather for transport to the airport, the group was noticeably absent,” a local police spokesperson stated.

In a development that has puzzled investigators, Swedish authorities have stated that there are currently no signs of foul play or human trafficking. Instead, the police believe the disappearance appears to have been voluntary.

“We are not currently looking at this as a criminal case related to abduction,” the police added. “The indications we have suggest that the individuals chose to leave their accommodation and remain in Sweden of their own accord.”

The Gothia Cup, which hosts over 1,700 teams from around the globe, is often a platform for young athletes to showcase their talent on an international stage. However, it has historically also been a known avenue for migration attempts; previous years have seen similar incidents where athletes have sought asylum in Sweden after their participation in the tournament.

The missing individuals have now been listed internationally as missing persons after failing to return to their home country as planned. The Ethiopian embassy in Stockholm has been notified of the incident and is coordinating with Swedish migration authorities to ascertain the whereabouts of the missing group.

This incident raises fresh questions about the security protocols surrounding large youth sporting events and the vulnerabilities of international delegations traveling to high-income countries. While the players are considered missing, police stress that no crime is currently suspected, focusing their efforts instead on locating the group to ensure their welfare.

Louise Perry Appointed Interim Chairperson of the Victorian Multicultural Commission

A seasoned leader in human rights and community engagement steps in to guide Victoria’s multicultural sector through a historic transition


MELBOURNE, VICTORIA — As the Victorian Multicultural Commission (VMC) prepares for a significant transformation, Ms Louise Perry has been appointed as interim Chairperson to lead the organisation through a critical transitional period. Her appointment, effective Thursday 16 July, comes as Victoria moves toward the establishment of Multicultural Victoria, a new statutory body that will reshape the state’s approach to multicultural and multifaith affairs .

Perry’s term is interim, extending until Multicultural Victoria is formally established. A Victorian woman of Burmese descent, she brings a wealth of experience spanning journalism, community leadership, international development, human rights, and the Victorian Public Service .


A Career of Service and Advocacy

Louise Perry’s professional journey reflects a deep commitment to social justice and community empowerment. She began her working life as a journalist, developing a keen understanding of storytelling and the power of narrative in shaping public understanding. This foundation led her to leadership roles in community organisations, where she championed the voices of marginalised and underrepresented groups.

Her career later took her into the International Development and Human Rights space, where she worked extensively on issues of justice, equity, and inclusion. This global perspective, combined with her local experience, has equipped her with a nuanced understanding of the challenges and opportunities facing multicultural communities.

Before her appointment to the VMC, Perry served as Deputy Secretary for Fairer Victoria within the Department of Families, Fairness and Housing, where she led landmark work on anti-racism, youth, and gender equality strategies . Her leadership in this role demonstrated her ability to drive systemic change and build partnerships across government and the community sector.


A Vision for Unity and Cohesion

Perry’s appointment comes at a pivotal moment for Victoria’s multicultural and multifaith communities. The transition to Multicultural Victoria represents an opportunity to elevate multicultural affairs across the whole of government, ensuring that diverse voices remain at the centre of policy and service delivery.

“The establishment of Multicultural Victoria presents a unique opportunity for multicultural and multifaith affairs in our state,” Perry said. “I look forward to working with communities, VMC staff and government as we prepare for legislative changes” .

Her leadership is expected to support and uplift Victoria’s multicultural and multifaith communities as champions of unity and cohesion, delivering benefits for all Victorians . The changes she will guide aim to ensure that the new structure is fit for purpose and responsive to the needs of communities .


The Transition to Multicultural Victoria

The establishment of Multicultural Victoria is subject to the passage of legislation . The new body will bring together the functions of the VMC and Multicultural Affairs, creating a unified approach to multicultural policy and community engagement . It will be led by a Multicultural Coordinator General, supported by two Deputy Coordinators General and a Multicultural Community Advisory Group .

The transition reflects a recognition that Victoria’s multicultural communities are not just a part of the state’s identity—they are central to its future. As Perry noted, this is a unique opportunity to strengthen the foundations of multicultural and multifaith affairs.


A Legacy of Leadership

Perry succeeds Vivienne Nguyen AM, who concluded her seven-year tenure as Chairperson on 15 July 2026 . Nguyen’s leadership saw the VMC through the COVID-19 pandemic, flood recovery, and the impacts of international events on multicultural and multifaith communities . Her legacy of community-led engagement and partnership-building has laid the groundwork for the next chapter.

Perry expressed appreciation for Nguyen’s contributions, which she described as “invaluable” and commended the groundwork laid for the future .


Looking Ahead

As Louise Perry steps into her interim role, Victoria’s multicultural and multifaith communities can look forward to a leader with a proven track record of advocacy, collaboration, and systemic change. Her appointment signals continuity and stability during a period of significant transformation.

Applications for leadership positions within Multicultural Victoria—including the Coordinator General, two Deputy Coordinators General, and members of the Multicultural Community Advisory Group—are expected to open shortly. Community members are encouraged to stay informed and participate in shaping the future of multicultural affairs in Victoria.


“The establishment of Multicultural Victoria presents a unique opportunity for multicultural and multifaith affairs in our state. I look forward to working with communities, VMC staff and government as we prepare for legislative changes.”
— Louise Perry, Interim Chairperson, Victorian Multicultural Commission

The Irreechaa Protocol: From Ancient Healing to Modern Stroke Recovery

What if the path to physical recovery after a stroke lies not in isolation but in community, not in medicine alone but in the sacred rituals that have healed generations?


When we think of stroke rehabilitation, we typically imagine hospital beds, physical therapists, and repetitive exercises. The journey is often described as isolating—a solitary struggle against the body’s betrayal. But what if the most effective recovery intervention has been practiced for centuries, not in clinics, but at the water’s edge, surrounded by thousands of voices raised in song?

The Oromo people’s Irreechaa festival—a thanksgiving celebration held at sacred water bodies like Hora Arsadii and Hora Finfinnee—offers a blueprint for stroke recovery that transcends conventional rehabilitation. It is not merely a cultural festival; it is a sophisticated, community-driven healing protocol that addresses the physical, psychological, and spiritual dimensions of recovery.


The Foundation: Why Ritual Matters in Recovery

Stroke, as a form of brain tissue damage caused by a sudden disruption of blood supply, often results in muscle weakness or paralysis on one side of the body, known as hemiparesis or hemiplegia . Beyond the physical challenges, stroke profoundly affects patients’ psychological and spiritual well-being.

Conventional rehabilitation focuses on regaining motor function through physical therapy, strength training, and range-of-motion exercises. Yet research increasingly recognises that recovery is not purely mechanical. The emotional isolation, loss of identity, and spiritual questioning that accompany stroke require interventions that address the whole person.

This is where Irreechaa enters the picture. For the Oromo people, who have endured generations of political marginalisation and cultural suppression, Irreechaa has functioned as what scholars describe as “cultural therapy”—a cyclical, collective practice that restores dignity, cohesion, and hope . Its choreography—pilgrimage to sacred water, symbolic washing, public prayer, group singing and dancing—provides a template that can be adapted for physical rehabilitation.


The Three Therapeutic Pillars of Irreechaa for Stroke Recovery

1. Recognition: Reclaiming Identity and Agency

One of the most devastating effects of stroke is the loss of identity. A person who once moved freely, worked, and cared for family suddenly becomes dependent on others. This loss mirrors the experience of colonised peoples—the internalised devaluation that comes from being told, directly or indirectly, that you are less than what you were .

Irreechaa counters this through public, mass affirmation . When thousands gather in traditional white attire, singing and performing traditional dances, they are not just celebrating; they are visibly, collectively reclaiming dignity . For a stroke survivor, participation—even passive observation—reaffirms that they remain part of the community. Their identity is not erased by their condition.

The festival’s impact on psychological well-being is significant. Scholars document that the joyful atmosphere counters trauma, while participants see their culture celebrated, combating marginalisation and fostering confidence . For stroke survivors, this sense of belonging and self-worth is a powerful motivator for recovery.

2. Regulation: Movement, Music, and Healing the Body

The physical elements of Irreechaa serve a regulatory function that aligns precisely with evidence-based rehabilitation. 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.

Traditional Oromo songs, known as geerarsa, have a particularly powerful healing function. One form of folksong is designed to “divert the thought of the distressed individual by persuading him through the intricate terminologies” . Even individuals with physical and cognitive impairments can be drawn into the healing experience through these songs.

Scientifically, the combination of water and sound creates immersive environments. Chanting reduces stress hormones and triggers dopamine, promoting transcendence . Movement—however limited—stimulates blood flow and helps maintain flexibility. When tens of thousands move and sing together, the result is a form of community-wide emotional and physical regulation that no individual therapist could replicate.

Research on spiritual practices in stroke rehabilitation supports this approach. One study found that dhikr therapy—practiced by flexing and moving the knuckles of the hand—can reduce stiffness in the joints of stroke patients, supporting muscle flexibility and strength . Irreechaa offers this same principle on a massive scale: repetitive, meaningful movement embedded in a spiritual and social context.

3. Reconnection: Healing the Social Wound

Historical trauma isolates; ritual reconnects . Anthropologists describe how public rituals generate “communitas”—an intense sense of togetherness that suspends everyday hierarchies . At Irreechaa, this communitas creates “prosocial bonds that reduce isolation and renew civic agency” .

For a stroke survivor, social isolation is a major barrier to recovery. Depression, anxiety, and loneliness compound physical limitations. The festival’s intergenerational participation—elders demonstrating rituals, children and youth participating actively—creates a continuity of social bonds that bridges generations . The stroke survivor is not left behind; they remain part of the living chain.

Irreechaa’s role in fostering inclusivity and national healing has been widely recognised, described as “a catalyst for inclusivity in Ethiopia” that “promotes a sense of togetherness” . For the individual survivor, the lesson is clear: recovery is not a solitary journey but a communal one.


The Water Blessing: Symbolic and Practical Healing

The most iconic Irreechaa ritual involves participants entering sacred water and symbolically washing away hardship . This act operates on multiple levels:

  • 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 a stroke survivor, water also offers practical therapeutic benefits. Hydrotherapy is a recognised rehabilitation technique that reduces joint stress, improves circulation, and provides gentle resistance for muscle strengthening. The sacred waters of Irreechaa offer this benefit within a context of profound meaning.

For diaspora Oromo communities, adaptations of these water rituals in park settings or hilltops serve similar functions . When a traditional water body is unavailable, communities transform other spaces into sacred gathering points. This adaptability suggests that the Irreechaa protocol can be adapted to any setting—including rehabilitation centres, community halls, or home environments.


A Blueprint for Stroke Recovery Intervention

What can the Irreechaa protocol teach rehabilitation professionals, caregivers, and stroke survivors?

1. Recovery Requires Community

The individualised model of rehabilitation misses a crucial element: the healing power of belonging. Interventions that create spaces for group participation, shared music, and collective movement may enhance outcomes.

2. Symbolism Matters

Water, music, movement, and traditional attire are not superficial decorations; they are therapeutic vehicles that engage the whole person—body, mind, and spirit.

3. Repetition Builds Strength

The cyclical, annual nature of Irreechaa mirrors the repetitive practice essential to stroke rehabilitation. Regularity, predictability, and ritualised practice build resilience.

4. Cultural Grounding Is Therapeutic

Cultural practices are not barriers to evidence-based approaches; they are themselves evidence-based approaches refined over generations . Adapting indigenous healing traditions to modern rehabilitation can improve engagement and outcomes.

5. Hope Is a Medicine

Irreechaa’s central message—that renewal is possible—is exactly what a stroke survivor needs to hear. Hope, meaning, and purpose are not sentimental extras; they are essential drivers of recovery.


Conclusion: The Quiet Work of Repair

Irreechaa demonstrates that 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 for stroke recovery across cultures and contexts.

As scholars of historical trauma note, healing requires “shared remembrance, mourning, and culturally grounded practices that rebuild meaning and agency” . For stroke survivors, the same principle applies. Recovery is not just about regaining muscle strength; it is about rebuilding meaning, reconnecting with community, and reclaiming identity.

Irreechaa’s power is double-edged: the very practices that heal—public recognition, shared emotion, embodied solidarity—can also unsettle established systems of control . But for the stroke survivor seeking to recover, this is not a threat. It is an invitation to reclaim what was lost.

The path forward is not to shrink the wisdom of the ancestors but to secure it. Treat it as a healing asset, adapt its principles to modern practice, and let ritual do its quiet work of repair.


“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” .

Irreechaa as a Model for Community Mental Health Interventions

Irreechaa as Ritual Repair: How an Ancient Thanksgiving Festival Became a Blueprint for Collective Mental Health Intervention

Far more than a seasonal celebration, the Oromo festival’s water blessings, songs, and communal rituals function as a sophisticated, community-driven therapy for generations of historical trauma


In an era where mental health professionals increasingly recognise the limitations of individual therapeutic models for addressing collective trauma, an ancient festival offers an unexpected but profoundly effective blueprint. For the Oromo people, the Irreechaa celebration—held at sacred water bodies like Hora Arsadii (Bishoftu) and Hora Finfinnee—operates 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 whose late-19th-century imperial incorporation, linguistic suppression, and systematic cultural erasure represent textbook “cumulative, collective wounding,” Irreechaa has become 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 severe and systematic. 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. Irreechaa 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 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 and performing traditional dances, they are not just celebrating; they are visibly, collectively reclaiming dignity .

The festival’s impact on psychological well-being is significant. Scholars document that the joyful atmosphere counters trauma from oppression, displacement, or recent conflicts, while youth see their culture celebrated, combating marginalisation and fostering confidence . The sense of pride and self-worth cultivated at Irreechaa is particularly important for younger generations, who carry the Oromo legacy forward .

Regulation: Choreographing Healing through Music and Movement

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.

Traditional Oromo songs, known as geerarsa, have a particularly powerful healing function. One form of folksong is designed to “divert the thought of the distressed individual by persuading him through the intricate terminologies” and has “strong power of meeting the requirements or to draw attention of the listener” . Even individuals with mental illness can be drawn into the healing experience through these songs .

Scientifically, the combination of water and sound creates immersive ritual environments. Chanting reduces stress hormones and triggers dopamine, promoting transcendence . When tens of thousands move, sing, and splash in sacred waters 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 intergenerational participation reinforces this reconnection. Elders demonstrate rituals like 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.

Irreechaa’s role in fostering inclusivity and national healing has been widely recognised, with the festival described as “a catalyst for inclusivity in Ethiopia” that “promotes a sense of togetherness and fosters a spirit of inclusivity, reminding us that despite our differences, we are all part of the same human family” .


The Water Blessing: Symbolic Washing Away

The most iconic Irreechaa ritual involves participants entering sacred water and symbolically washing away hardship, or performing libation rituals using water and fresh grass (Birraa) . This act operates on multiple levels:

  • 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 communities, adaptations of these water rituals in park settings or hilltops serve similar functions, connecting a community separated by geography to the healing practices of their ancestors . The Melbourne community, for example, transformed Dandenong Hill into a sacred gathering point when a traditional water body was unavailable . Planting trees alongside these symbolic 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 .

The festival’s security challenges are well-documented. As one analysis notes, “this pattern sustains a feedback loop: securitisation communicates distrust of Oromo mass assembly; participants experience retraumatisation; organisers double down on the festival’s identity-affirming message, which authorities then read as political mobilisation” .


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 that communities can rely on .

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: Ritual as Quiet Repair

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.

The path forward, as one analysis concludes, 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” . 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.


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.

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.

WHEN DREAMS TAKE ROOT: Why an Oromia Freedom Struggle Dream Can Grow Better

A story of constitutional promise, cultural resurgence, and the long arc toward justice

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For generations, the Oromo freedom struggle has been defined by its resilience. Through decades of marginalization, forced displacement, and systemic exclusion, the dream has endured—not as a fading memory, but as a living force that refuses to be extinguished.

Today, that dream stands at a crossroads. The path forward is neither simple nor guaranteed. But beneath the surface of conflict and political turbulence, there are reasons to believe that the Oromo freedom struggle dream can grow better—not despite the challenges, but because of the lessons learned, the institutions built, and the constitutional foundations that remain, however imperfectly, in place.

This is the story of why that dream can flourish.

THE CONSTITUTIONAL FOUNDATION: A PROMISE WAITING TO BE KEPT

Every great struggle requires a legal and moral framework. For the Oromo people, that framework exists in Ethiopia’s 1995 Constitution—a document that, on paper, offers something remarkable.

Article 39 of the Constitution affirms that every “nation, nationality, and people” has the unconditional right to self-determination, including the right to secession. The Constitution established Ethiopia as a multinational federal state, granting autonomy to minorities based on territorial boundaries and empowering self-rule and regional control. Afaan Oromo is now used in Oromia’s courts, schools, and bureaucracy, reversing decades of marginalization.

Yet scholars describe a persistent gap between constitutional promise and political reality. Federal practice has remained markedly centralized. The question of Oromia’s special interests in Finfinne (Addis Ababa) remains largely unresolved.

This gap is not a reason for despair—it is a reason for hope. The Constitution exists. The legal framework is in place. The struggle ahead is not to create new rights, but to enforce existing ones. When constitutional guarantees are ignored, public trust erodes; but when they are finally implemented, the foundation for lasting peace is laid.

POLITICAL EVOLUTION: FROM ARMED STRUGGLE TO POLITICAL ENGAGEMENT

The Oromo Liberation Front (OLF), established in 1973 as a political organization advocating for the self-determination of the Oromo people, has undergone a remarkable transformation. In 2018, the Ethiopian government removed the OLF from its terrorist list, allowing its leaders to return from exile. In June 2025, the OLF officially regained access to its headquarters in Finfinne (Addis Ababa), which it had been unable to use since August 2020.

This is not merely symbolic. It represents a shift from armed resistance to political engagement—a recognition that sustainable change requires participation in the democratic process, however constrained that process may be.

The OLF has participated in elections, fielding 163 candidates for both the federal parliament and the regional council in the 2026 elections. Though it did not win a single seat, the party has used the narrow political space available to communicate its objectives and principles to the public.

Professor Merera Gudina, chairman of the Oromo Federalist Congress (OFC), has long championed a “stem and branches” philosophy: the belief that Oromia is the indispensable heart of Ethiopia, and that its people must secure self-rule and shared-rule within a unified, democratic state. His perspective, tempered by over five decades of activism, argues that Ethiopia still lacks the genuine political will required for deep-seated dialogue.

But political will can be built. Institutions can be strengthened. The very fact that opposition parties continue to organize, to contest elections, and to demand accountability is evidence that the dream is alive and evolving.

CULTURAL RESURGENCE: THE REBIRTH OF IDENTITY

A freedom struggle is not only about politics—it is about identity, memory, and the right to be seen.

Irreechaa, the annual festival of the Oromo people, has undergone a remarkable transformation, evolving from a banned event to a recognized element of national cultural heritage and an attraction for international tourism. The 2025 theme, “Irreecha: For National Renewal,” embodies the spirit that sustainable progress must be grounded in cultural harmony and shared values.

Afaan Oromo, once reduced to minority status, is now experiencing revitalization efforts. Though implementation remains uneven, the language of wider communication in Ethiopia and neighboring countries is reclaiming its place. The Gadaa system has gained global recognition as a model of democracy and environmental stewardship.

Cultural revival is not a distraction from the struggle—it is the struggle’s soul. When a people remember who they are, they remember what they deserve.

ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT: BUILDING THE MATERIAL FOUNDATION

Justice cannot be built on empty stomachs. Economic development in Oromia provides the material foundation upon which political dreams can be realized.

Development projects like the Welmel River Irrigation and the Sof Omer Luxury Lodge, alongside ongoing agricultural modernization and tourism efforts in Bale Zone, are pillars of economic transformation. The new Yabello airport is expected to significantly enhance regional trade, tourism, and investment while strengthening people-to-people ties.

The Oromia regional government has prioritized the expansion of domestic air travel to drive rapid development. Investment projects are expected to create employment opportunities for more than 284,174 individuals across various sectors, particularly in agriculture, manufacturing, and services.

When economic opportunities expand, political participation becomes more meaningful. When communities have a stake in the future, they are more willing to invest in the struggle for that future.

THE CHALLENGES THAT MUST BE OVERCOME

No honest assessment of the Oromo freedom struggle can ignore the profound challenges that remain.

The Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) has been fighting the Ethiopian government for more autonomy since 2018. The conflict has taken a devastating toll. In January 2025, the U.N. reported that 3.2 million children were not in school because of the fighting. Human rights conditions remain precarious, with documented arbitrary deprivations of life and liberty amid clashes in Oromia.

Political space has shrunk. Opposition leaders have been imprisoned. Electoral competition alone is no longer viewed as sufficient to address Oromia’s political challenges. The OLF has raised concerns that “Tsimdoo” (allied) forces have attempted attacks that caused harm to local residents.

These challenges are real. They are painful. They are not insurmountable.

THE PATH FORWARD: WHY THE DREAM CAN GROW BETTER

The Oromo freedom struggle dream can grow better because the conditions for its growth are being laid—not by outside forces, but by the Oromo people themselves.

First, constitutional tools exist. The 1995 Constitution provides a framework for self-determination that, however imperfectly implemented, remains a powerful legal weapon. The gap between promise and reality is not permanent—it can be closed through sustained political pressure and legal advocacy.

Second, political engagement is deepening. The OLF’s return from exile, its participation in elections, and its calls for inclusive dialogue represent a maturation of the struggle. The OLF has urged the government to demonstrate genuine political will in resolving ongoing grievances through justice, truth, and reconciliation.

Third, cultural identity is strengthening. The revival of Irreechaa, the resurgence of Afaan Oromo, and the global recognition of the Gadaa system provide a cultural foundation that no political repression can destroy.

Fourth, economic development is creating new possibilities. As Oromia’s economy grows, so does the capacity of its people to organize, to advocate, and to demand their rights.

Fifth, the international community is watching. Human rights reporting, U.N. documentation, and global advocacy create pressure for accountability. The Oromo cause is no longer invisible.

CONCLUSION: THE LONG ARC

The Oromo freedom struggle has been long. It has been costly. It has been marked by betrayal, violence, and heartbreak. But it has also been marked by resilience, courage, and an unshakeable commitment to justice.

The dream can grow better because it has already survived the worst that history could throw at it. It has endured because it is rooted in truth—not propaganda, not false narratives, but the lived reality of a people who know what they have lost and what they deserve.

As the OLF has stated, the situation in Oromia and across Ethiopia cannot be resolved merely by declaring an election victory. It requires “an inclusive, genuine, and transparent dialogue”. It requires the courage to acknowledge historical realities, the wisdom to respect differing perspectives, and the commitment to uphold the principles of constitutional democracy and the rule of law.

The Oromo freedom struggle dream can grow better because the Oromo people have never stopped dreaming. And dreams, when nurtured by truth, justice, and unwavering commitment, have a way of becoming reality.

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This feature is based on reporting from Addis Standard, The Reporter Ethiopia, OROMIA TODAY, the Associated Press, the Oversight Board, and other sources documenting the Oromo freedom struggle, political developments, and cultural resurgence in Ethiopia.

The Art of Becoming: Why the Oromo Embrace Change

By Daandii Ragabaa

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The old man sat beneath a sycamore tree, his weathered hands wrapped around a wooden staff. Before him, a group of children listened with wide eyes as he spoke. His voice was low, deliberate—the voice of one who had seen seasons turn and generations pass.

“Namni hin jijjiirramne, nama hin jiraanne,” he said. “One who does not change has not truly lived.”

The children frowned. They had been taught that their culture was eternal—that the ways of their ancestors were sacred and unchanging. How could change be a good thing?

The elder smiled. He had been young once, too. He had asked the same question. And now, after eighty harvests, he understood the answer.

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The Gadaa: A System Built on Transformation

For the Oromo people, change is not an interruption of tradition—it is the very engine of tradition. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Gadaa system, the indigenous democratic governance structure that has organised Oromo society for centuries. Recognised by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, the Gadaa system divides life into distinct stages, each carrying specific responsibilities, rituals, and ceremonies.

The Gadaa has eleven grades, each spanning eight years. From childhood to old age, every Oromo moves through these formal steps, each marked by a transition ceremony that defines what is permitted and what is forbidden. A boy becomes a warrior. A warrior becomes an elder. An elder steps aside to make way for the next generation.

This is change written into the very fabric of society.

Professor Gemetchu Megerssa, a scholar of Oromo philosophy, describes seven interconnected phases of social development: Guudina, gabbina, ballina, badhaadha, hoormata, dagaaga, and dagaa-hoora. Each phase represents a transformation—a shedding of the old self and an embrace of the new. The goal is not stability but wholeness: a state where there is no conflict, no poverty, no disease.

To be Oromo is to be in a constant state of becoming.

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The Rites of Passage: Dying to Be Born

The Shinooyyee celebration marks the transition of young Oromo men and women into adulthood. It is not merely a party—it is a ritual death and rebirth. The child that entered the ceremony is gone. An adult emerges, ready to marry, to lead, to contribute.

The Muusoo and Dhokhisuu rituals grant young men permission to marry. These are not casual affairs. They are ordeals—tests of endurance, wisdom, and character. To pass through them is to be transformed.

Even the names of the Gadaa grades tell a story of change. From Gaammee Gurguddaa (childhood) to Kuusaa (youth) to Raaba (adulthood), each stage carries a new identity. The progression is marked by ceremonies like Walargii, a grand gathering where children from various regions convene before advancing. They do not simply grow older—they become something new.

As John Hinnant observed, the Gadaa divides the stages of life into a series of formal steps, each distinguished by a transition ceremony. Every eight years, the Oromo people change. Every eight years, they are reborn.

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The Forces of External Change

But not all change is internal. The Oromo have also been shaped by forces beyond their control—sometimes violent, sometimes subtle.

For centuries, the Oromo faced dominance from neighbouring groups, which eroded aspects of their cultural identity. The Gadaa system itself has been weakened by modernisation and external political pressures. Missionaries brought Christianity, and traders brought Islam. Today, most Oromo practice one of these religions, often alongside elements of their ancestral Waaqeffanna faith. The indigenous belief in Waaqa (God) did not disappear—it adapted.

Even personal names have changed. In the post-1991 political landscape, many Oromo have adopted new naming practices—a reflection of shifting social values and a reclamation of identity. A name is not just a label. It is a story. And stories, like people, evolve.

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The Philosophy of Jijjiiramuu

In Afaan Oromo, the word for change is jijjiiramuu. But it carries a weight that the English translation cannot capture.

Jijjiiramuu is not simply becoming different. It is growth. It is adaptation. It is the recognition that to remain the same is to stagnate, and to stagnate is to die.

Consider the Oromo proverb: “Akkuma bishaan yaa’uu qaba, namni jijjiiramuu qaba.” “Just as water must flow, a person must change.”

The Oromo understand that change is not a betrayal of tradition—it is the fulfilment of tradition. The Gadaa system itself undergoes transformation every 360 years, a cycle known as jaatama, when it rejuvenates itself. The system does not cling to the past. It renews.

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The Continuity Within Change

Yet for all this transformation, something remains constant. The Oromo have not lost their identity. They have carried it forward—reshaped, reimagined, but never abandoned.

The Irreechaa festival, a thanksgiving ritual held at riversides and mountaintops, draws thousands of Oromo today. It is not a relic of the past—it is a living tradition, a symbol of Oromo identity and resilience.

Change, in Oromo culture, is not about discarding the old. It is about building upon it. The child who becomes an adult does not forget childhood—he carries its lessons forward. The elder who steps down from leadership does not disappear—he becomes a guide, a source of wisdom for the next generation.

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A Final Reflection

The old man beneath the sycamore tree finished his story. The children sat in silence, their young minds wrestling with the paradox: how could change and tradition exist together?

He rose slowly, his joints creaking like old wood. He looked at the children—the future of his people—and spoke his final words.

“Jijjiiramuu hin sodaatinaa. Sodaan isa hin jijjiirramne.”

“Do not fear change. Fear only that which refuses to change.”

And with that, he walked away, his staff tapping against the earth—a sound as old as the hills, as steady as the seasons, and as constant as the Oromo spirit itself.

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Because to be Oromo is not to be static. It is to be a river—always flowing, always becoming, always carrying the waters of the past toward the sea of the future.

River winding Ethiopian highlands with morning mist