Originally published on Teshome Beyene’s blog, republished here with permission.
We have entered the Ethiopian New Year, and already a week has passed. With the inauguration of the Renaissance Dam behind us, politicians seem to be returning to familiar themes: the rhetoric of war, the push to regain the port, the vision of a “grandeur of Ethiopia,” and other longstanding debates. Zooming in on Tigray, many challenges persist and show little sign of quick resolution. In this week’s reflection, we will continue to deliberate on these enduring issues while keeping an eye on the future. That is why we focus on education and Geʽez, while also touching on the plight of the displaced and the ongoing risk of renewed conflict.
A. The Trap of the Uprooted Tigrayan
More than a million Tigrayans remain displaced from all corners of Tigray: from Wolkait and Tsegede in the west, from Erob in the east, and from Adiabo in the northwest, among other areas. They are trapped in a condition over which they have little control. Their only consistent demand has been the right to return home—a demand they have voiced repeatedly, but to little effect. These people were not just “caught up” in war; they were chased out deliberately under threat of death, forced to abandon the very places that defined their lives.
For many, time has already run out. Elderly people have passed away without a dignified retirement. Countless children have been born in makeshift camps, abandoned public buildings, or in the spare rooms of relatives and strangers. These children now grow up in difficult conditions, with inadequate schooling and poor health services. Families carry deep trauma: loved ones left behind or killed, homes burned or looted, and property reduced to waste or seized. Reports indicate that in many areas, settlers from other regions have moved into their houses and taken over their livelihoods.
The dilemma is stark. The displaced endure immense suffering where they are now—living in squalor, their list of hardships too long to recount. Yet supporting more than a million people indefinitely is unsustainable in a region with a small population and widespread poverty. Nearly five years have passed since they were forced out. This situation cannot continue; a resolution is urgent.
At the same time, their safe return cannot be taken for granted. Without security guarantees, a return could place them at the mercy of hostile forces. Any return must be carefully planned and organized, with the Tigray government ensuring protection and the restoration of sovereignty. Otherwise, sending people back would be futile and dangerous.
The TPLF’s claim that the displaced are yearning for its leadership is detached from reality. The real question is: how can these people return without fear? On the ground, there is no remorse from the perpetrators—whether in western Tigray or in Eritrean-occupied areas. To them, Tigrayans were intruders from the start, and if they are allowed back, it would only be under assimilation and subjugation, stripped of dignity, identity, and recognition.
Worst of all, neither the TPLF nor the Prosperity Party shows serious concern for the plight of the displaced. Both sides instrumentalize their suffering, using them as pawns in political contests rather than addressing their human tragedy.
The trap in which these compatriots find themselves must be broken. Their plight requires immediate and genuine resolution—not more delay, not more political gamesmanship.
B. The Return of Geʽez: An Ancient Language Stirring New Interest
Nowadays, there is a revitalized interest in Geʽez — the ancient Ethiopian language that stands as the ancestor of Tigrigna, Amharic, and several other Ethiopian languages. From the annals of history, Geʽez was once the spoken and administrative language of the Kingdom of Aksum (roughly 1st–7th centuries CE). It belongs to the South Semitic branch of the Afro-Asiatic language family and is one of the few languages of antiquity to have developed its own script.
Because of the fascination it inspired and the wealth of knowledge embedded in it, many European scholars delved deeply into Geʽez, producing foundational research that has helped keep the language alive in the academic world — and has, in turn, sparked fresh curiosity about it. Among the most notable of these scholars are Wolf Leslau (1906–2006), Stefan Strelcyn (1918–1981), Alessandro Bausi (b. 1963), and Claude Sumner (1919–2012), all of whom made towering contributions in documenting Geʽez, compiling dictionaries, and opening windows into its history, structure, and literature.
For centuries now, Geʽez has been confined mainly to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, as all original religious texts were written in it. Most church hymns, chants, and liturgies are still performed in Geʽez. While it has long ceased to be a language of everyday conversation — you won’t hear people chatting in Geʽez in cafés or marketplaces — it remains very much alive in liturgical use. The amount of knowledge preserved in Geʽez manuscripts is immense. To outsiders, Geʽez might best be compared to Latin: no longer a spoken vernacular, but still foundational, respected, and rich with historical and intellectual treasure.
Like Latin, Geʽez has also nourished its descendant languages. Tigrigna and Amharic have frequently drawn on it to enrich their vocabularies and to coin terms for new or complex concepts.
Recently, the regional government of Amhara decided to introduce Geʽez as a subject in elementary and middle schools. This decision has provoked a lively debate on the purpose of language learning, the availability of teachers, the additional workload for students, and who gets to decide which languages are taught.
One prominent critic has been Dr Bedlu Wakjira, a linguist, orthographer, and scholar of the Gurage language. He argues that the decision runs counter to the main purpose of language education, which, he insists, should be to prepare students for their future. In his view, Geʽez cannot serve as a language of modern communication and will not improve students’ prospects. He also notes that students are already overburdened with multiple languages, which risks crowding out other vital subjects essential for their intellectual and personal development.
Even so, most observers — including Dr Bedlu — acknowledge that Geʽez is a highly developed language worth studying, documenting, and making more accessible to those who are genuinely interested. Advocates in the Amhara region also frame it as a matter of heritage and identity. Bedlu agrees that for specialized learners with an avid interest in the language, resources should be developed and made available. Still, he cautions against imposing it at the primary level when students could be learning international languages that would better equip them for a rapidly changing world.
Tigray is at least as closely linked to Geʽez as the Amhara region — both have been strongholds of Orthodox Christian traditions. To be clear, Geʽez should not be seen as belonging only to religious communities; it is part of Ethiopia’s shared heritage and belongs to all Ethiopians.
That said, given Tigray’s current dismal political and economic situation, it may not be in a position to redesign its curriculum at the moment. But it would be wise to follow how the policy unfolds in Amhara closely, and to draw lessons from its successes or shortcomings. Dr Bedlu’s concerns should not be dismissed outright.
What is beyond debate, however, is that Geʽez deserves respect, attention, and wider accessibility. So far, it has been left mostly to the Church and a few passionate language enthusiasts. It should now be brought closer to the public, because the more accessible the language becomes, the lower the barriers will be to learning it, and the more people will be encouraged to engage with it.
Whether Geʽez should eventually become a compulsory school subject is a question that requires careful study — and, above all, political stability. Until law and order, good governance, and economic recovery are assured, every other reform will necessarily take second place.
C. The Shadow of War Must Recede
In Tigray, the specter of war never truly disappears. It rises and falls—sometimes swelling into open talk, retreating into whispers—but always lingering. For ordinary people, however, war is not an option. It is detested, loathed in every form, as communities are still smarting from its burns: the dead and maimed, the displaced, the ruined livelihoods, and the trauma that has yet to heal.
And yet, despite this deep weariness, the rhetoric of conflict persists. Leaders speak in tones that keep the possibility alive, even when the people long for peace. The danger is that war, though unwanted, may again be pulled from the shadows—threatening not just Tigray, but the entire Horn of Africa. If war erupts, it will easily spill beyond Tigray, threatening to engulf Eritrea, Ethiopia, and perhaps even Sudan. Of course, Tigray and Eritrea would be the epicenters of it. In short, any renewed conflict in this region would almost certainly draw in neighboring states and external powers, for the Horn of Africa is bound tightly to wider geopolitical interests. From Saudi Arabia and the UAE to Sudan, Somalia, Djibouti, and even Kenya—the region’s most stable state—the ripple effects of war here are never confined to one border.
In Addis Ababa, Arat Kilo continues to brandish the sword, at times in veiled warnings and at times openly. Military chiefs address the public in a tone that blends politics and strategy, further blurring the line between civilian and military roles. There is a similar trend in Tigray too, but in a less pronounced manner. Just recently, General Hailesilassie Girmay warned of the dangers of war and denounced efforts from Addis Ababa to silence Tigray’s voice. He declared that Tigray cannot be expected to die quietly while under attack, and that self-defense is a necessity. Taken on its own, the statement may sound reasonable—but it is also unsettling. For is this not how wars often begin? With heated words from leaders, with speeches that stoke fear and grievance, with leaders insisting they are vulnerable and must prepare for the worst, and with armies vowing that they will not flinch. Such rhetoric makes the air heavy, tense with the possibility of violence.
This tension is compounded by the wave of meetings now unfolding across Tigray, convened under the banner of “National Unity for Survival and Security.” At first glance, the theme may sound harmless—even noble. Yet the details reveal a heightened sense of urgency: an insistence that Tigray must prepare for any eventuality, potentially another specter of war. Military leaders in the region echo this message with careful but pointed words: not bravado, but a steady reminder that readiness is not optional.
All of this unfolds under the watch of the Pretoria Agreement—an accord that once seemed to promise a breath of peace, but which now sits almost discarded. Its monitoring mechanisms lie dormant, undone by both sides. The TPLF remained consumed by internal divisions and the struggle of factions for dominance. The Prosperity Party resists any genuine return of occupied territories and balks at restoring Tigray’s sovereignty. Beneath these failures lie deeper insecurities: the PP fears accountability for atrocities in Tigray; Debretsion and his circle fear exposure for their failures before, during, and after the war; and some of their allies are widely reported to have enriched themselves through illicit resource extraction, particularly gold.
Against this backdrop, one message must resound above all others:
“No to war. No to the death of young people on battlefields. No to displacement. No to the tears of mothers.”
4. Education in Tigrai: Context Behind the National Exam Outcomes
Just a week ago, the Ministry of Education released the results of the national university entrance exams. At a press conference, Education Minister Professor Berhanu Nega announced that only 3.3 percent of students across the country had passed.
The national average stood at 29.25 percent, with boys performing slightly better than girls (30.23 percent versus 28.09 percent). Students did better in natural sciences (31.6 percent) compared to social sciences (27.79 percent). To illustrate how low the results were: out of 600 possible marks in social sciences, only 10 students scored above the 500 threshold; in natural sciences, just 263 students out of 700 managed to score 600 and above.
Even more striking, Berhanu revealed that 56 percent of schools nationwide — 5,040 institutions — failed to produce a single passing student. Among regular schools alone, 39.2 percent had no students qualify.
In his assessment, Addis Ababa, Amhara, and Dire Dawa significantly outperformed the other regions, which is above the 3.3 percent national average. Tigray fell into this lower-performing group. Considering the devastation of war, however, the results in Tigray should be seen in context. Scores of teachers were killed or displaced, most schools were destroyed, furniture and equipment were looted or burned, and both parents and children continue to endure trauma.
Still, Tigray once had an edge in education. For decades, the proportion of students from Tigray entering universities was higher than its population share would suggest. That tradition of excellence makes the current picture particularly painful.
Notably absent from the minister’s list of seven high-performing schools was Kalamino Special School, a pioneering institution established by the Tigray Development Association under the late Araya Zerihoun. Schools that adopted its model in other parts of the country performed well, but questions have been raised about Kalamino’s results. Dr. Kiros Guesh Kiros, head of Tigray’s Bureau of Education, has stated that flaws were found in the marking of Kalamino’s exam papers. The issue has been reported, and its resolution may yet change the picture.
The minister presented the grim results with a matter-of-fact tone, even suggesting a silver lining: that widespread exam cheating had finally been curbed. But in a country where only 3.3 percent of students qualify for public universities, such framing cannot disguise the bleak outlook.
For Tigray, a small state with a proud history of academic achievement, the results are especially troubling. They may be rationalized for now, given the extraordinary circumstances, but they remain unacceptable in the long run.
Amidst this gloomy picture, it is worth celebrating moments of light: two outstanding students, Adonay Gebresilassie and Angessom Desalegn, both from Kalamino Special School, excelled with exceptionally high scores. According to Dimtsi Woyane, they have scored 568 and 572 out of 600, respectively, which is by any account a shining result. Their achievement offers hope that even in difficult times, the Tigrayan commitment to education has the potential to endure.