Why peace eludes Ethiopia

Ethiopia has experienced recurrent conflicts for over five decades and this points to four interconnected explanations, writes Alemayehu Weldemariam, Adjunct Professor at Indiana University, in an analysis in The Conversation. He says these include that the foundations of the Ethiopian state remain contested, ceasefires are mistaken for political settlements, armed force continues to be a route to political power and regional rivalries reinforce internal conflicts. 'This includes a long-running civil war sparked by the overthrow of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974, renewed fighting in Tigray, and ongoing conflicts in Amhara and Oromia. The renewed hostilities in Tigray threaten to undo a peace process that had begun with an agreement signed in Pretoria, South Africa, in 2022. Why has peace been so difficult to sustain in Ethiopia? The problem isn’t that Ethiopians of diverse ethnic backgrounds hate one another and can’t live together peacefully. It’s that successive political arrangements have failed to establish widely accepted rules for managing disagreements.’ Weldemariam points out that Ethiopia’s 1995 Constitution emerged from a political transition that followed the overthrow of the military government in 1991. ‘This ended nearly two decades of civil war. The new leadership sought to address long-standing grievances over ethnic marginalisation and demands for greater autonomy. It restructured the country as a federation largely organised around ethnolinguistic communities.' 

'The Constitution vested sovereignty in Ethiopia’s nations, nationalities and peoples. It guaranteed their right to self-determination, including secession. Proponents of federalism regard this right as protection against historical domination. Opponents argue that it entrenches ethnic boundaries and encourages competition over territory and resources. Ethnic diversity doesn’t inevitably lead to violence. And federalism isn’t inherently destabilising. It was introduced to accommodate competing national claims within a common political order. But constitutional recognition is not the same as political reconciliation.’ He says in The Conversation that the problem arises when a Constitution sets out rules for sharing power and governing the country without sufficient agreement among the political groups expected to follow them. ‘Instead of providing a common framework for resolving disputes, those rules become another source of political conflict. The 2022 Pretoria agreement was about stopping hostilities, not about resolving their causes. The federal government and the Tigray People’s Liberation Front agreed to end two years of war. Major political questions were left for later negotiation. Disputed territories, regional administration, political participation and accountability for wartime abuses remain contentious. Eritrea, a major participant in the 2020-2022 war in Tigray, did not sign the agreement. Eritrean forces are still present in parts of Tigray.’

Weldemariam notes that the Tigray People’s Liberation Front itself also became fragmented after the war. ‘Divisions emerged within the leadership. Disagreements over federal relations, political authority and control of military forces developed into a struggle within the movement. A peace agreement assumes that the parties signing it have authority over their political and military organisations to honour their commitments. But when these organisations fragment, it becomes unclear who can carry out agreements. The Tigray leadership’s loss of legal party status in 2025 added another obstacle to political reintegration. These developments have undermined confidence that the transition from armed conflict to constitutional politics would be honoured.’ He believes this distinction is fundamental. ‘A cessation of hostilities can save lives immediately. But it cannot, by itself, establish a legitimate regional government, resolve territorial claims or restore trust between former enemies. The use of violence to acquire or retain political authority has deep roots in Ethiopia’s modern history. When political opponents have little confidence that elections, courts or negotiations can bring change, taking up arms can appear more effective than peaceful political competition. Under Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, political authority has become increasingly personalised, he states in The Conversation. ‘Military operations and extraordinary security measures have been used to confront political challenges. Peace needs a political environment where losing an election doesn’t mean exclusion from power or exposure to coercion.

'Ethiopia’s domestic conflicts are increasingly intersecting with the interests and actions of neighbouring countries. There have been accusations of cross-border military intervention. This has renewed concerns that the war in Tigray could develop into a wider conflict.’ According to Weldemariam, Ethiopia’s ambitions to secure Red Sea access have further complicated relations with Eritrea and Somalia. Its 2024 agreement with Somaliland provoked a dispute with Mogadishu. Ethiopia also has strained relations with Egypt over its mega dam in the Nile River. Sudan’s ongoing civil war and rival Saudi Arabia and Emirati relationships across the Red Sea add further pressures. Weldemariam concludes in The Conversation that Ethiopia’s recurring conflicts cannot be resolved through ceasefires alone. ‘Lasting peace requires all Ethiopians to agree on how power is shared, and the relationship between the federal government and its regions. But resolving Ethiopia’s internal divisions will not, on its own, settle tensions with neighbouring countries. That requires diplomacy built on respect for sovereignty, non-interference and peaceful negotiation over interests. Ethiopia therefore faces two interconnected challenges. First, building a political system that its diverse communities can accept. Second, establishing peaceful relations with its neighbours. Lasting peace depends on both.’

Full analysis in The Conversation