𝓔𝒏𝓭𝒊𝒏𝓰 January 11, 𝟐𝟎𝟐6

𝐴 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑤𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛-𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑏𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 —𝑧𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝐓𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑣𝑎𝑠.

Dear Friends,

I am happy to get back to you once again in a new edition. Today, I have treated two topics, less than usual actually. The first one is more of futuristic and not a supremely urgent one as such, but to be considered seriously while celebrating epiphany. The second one comes along the visit of the premier to Djibouti, the statement of General Teshome Gemechu and Neway Debeb regarding Assab and Ethiopia’s claim to it.

Enjoy Reading. And do not forget to recommend my Substack to your friends and acquaintances.

Continuity and Care: Notes on Church Heritage in Tigray

The Potential Use of the AI as a Vital Tool

With Epiphany approaching, churches across Tigray will once again gather communities around manuscripts, tabots, liturgical objects, and rituals that have endured for centuries. This is the inspiration for this topic today.

These occasions are reminders that Tigray’s heritage is not confined to archives or museums; it remains in active use, woven into religious life and communal memory. Yet the circumstances in which these traditions are now observed are markedly different from those in which they were sustained for generations.

So, why not start thinking and applying AI as a strong tool to preserve heritages. Look at the following examples:

Across the world, AI is increasingly being deployed to preserve and transmit cultural heritage. In Italy, machine learning has been used to digitally reconstruct damaged frescoes in historic churches, allowing scholars and the public to experience artworks otherwise lost to time. In Japan, AI-powered systems help catalogue and translate ancient manuscripts, making them accessible to wider audiences while preserving delicate originals. Similarly, in Egypt, neural networks are employed to restore and annotate hieroglyphic inscriptions on tombs and temples, creating interactive digital archives. These examples demonstrate how AI can safeguard fragile heritage and ensure it is passed on accurately to future generation.

This has more merit for us!

Reason: recent years have weakened many of the informal and formal systems that once safeguarded church heritage. War, displacement, and economic strain have reduced the number of custodians, damaged storage spaces, and disrupted long-established routines of care. At the same time, public authority remains uneven in its reach. In such an environment, loss does not always occur through deliberate acts. More often, it takes the form of gradual deterioration, poor handling, or simple disappearance that goes unrecorded and therefore unaddressed.

This situation calls less for lofty declarations than for practical adjustment. Traditional conservation practices remain important, but they are difficult to apply consistently under present conditions. Digital documentation, supported by carefully governed AI tools, offers a modest and complementary response. By creating accurate visual records of manuscripts and movable treasures, it reduces the need for repeated physical handling and ensures that knowledge of these items does not rest solely in the memory of a shrinking number of individuals.

Used cautiously, such tools can also improve basic organisation and traceability. A manuscript that is photographed, described, and catalogued—even at a simple level—is less likely to vanish without notice. This matters in a context where law enforcement and administrative oversight cannot always be relied upon to provide timely protection. The aim is not surveillance or control, but continuity and accountability.

Equally important is the role of these technologies in supporting skills transfer. Many of the competencies required to read, interpret, and care for manuscripts have traditionally been passed on informally. AI-assisted transcription and reference tools can help younger clergy and trainees learn these skills more efficiently, without displacing the authority of senior custodians or altering established practices.

None of this requires treating sacred heritage as data detached from its spiritual meaning. Decisions about what may be digitised, what may be shared, and what must remain restricted should continue to rest with church authorities, guided by established norms. Digital records should be clearly distinguished from originals and understood as protective surrogates, not substitutes.

As Epiphany approaches, the visibility of Tigray’s religious heritage will briefly increase. That moment offers an opportunity to think in practical terms about preservation—not as an abstract cultural project, but as a set of manageable steps that can help ensure continuity during a period of institutional weakness. Quiet, well-governed documentation may not restore order on its own, but it can prevent avoidable loss while more stable conditions are awaited.

Ethiopia’s Quest for the Sea: Diplomacy, History, and Prudence

Ethiopia’s longing for access to the sea is a historical and strategic necessity, not merely a matter of sentiment. I would be among the first to welcome such an outcome, for two reasons: first, Ethiopia is the largest landlocked country in the world; second, for centuries it was a maritime nation, navigating the Red Sea and connecting with the wider world. It may not have developed extensive experience in fishing or beach tourism, but its engagement with coastal trade and maritime exploration was significant.

Every time I travel abroad, I am struck by the tangible power a coastline grants a nation, and I feel viscerally what Ethiopia has lost by being landlocked. The EPRDF, through figures such as Abdul Mejid Hussien and even Meles Zenawi, reduced the question of the sea to mere port usage. Yet access to the sea entails far more—sovereignty, trade flexibility, and geopolitical leverage.

Consider Eritrea, a small nation with over 1,000 km of coastline; Djibouti, a tiny land half surrounded by water; Somaliland with its long coast; Somalia with an extensive shoreline; and even the Democratic Republic of Congo, which managed a narrow corridor to the Atlantic. Such examples illustrate what Ethiopia has been denied—and why the question deserves strategic attention. This issue is timely and should be pursued alongside national priorities like the Grand Renaissance Dam.

But calls for a sea outlet must avoid imperialist or irredentist rhetoric. Aggressive claims, historical fabrications, or simplistic narratives will only deepen enmity. Diplomacy must lead, grounded in wisdom, tact, and vision. For Eritrea, offering Assab or part of it in exchange for strategic reciprocity could be a mutually beneficial deal—if approached with sound leadership, not coercion or populist posturing. The claim that Assab was historically part of Wollo, as General Aba Dula has suggested, is unfounded. Assab was part of Eritrea, though around 1976–78 the Derg restructured it into a self-administered region accountable to Addis Ababa, with substantial demographic changes from Tigrigna to Amharic speakers. In 1987, the Derg’s new constitutional framework made Assab one of five autonomous regions, enlarging it by incorporating parts of eastern Tigray. Yet the war prevented any administrative stabilization.

For Tigray, any military attempt to reclaim Assab would be catastrophic. The region would serve as the battlefield between the Ethiopian central government and Eritrea, exposing civilians to conflict and destruction. The prudent course is a carefully negotiated diplomatic approach. The government under Abiy should rely on skilful negotiation rather than vacuous posturing from generals, government-paid activists, or artists. For example, this week, singer Neway Debebe lamented his previous praise of Meles Zenawi, citing the “loss” of Assab being attributable to Meles—a simplistic reading of a deeply complex historical situation. If we allow facts to be distorted, the distortions will only multiply.

History offers lessons. Premier Akililu Habtewold and other ministers under Emperor Haile Selassie secured Assab, Massawa, and Eritrea through astute diplomacy, strategic alliances, and seizing the right moment—not by force or rhetoric. This approach, rooted in pragmatism and foresight, is the model Ethiopia should follow today.

In sum, Ethiopia’s pursuit of the sea demands careful strategy, historical accuracy, and unwavering reliance on diplomacy over bravado.