𝓦𝓮𝓮𝒌 𝓔𝒏𝓭𝒊𝒏𝓰 December 7, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

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

In today’s edition, I cover three topics, the first being an overly concerning issue.

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1. Tadesse Worede: The Time to Lay Out Tigray’s Strategy is Long Overdue

What is unfolding in Tigray once again defies neat analytical packaging. Even for seasoned political scientists—Tronvoll, Alex de Waal, or Mehdanie Tadesse—this is one of those moments where events refuse to sit still long enough to be captured by a clean framework. The situation is fluid, opaque, and strangely subdued. The federal government halted its subsidy to the region nearly two months ago—funds that cover most public-sector salaries—yet the news only broke recently, and the public reaction inside Tigray has been unexpectedly muted. It is difficult to know whether this is exhaustion, resignation, or something else altogether.

Then came the extraordinary scene in Mekelle: a force marching from Aragure near Quiha into the capital, with full armament and heavy machinery, surrounding the office of General Tadesse. Rumours spiralled—talk of a coup, of media shutouts, of the Voice of Woyane team being forced out of their premises. Yet the next morning the public saw General Tadesse meeting professionals on water and energy matters—an unusually technocratic appearance for him. By the third day, the tegadelti had quietly withdrawn to their barracks. What was gained? What was demanded? What was conceded? No one seems to know.

Many interpret this episode through a more grounded lens: the fighters have long pressed for better living conditions and assurances about their future, and the leadership had tried to offer them something by way of encouragement. But how does General Tadesse deliver on promises in a region so dependent on federal transfers—funds that can be cut with a simple decision of the premier, Dr. Abiy Ahmed? Add to this the moral and political weight of displaced people from Humera confronting him directly: how could he remain silent, they asked, when their land remains under others’ control, and they continue to suffer in tents in their own region?

More perturbingly, Tigray today often gives the impression of having several presidents at once. Different generals speak in different registers, issue their own calls, and narrate the situation as if each were presiding over a separate front. While General Tadesse keeps his eye on one central truth—that Tigray desperately needs peace and stability—others default to a martial tone, repeating that “we will defend ourselves if attacked.” These messages are not inherently contradictory, but the emphasis falls on entirely different points, and the public hears the dissonance loud and clear.

Why, then, does he not set the narrative and the tone? Why does he allow diffuse voices to define the moment? Leadership does not require silencing others, but it does require coherence. The absence of a unified message is frustrating, not because people expect miracles, but because they expect clarity of direction. At a time when the region is fragile, scattered messaging only deepens the uncertainty. What Tigray needs is not multiple monologues, but a single, steady voice that frames the stakes, outlines the strategy, and anchors the public in a sense of orientation—even when the path ahead is narrow and beset by pressures on all sides.

General Tadesse would be better served by breaking this silence. The public needs to hear the outline of his plan—how he intends to steer Tigray out of the present quagmire, what tools he possesses, what he lacks, and what kind of support he intends to solicit. Clarity is not a luxury at this point; it is a basic requirement. When the ground is shifting under an entire people, leadership cannot retreat into opacity. It must level with the public, not in grand declarations but in sober, concrete terms: What is the strategy? What is realistic? And how, precisely, does he intend to pull Tigray back from the edge?

2. Let the Young Lead: A Call for Adults to Watch and to Guide, Not Over-Criticize

Just this week, the Best TikToker of the Year Award was given to Adonay Berhane, as expected. I am not into TikTok and, therefore, the last person to comment on the platform itself. What draws me in is the social and political whirlpool surrounding any event—the undercurrents and overcurrents, the subtexts and texts, and everything in between.

Some people have been critiquing Adonay vehemently: Bedlu Wakjira and Mariamawit (the YouTuber) among them. Others, like Serawit Fikre, have joined his ranks in what is now called “ሰግጥ ፈምስ.”

This week, in a Video footage, Adonay explained the term “ሰግጥ” well. My take is that it is an exhortation—a call to be oneself, to take things on, to follow one’s heart and talents, not to be overly sensitive to judgment, and to look inward rather than be stifled by the opinions of others. With time, exposure to literature, and guidance from other erudite voices, Adonay could even develop his own school of thought. Why not? I find no issue with the ideas themselves.

I draw encouraging points from this phenomenon. First, Adonay speaks against indulgence and addiction within his broader message of “possibilities.” At a time when so many young people are immersed in addiction, petty distractions, and delinquent pastimes—including chat—Adonay is a God-sent figure who could steer them away from wasteful habits. Second, look at his followership: it is universal, spanning sex, ethnicity, and religion. In a moment when ethnicity seems to define and choke almost everything, this is a ray of hope. Ideas can win; they can inspire; they can create followership. For those of us who fear the country is sinking deeper into ethnic and religious tension, here is a defining example of solace and hope: the youth rallying around a young man who emerged unexpectedly.

Third, He also teaches about giving, kindness, and sharing one’s blessings with others. Solomon Abate has been in the art world for decades, yet little has changed in his material circumstances; a recent video even showed him running to catch a taxi. Adonay, in partnership with a real estate company, honoured Solomon for his long service to the arts and helped ease his financial pressures by handing in a car to him.

So let us relax; let us not rush into extreme judgment. We want the young to be self-expressive and confident, charting their own path. Those of us who are older should focus on offering guidance, anchored in history and custom. Having said that, Adonay, however, must be careful not to be carried away by the intoxication that comes with sudden, overflowing popularity—but I trust he knows that.

I wish him a meaningful journey as he inspires the youth, serving as a trailblazer of confidence and change.

3. Happy Birthday to Prince Mengesha Seyoum

Today marks the birthday of Prince Mengesha Seyoum, one of the last prominent heirs of Ethiopia’s imperial era and a figure whose long life has intersected with pivotal national moments. His public career began early: as a young man he served as governor in Ambo, later in Sidamo and Arsi, and subsequently as Minister of Public Works. These roles shaped him into a practical, task-oriented administrator—someone who valued execution over ceremony and who approached public responsibilities with a quiet determination.

When he assumed leadership of Tigray in the early 1960s, he stepped into a region long marked by neglect and recurrent famine. His father, Ras Seyoum, had been a fair and even-handed ruler, but his era saw virtually no public works. Mengesha arrived with experience, energy, and a developmental instinct rare among the nobility of his generation. His record included constructing the first modern bridge over the Giba River near Mekelle, pioneering terracing programs, and establishing TAIDEL, which processed gums and incense for export. He also pushed for R-10 roads that connected isolated woredas—routes that later proved indispensable during the famine of 1973.

His leadership style was equally notable. He was frequently seen operating bulldozers in Tigray’s parched landscapes, a workman’s cap pulled low as he worked alongside ordinary labourers. This visibility distinguished him in an era when most aristocrats remained removed from daily toil. Beyond infrastructure, he supported cultural and social initiatives: lobbying an Israeli company in Asmara to open Tigray’s first abattoir, organizing a beauty contest to raise funds for a cinema, restoring a historic building into functional public space, and issuing vehicle number plates that attracted motorists from as far as Dessie and Asmara.

Though strengthened by lineage and marriage—his descent from Emperor Yohannes IV and union with the emperor’s granddaughter—his influence in Tigray was shaped more by personal initiative than aristocratic privilege. His contributions, while constrained by the political economics of the imperial era, remain part of Tigray’s developmental memory. On his birthday, it is fitting to honour a life defined by service, resilience, and a steady commitment to the practical work of improving people’s lives.

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