𝙏𝒊𝙜𝒓𝙖𝙮 𝑾𝙚𝒆𝙠𝒍𝙮 𝘿𝒊𝙜𝒆𝙨𝒕 | October 11– October 18, 2025

This week, I have chosen to focus on a single, prominent topic—one I felt warranted a deeper, standalone exploration rather than being juxtaposed with others. I hope you enjoy reading it and find it thought-provoking.

Moral Insurgency of Tigray’s Fighters – Support them Today, not Tomorrow

Tigray has witnessed a new revelation — a peaceful revolt from within its own liberation army. It is an extraordinary moment that demands reflection on two intertwined dimensions: why it has happened, and what it implies for the future.

The breadth of this uprising is striking. It has unfolded across the entire region — south, west, east, and central Tigray. In many areas, a kind of peaceful confrontation took place between the rank and file and their generals, where anger and frustration were laid bare without reserve. In Hagereselam, Tembien, soldiers were seen arguing bitterly with General Megbey Haile; in Senkata, with General Masho Beyene; and similar encounters occurred in numerous other places.

Their demands were, at first, largely economic — decent pay, land, food, clothing, and basic dignity. But over time, political grievances emerged as well: “Stop treating us as a party army,” “Cancel the alliance with the EPLF, our killers,” “Where are your children, you generals?” In many of these meetings, the bitterness was palpable. One young soldier shouted, “Look at you and me! I’m twenty, you’re eighty! Look at how I look, and how you look!” Yet, remarkably, the protests remained peaceful. No one was attacked or threatened. The most ominous note came when the crowd should “Today we demonstrate; tomorrow we use bullets” — a chilling reminder of how fragile the moment could be ultimately.

The demonstrations began on Monday, 13 October, when army members blocked roads around Mekelle, halting traffic in and out of the city. They quickly realized that this was hurting ordinary people and lifted the roadblocks, choosing instead to protest peacefully within their camps and barracks. They demanded that their commanders address them directly, with some calling on General Tadesse Worede himself to come and speak. It remains unclear whether he ever did, though several generals reportedly engaged with the protesters. One general was heard exclaiming, “How can a military rise in protest? That happens nowhere in the world,” seemingly forgetting that this was a voluntary army born not of professional ambition but of necessity — an army of citizens who took up arms to defend their people from genocide.

In Hagereselam, General Megbey was seen speaking about the soldiers who had deserted to the Afar region, describing them not as enemies but as fellow Tigrayans. His tone was warm, and his words carried a sense of sympathy, perhaps even reconciliation. Yet that is only part of the story, and sentiment alone does not suffice. While commanding an army, he must withdraw from interfering in politics. What he should now do is clear: open his financial and administrative records for public scrutiny, and acknowledge and declare that his and his peers’ statement of January 23, 2025, was misguided, ill-timed, and fraught with ominous implications.

It has now been three years since the signing of the Pretoria Agreement — a long stretch by any measure. These young fighters had joined the war almost impulsively, driven by the anguish of watching Tigryan mothers abused, young people lynched in broad daylight, and the livelihood of Tegaru systematically destroyed. Most agonizingly, this happened by the unholy alliance of Abiy Ahmed, and a foreign despot who had had his ax to grind for 20 years, and an alliance underwritten by an international acclaim no less than the Nobel Peace Prize. And, against a multitude of enemies, they fought with remarkable bravery, to the astonishment of the world.

Unfortunately, after the peace agreement was penned, they endured destitution and privation in various camps, waiting to see what would follow — both politically and personally — from demobilisation and reintegration. Three years later, Tigray remains adrift: its territories unreturned, its displaced population still languishing in makeshift camps, its governance fragile, and its security perpetually uncertain, and the personal lives of its dear protectors stuck as if in a dead end.

Adding to the disillusionment of these young combatants, the senior commanders — men old enough to be their fathers, and in some cases their grandfathers — began to meddle directly in politics. They had prevented the TPLF Central Committee from expelling Monjorno during a regular evaluation session, one in which the army, inappropriately, participated. That infamous two-month CC meeting, towards the end of 2023, saw generals take an active role in partisan politics. By January of the following year, the same generals and colonels met behind closed doors. They issued a declaratory statement, pompously announcing that Debretsion’s faction alone represented the legitimate TPLF and was entitled to lead Tigray. Since that moment, political paralysis has deepened, and many fighters have fled toward the Afar region — seeking both refuge and space to reorganize for change. Unlike for their superiors, for these young armed men and women, TPLF is not a sacred institution or a source of eternal truth; it is simply one political organization among others.

Their frustration stems not only from political stagnation but also from the widespread allegations against their senior officers — charges of corruption, looting, racketeering, and even human trafficking. To this, they add their disgust over the generals’ unsavoury alignment with Isaias Afewerki’s regime, an alliance that many regard as nothing short of subservience and self-loathing.

Economically and socially, their despair runs deep. They are young men and women who came of age in a time when the world has grown smaller, and dreams have grown larger — an era when a boy from Maikenetal, a small town in central Tigray, can imagine becoming a scientist at NASA. Yet these same young people, after sacrificing five of their most formative years, remain trapped in hardship. They live without proper housing, earn meagre wages, struggle to clothe themselves, and see no clear path forward. They have buried friends in the war, carried the trauma of its brutality, and now look back with bitterness at what they perceive as strategic miscalculations in terms of the specific goal for the war, or the lack of it.

The question of a war’s goal has haunted Tigray since antiquity; it never stays still and keeps baffling us. For King of Kings Yohannis, the dilemma was whether to march against the Dervishes, hold the Ethiopian escarpment at Massawa against Italian encroachment, or push south to subdue King Menlik — each option carried starkly different risks and rewards. In 1990, thousands of TPLF fighters refused to press on to Addis Ababa and instead returned from Gondar to stay in Tigray. It took massive goading from the entire TPLF machinery to get them to change their minds and return to the frontline. Again, in 1998–2000, the TPLF top brass debated acrimoniously, leading to their falling apart, over whether to strike at Asmara and topple Isaias or merely reclaim seized territory. And now, from what we hear through figures like General Teklebirhan Woldearegay and others, the anti‑genocide army faced the same fork in 2021 and 2022: move on to Addis to unseat Abiy Ahmed, liberate Western Tigray, or march to Asmara to remove Isaias Afework. This repeated cycle — advance or consolidate, take one or the other option — keeps returning, stubborn and unresolved.

Back to the anti-genocide army. Given such accumulated misery and frustration, what options remain? Some have risked crossing deserts and seas to reach Arab countries; others have drifted to Addis Ababa or elsewhere in search of work and escape from the gloom of Tigray. But for the majority, such avenues are out of reach. Still, staying in Tigray, under present conditions, has become intolerable. It was only natural, therefore, that protests would erupt. Misery breeds frustration, and frustration inevitably leads to protest — a dialectical progression as old as history itself.

Talking of the future of these young people, I do not want to convey a wrong message. Let us not forget that these young men and women have an array of competencies from their participation in the war that they could transfer to their future. In serving as liberation fighters in one of the most intense and high-tempo wars, they have acquired a range of valuable skills. I presume they have developed a resilient sense of “I can do it,” certainly honed social and interpersonal skills, learned various practical trades, and gained an intimate understanding of their society from within. These experiences and abilities are assets that can be built upon for the future.

Perhaps the most striking feature of this uprising is the public’s silence. Despite an apparent silent sympathy for the soldiers (confirmed by my sources), ordinary people have not joined the demonstrations. Opposition groups have not issued statements of solidarity, at least not one I read. One wonders — where is the courage? If these young men and women, once hailed as heroes, are now crying out for justice, what restrains society from even voicing support? Not violence, but moral solidarity — a statement, a gathering, an act of empathy — would have been enough to show that Tigray stands with its own.

At the same time, there is another troubling aspect: the protests lack visible leadership or coordination. There are no clear spokespeople, no written statements, no defined objectives. It appears more as a spontaneous outburst of anger than a structured movement with strategy and purpose. Without such organization, there is a real risk that the protests will lose momentum and dissipate before achieving anything meaningful.

General Tadesse Worede has reportedly convened his cabinet this week to pass a new regulation granting special privileges to members of the voluntary armed force. It is a welcome step, albeit a late one. The question remains why such measures were not taken months ago, given his position as overall commander. Yet even now, can such gestures pacify the situation? Of course, the roots of discontent are as much economic as political. But, land in Tigray is scarce; raising salaries may ease pain, but not solve the crisis of livelihood. Even then, raising the pay would certainly hollow out the national budget. Demobilisation funds would require international backing — a revival of the Pretoria Agreement’s promises — but progress there has been elusive. Nor can Tigray afford to discharge its entire force when its own security remains precarious. It is, in every sense, a catch-22.

The protesters cannot succeed in isolation. Without solidarity from civilians, the diaspora, or other institutions, their movement risks faltering. A coup is neither likely nor desirable; Tigray is not an independent state that can act without reckoning with the government in Addis Ababa.

All said, there remains room for creative solutions. One practical beginning could be to provide housing and stability — to give these young people a tangible sense of belonging and future. Rather than distributing scarce land, Tigray could embark on an ambitious project to build condominium villages — fifteen- or twenty-storey buildings capable of housing hundreds of veterans. Financing could come from banks such as Wegagen or Anbesa, from EFFORT, TDA, REST, and similar development bodies, as well as from international partners like the World Bank or DFID, private investors, the diaspora community, and the population at large. Tigryans once contributed massively to the Grand Renaissance Dam and to the Martyrs’ Monument; they could rally again for their own sons and daughters who defended them in their darkest hour.

Such a project would offer not only material relief but moral renewal — a statement that Tigray stands with those who sacrificed for it. For all their anger, these young people’s aspirations are simple and shared by all: a secure, just, and free Tigray where ideas circulate freely, leaders are chosen by consent, and no one is persecuted for belief or conviction. The generals, for their part, must rescind their ill-conceived declaration of January 2023 — that only one faction deserves to rule, and that the army stands behind it. Their duty is not to dictate politics but to safeguard the people’s right to self-determination.

Above all, society must stand by the army members. Their demands are just, their methods peaceful, their restraint admirable. They carry arms yet have chosen dialogue over violence. In a region where shouting can be common but shooting one another is not, this self-control is an asset worth preserving. Even as they raise their voices against their superiors, they do so without assault or abuse. That alone speaks to a civic maturity born of suffering — and it deserves not silence, but solidarity.

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Tigray has lost one of its talented young artists, Haile Mergeta, from Raya, the dear land of talents, whose promising future was still ahead of him. Haile was not only an artist but also an anti-genocide fighter, using his songs to inspire and motivate fellow fighters during the anti-genocide struggle. He passed away from natural causes, apparently after a brief illness. Yet it is heartbreaking to consider how someone so young could be taken so quickly. It seems that inadequate access to proper healthcare may have played a role, which makes his death all the more distressing. Many are mourning, and the loss has hit the community hard. Rest in peace, Haile—your passing is deeply saddening.