Why successive governments have failed to break a cycle of injustice
Source: Ethiopia Insight, 5 January, 2026
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Why successive governments have failed to break a cycle of injustice
For decades, Ethiopia’s suffering has been attributed to maladministration: authoritarian rulers, abusive institutions, and violent political groups.
Yet despite countless regime changes, transitions, uprisings, and reforms, the underlying problems remain. Leaders, constitutions, and parties change, but the country continues to generate fear, injustice, division, and instability.
This persistence raises a fundamental question: why do new governments repeat the same mistakes as the old ones?
The answer lies not only in political systems but in deep cultural patterns: silence, secrecy, conformity, authoritarian reflexes, and unquestioned group loyalty. Unless we confront these cultural foundations, no political reform, however promising, will bring lasting change.
After all, governments are composed of individuals, and it is these individuals, shaped by the same society and its norms, who ultimately come to power.
While government actions play a major role in Ethiopia’s suffering, cultural habits that enable those actions are often ignored. Problems must be analyzed not only by their severity but by who contributes to them and how. This blind spot is not unique to Ethiopia.
Many countries endured decades of dictatorship, yet the fall of a ruler failed to deliver peace or justice. Cambodia, Albania, Chile, Rwanda, and Taiwan illustrate how regime change often cleared the way for new authoritarian figures because the culture that enabled dictatorship was never confronted.
Learned Silence
Born and raised in Ethiopia and fluent in Amharic and Afaan Oromo, I have seen how cultural norms shape behavior from childhood. Two traits, in particular, help perpetuate injustice: lack of transparency and bias rooted in unconditional group loyalty.
Children are often discouraged from speaking freely or expressing uncomfortable truths. Across Ethiopian cultural traditions, it is considered rude for children to speak honestly in the presence of adults. Truth, when inconvenient, is suppressed.
Silencing children from a young age normalizes secrecy and hides abuse. Unlike children in many Western countries—who may report physical, sexual, or emotional abuse—Ethiopian children are taught that discussing such matters is forbidden. They are instructed to stay silent and never expose “family issues” or wrongdoing.
The same pattern extends into classrooms. Students often remain quiet not because they lack ideas, but because they were never encouraged to speak. In a recent discussion on Mengezem Media, Ethiopian scholars Professor Messay Kebede, Bayisa Wakwaya, and Geletaw Zeleke examined the roots of Ethiopia’s political problems.
Bayisa highlighted the contrast between raising children in Sweden and Ethiopia. In Sweden, children are taught to defend their rights, respect others, and contribute honestly to society. Parents guide rather than dictate. Children grow up in freedom, not fear.
In Ethiopia, children are often told what to study, eat, say, and even which religion to follow. These imposed decisions undermine their ability to stand up for what is right and instead cultivate fear and passivity.
A widely practiced tradition—especially outside major cities—allows families to arrange marriages without the child’s consent. Even in urban areas, the practice persists among some communities.
Life is dictated by family and society: beliefs are assigned. Changing religion can invite violence, threats, or torture. Where legal consequences are feared, communities may isolate dissenters—blocking them socially, humiliating, or verbally abusing them.
These children eventually rise to political power. They replicate what they learned: dictating others, abusing authority, and using public funds for personal gain. This is why changing parties or leaders rarely changes the system—the culture itself must evolve.
The Amharic proverb ሲሾም ያልበላ ሲሻር ይቆጨዋል—‘one who does not embezzle while in office will regret it after leaving’—captures this mindset. It does more than describe corruption; it normalizes it.
Holding office is seen as an opportunity to extract personal benefit, and failing to do so is framed as foolish. This attitude reinforces systemic corruption and shapes how power is understood and justified.
The result is an environment where honesty is dangerous and silence guarantees safety. Children learn to hide feelings, censor thoughts, and calculate what is safe to say. As adults, Ethiopians often express views publicly that differ from what they believe privately. Agreement becomes performative; integrity becomes a liability.
Such suppression creates challenges for second-generation Ethiopians raised in Western countries. They grow up in societies that encourage openness, while their parents come from a culture where silence equals wisdom.
In the U.S., children commonly share everything with their parents; in Ethiopia, many families avoid sensitive conversations. The clash creates stress and identity conflict for young people navigating opposing value systems.
Foreign analysts often misunderstand Ethiopian politics because they overlook these cultural dynamics. They assess parties and power structures without recognizing informal codes of silence and group loyalty that shape political behavior.
To understand Ethiopian politics, one must first grasp the mindset of political elites and the sociocultural fabric that shaped them. I have personally experienced cultural pressure that discouraged me from criticizing my own Oromo political circles.
Similar coercive pressures operate among Tigrayan and Amhara communities as well. Figures like Getachew, who break this code of silence, are rare and often punished for doing so.
Manufactured Truth
People are afraid to speak honestly; revealing the truth about one’s political or religious affiliations often leads to ostracism. I learned a great deal of sensitive information while in prison, yet I have publicly disclosed no more than a fraction of what I witnessed. Propaganda distorts reality, leaving the public to believe the opposite of what actually occurred.
A common misconception holds the government solely responsible whenever violence occurs. In reality, accountability is often shared—and in many cases begins with armed groups themselves. When such groups carry out attacks in populated areas, they frequently inflict deliberate harm on civilians during the initial assault. They also expose civilian lives to further danger by operating from within civilian environments.
They therefore bear direct responsibility not only for the casualties they intentionally cause, but also for civilian losses that occur during subsequent government response. Weak and under-resourced state institutions lack the capacity to conduct consistently precise, surgical operations under these conditions, a constraint faced even by established democracies.
Yet in Ethiopia, entrenched suspicion continues to cloud public judgment, making sober evaluation of violence exceptionally difficult. This creates a situation in which anyone who rejects corruption and speaks the truth is often viewed as naïve or a traitor, for violating the unwritten rule of silence.
Moral Exile
In Ethiopian politics, those who follow conscience rather than group loyalty are quickly isolated. The moment a politician departs from the rigid line of their faction, they are branded a traitor—whether in government or opposition—silencing honest voices across the political spectrum. Even acts of integrity are dismissed.
When Prime Minister Hailemariam Desalegn resigned peacefully, a gesture that could have signaled political humility, many mocked him as weak rather than respecting his principle. By contrast, similar acts of moral courage are publicly honored in other societies.
During the 2008 U.S. presidential campaign, John McCain publicly corrected a protester who falsely claimed Barack Obama was “an Arab,” affirming his citizenship and decency despite political disagreement. The moment was widely praised as placing truth above partisan loyalty.
A comparable act of principle followed the killing of Charlie Kirk, when the suspect’s father turned in his own son to the authorities. His decision was broadly commended as choosing justice and public safety over family allegiance.
Such actions remain almost unthinkable in Ethiopia’s sociopolitical culture, where loyalty consistently outweighs truth. This mindset—deeply embedded in the social fabric—must change if honest voices are to be heard and justice judged on its merits.
Experience has taught me that many oppose dictatorship only to replace it, not to end it. Abuse is condemned selectively, and silence prevails when favored groups kill, torture, or kidnap civilians. I have yet to see prominent opposition voices publicly denounce such crimes by rebel forces.
Six years ago, when I exposed killings, torture, and kidnappings committed by both government and rebel forces, some responded with counterattacks. When I advocated nonviolence, campaigns were launched against me, and I was forced to resign.
Since then, abuses have spread across the country, including Tulema and Arsi. The reality is now undeniable, yet silence persists.
A group’s role in destabilizing government or its ethnic affiliation should never excuse crimes. Silence in the face of killings, torture, or kidnappings is complicity.
For many, only condemnation of the government is considered legitimate, because they believe it will hasten its fall and elevate their preferred group.
Weaponized Fear
Fear is a powerful weapon used not only by governments but also by rebel groups and diaspora opposition movements. It dominates minds long before power is won.
Recently, I spoke with Guyo Wario, a former Oromia Media Network journalist. He described how diaspora groups ostracized him after he was photographed with a government supporter, Habtamu Lamu. They accused him of being a sympathizer.
Guyo replied: “You criticize the government for denying freedom, yet you deny others their freedom. Everyone has the right to associate freely.” He was right. Even within diaspora communities, fear, labeling, and ridicule can silence dissent. Terms like “Faarsee bulaa”—roughly equivalent to “sycophant”—are used to shame people into conformity.
This authoritarian instinct exists in government, opposition, and diaspora alike. If a movement cannot tolerate free speech while in opposition, it cannot uphold freedom in power.
Breaking Free
Many groups fail to recognize that conquering minds through fear is itself oppression. They condemn authoritarianism while practicing it. They demand loyalty instead of dialogue and punish disagreement rather than embracing debate.
Removing a dictator is not enough. People must be liberated from internalized oppression produced by years of cultural conditioning.
Years of political participation, observation, and reflection have convinced me that Ethiopia needs cultural transformation to break its cycle of injustice. Changing who holds power is insufficient.
We must confront habits that sustain fear, silence, and blind loyalty. Children must be taught that truth-telling carries no shame, that justice outweighs ethnic or political allegiance, that transparency builds trust, and that disagreement is not betrayal.
Ethiopia can build a just society by transforming a culture of fear into one of fairness, integrity, and courage, by breaking silence rather than repeating old forms of oppression under new names and faces.
Martin Plaut 