Ethiopia: Anatomy of a Fractured State — Ethnic Federalism, Civil War, and the Risk of Collapse – Fractured States Series — Vol. II

Introduction — Ethiopia as a Paradigmatic Fractured State

Ethiopia exemplifies the archetype of a “fractured state” – a polity riven by deep-seated cultural and historical fault lines that make internal conflict a structural feature of its existence. Long lauded as Africa’s uncolonized exception and a bastion of ancient statehood, Ethiopia’s grand narrative of imperial glory and resilience masks an underlying reality of fragmentation. The country’s mosaic of more than 80 ethnic groups has never fully fused into a cohesive nation-state; instead, successive regimes oscillated between brutal centralization and tenuous ethno-federal compromises. Today, the consequences of those unresolved fractures are on stark display. Ethiopia’s civil war in Tigray (2020–2022) – marked by atrocities and famine – pushed the federation to the brink of implosion. Even after a formal truce, violent unrest simmers in Oromia and Amhara regions, communal massacres scar the countryside, and millions remain displaced. The state’s authority is contested on multiple fronts, and the very viability of Ethiopia’s multi-ethnic federation is in question. In short, Ethiopia stands as a paradigmatic fractured state: an ostensibly substantial nation-state undermined by entrenched internal cleavages so deep that some analysts warn its disintegration is not only possible but perhaps long overdue.

In this strategic intelligence brief – part of Prime Rogue Inc.’s Fractured States series profiling countries predisposed to internal conflict – we dissect Ethiopia’s fissures along historical, cultural, and psychological lines. For Part I of Prime Rogue Inc.’s Fractured State Series, profiling Serbia, you can click here. Adopting a polemical yet forensic lens, we examine how mythic national narratives and martyrdom cults fuel grievance, how collective psychology oscillates between victimhood and exceptionalism, and how political actors weaponize memory to perpetuate power. We map the role of diaspora networks, clergy, and institutions in cementing identities, and assess Ethiopia’s behavior on the regional stage as both a source and target of spillover instability. An evaluative Fracture Index scores Ethiopia on ten diagnostic dimensions of fracture – from “Cultural Cleavage Depth” to “Narrative Control Infrastructure” – illustrating the degree to which each pathology is ingrained in the Ethiopian state. Finally, we consider contemporary implications: what these fractures mean for Ethiopia’s future stability, the risks of state failure or civil war relapse, and prospects for the country’s survival as a unified entity. The aim is to provide a realist-constructivist analysis that is culturally incisive yet strategically actionable – illuminating not only the causes of Ethiopia’s fractures, but also how they might be managed or, if unaddressed, how they could precipitate Ethiopia’s collapse as a nation-state.

Historical Background — From Imperial Conquest to Federal Fracture

Modern Ethiopia’s fissures are rooted in its very formation as an empire. In the late 19th century, Emperor Menelik II of Shewa expanded a highland Abyssinian kingdom into the diverse lands of today’s Ethiopia through a series of conquests often likened to internal colonization. Menelik’s campaigns (known as Agar Maqnat, or “colonization, cultivation and Christianization of land”) violently annexed vast Oromo, Sidama, Somali, and other territories, mirroring European imperial practices of the era with settler militarism, land dispossession, and a “neftenya-gabbar” system that imposed northern (largely Amhara) rulers over subjugated southern peoples. While Ethiopians celebrate Menelik’s era for preserving the empire’s sovereignty against European colonizers (most famously by defeating Italy at Adwa in 1896), the empire’s southward expansion was achieved through extreme violence that many historians now characterize as genocidal. These 19th-century conquests planted the seeds of Ethiopia’s enduring cultural cleavage: a traditionally dominant highland Christian core ruling over a periphery of conquered “nations” with their own languages, religions, and memories of subjugation.

Throughout the 20th century, Ethiopia’s rulers tried – and ultimately failed – to forge a singular national identity from this imperial legacy. Emperor Haile Selassie (r. 1930–1974) pursued an assimilationist nation-building project, promoting Amharic language, Orthodox Christianity, and the Solomonic myth of divine imperial lineage as unifying pillars. His centralized autocracy, however, left little space for non-Amhara ethnic aspirations. Resistance festered: the Oromo and Somali peripheries saw sporadic rebellions; Eritrean nationalists launched a 30-year war for independence after Ethiopia annexed Eritrea in 1962, rejecting its federal autonomy. In 1974, a Marxist military junta (the Derg) toppled Haile Selassie, only to impose its own brutal unitary vision. The Derg’s socialist revolution intensified violence – most notoriously via the “Red Terror” purges of the late 1970s – and it deliberately used famine and mass resettlement to break rural resistance, further traumatizing communities. By the late 1980s, Ethiopia was a patchwork of insurgencies. Ethno-national rebel fronts, chief among them the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) and allied movements, capitalized on local grievances against decades of imperial and socialist centralism. In 1991, the Derg regime collapsed, and the victorious TPLF-led coalition (the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front, EPRDF) set out to fundamentally re-engineer the state.

The EPRDF’s answer to Ethiopia’s fracture was ethnic federalism – an attempt to acknowledge and institutionalize the country’s diverse identities within a single state. The 1995 constitution carved Ethiopia into nine ethno-linguistically defined regional states (later ten), explicitly granting each “Nation, Nationality, and People” the right to self-governance, cultural expression, and even secession (Article 39). This was a dramatic swing of the pendulum away from forced unity, ostensibly addressing the “nationalities question” by empowering ethnic communities. For a time, this model kept the peace, but it also locked in and formalized the very fractures it aimed to manage. Power remained heavily centralized in the hands of the TPLF (representing the Tigrayan minority), which dominated federal politics for nearly three decades, leading to perceptions of a new hegemony. Meanwhile, ethnic federalism encouraged political mobilization along identity lines at every level of government, as groups vied for resources and status within the federation. The system’s contradictions – a strong ruling party enforcing unity, while ethno-regional autonomy fueled separate nationalisms – built up latent tensions. By the 2010s, cracks were showing: large-scale Oromo protests (2014–2018) against marginalization, Amhara discontent with TPLF’s overreach, and demands for new ethnic states (e.g. Sidama) signaled that Ethiopia’s experiment in ethno-federal statehood was faltering.

In 2018, a tumultuous political transition brought Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed to power, ending TPLF’s long rule and raising hopes of reform. Abiy championed a pan-Ethiopian medley (medemer) philosophy, seeking to dilute ethnic rigidities and centralize authority under a new Prosperity Party. But this shift alienated the TPLF and alarmed ethno-regional elites who saw it as a rollback of their autonomy. The showdown came in 2020 when the Tigray region, defying Abiy’s federal government, held its own election (after a national postponement) and openly challenged the central authority. A military confrontation in November 2020 ignited the devastating Tigray War. Federal troops, allied with Amhara regional forces and Eritrea (now an external actor but with shared history), battled the defiant Tigrayans. The war killed tens of thousands, displaced millions, and was marred by ethnic massacres and famine crimes. Though a peace agreement in late 2022 paused the fighting, the conflict’s fallout laid bare Ethiopia’s fractured foundation: other regions like Oromia and Amhara slid into insurgencies and rebellions, as the delicate balance of Ethiopia’s union lay shattered. In sum, Ethiopia’s journey from imperial conquest to ethnofederal experiment has come full circle to federal fracture – with the state once again teetering between centrifugal forces and the impulse to coerce unity. The historical patterns of domination and revolt, center and periphery, remain as relevant and perilous as ever.

National Myth, Memory, and Martyrdom — How Identity Narratives Feed Grievance

Ethiopia’s competing communities inhabit separate worlds of historical memory, each with its own pantheon of heroes, martyrs, and defining traumas. The old imperial national myth – cultivated by the state for generations – holds that Ethiopia is an ancient civilization chosen by God, a black Christian empire descended from King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. In this narrative, the Amhara-Tigrayan highland monarchs are valorized as unifiers who heroically defended Africa’s sole independent state against colonialism. Iconic moments like the 1896 Battle of Adwa serve as keystones of shared pride, woven into a story of Ethiopian exceptionalism. Yet what the center hails as nation-building, the peripheries often remember as subjugation. Competing identity narratives have crystalized along ethnic lines, fueling mutual grievance. For the Oromo – Ethiopia’s largest ethnic group – the dominant memory is of colonial conquest: a proud people “steamrolled by the forces of Emperor Menelik II” and thereafter subjected to cultural suppression and land dispossession. Oromo historians and nationalist intellectuals recount the late 19th-century Abyssinian invasion as a tragedy of lost sovereignty, sometimes even branding it a genocide in which millions perished. These memories are kept alive through oral history and activism, feeding a contemporary sense of injustice. Likewise, many Sidama, Somali, and other southern groups share recollections of imperial violence and forced assimilation – cautionary tales of a past when speaking one’s language or displaying one’s culture invited punishment from the imperial state.

On the other hand, many Amhara Ethiopians embrace a narrative of civilizing mission and shared statehood. In this view, Menelik’s expansion is recast as nation-building that ended the era of slave raids and internecine wars, bringing modernization and Christianity to the south. The Amhara historical memory often emphasizes the heroism of defending Ethiopia from external enemies (the Italians, for instance) and the sacrifices made to hold the country together. For Amhara nationalists today, a new grievance has entered their narrative: the notion that post-1991 ethnic politics unfairly villainized the Amhara as historical oppressors. They point to what they term a “history of martyrdom” in defending Ethiopia – whether at Adwa in 1896, or in resisting the Fascist occupation in the 1930s, or fighting secessionists – and resent that the reward for this patriotism, under the EPRDF era, was to be collectively maligned and targeted. This martyrdom motif is powerful across Ethiopian identities. Tigrayans, for example, memorialize their own martyrs with fervor: the TPLF’s armed struggle (1975–1991) against the Derg regime is sanctified in Tigrayan consciousness, and every family honors those who “paid in blood” to liberate Tigray from tyranny. Annual martyrs’ days, monuments in Mekelle, and folk songs all reinforce a collective memory of sacrifice and heroism. During the recent Tigray war, this sense of martyrdom only deepened – as thousands of young Tigrayans died fighting what they perceived as an existential onslaught, their deaths have been woven into a narrative of righteous resistance.

Crucially, these identity narratives feed grievances in the present by continuously reframing political claims as matters of historical justice. When an Oromo activist invokes the horror of Menelik’s campaigns over a century ago, it is not mere history – it is a rallying cry against perceived neo-imperial domination by Amhara elites or the central government. The same goes for an Amhara commentator recounting massacres of Amharas in the 1990s or 2000s: such memory serves to harden attitudes that Amharas are perennial victims of ethnic hatred, fueling calls for protection and perhaps retribution. Every group can point to a catalogue of injustices suffered – and those memories are deliberately kept raw. During periods of upheaval, politicians and militants weaponize these narratives. For instance, as ethnic Oromo youth mobs carried out horrific revenge killings in 2020 after a beloved Oromo singer was assassinated, many justified the violence (or at least explained the rage) by citing historical Oromo suffering under “neftegna” (old northern settlers). Conversely, when Amhara militias ethnically cleansed Tigrayans from contested areas in Western Tigray during the recent war, they rationalized it as reversing the injustices of TPLF’s past rule and restoring lands that “belong” to Amhara – again, history as a sword. In Ethiopia, myth and memory are political currency: each community’s sense of identity is inseparable from its telling of history, and those tales invariably cast the self as victim or savior (or both) in a long drama of survival. The result is a combustible landscape where narratives of past glory or trauma continually inflame present-day conflicts. Without a unifying national story accepted by all, Ethiopia’s diverse peoples remain locked in a competition of memories that perpetuates mistrust and resentment.

Psychological & Cultural Effects — Victimhood, Exceptionalism, Demonization

Generations of conflicting narratives have etched a complex psychological profile onto Ethiopia’s polity. On one level, there is a strain of exceptionalism that runs through Ethiopian political culture at large – a pride in Ethiopia’s antiquity, independence, and presumed leadership role in Africa. This national exceptionalism, however, often splinters into ethno-centric exceptionalisms. Each major group harbors a sense of its own special role or burden. The highland Abyssinian establishment (historically drawn from Amhara and Tigrayan elites) long cultivated a feeling of civilizational greatness – the notion that Ethiopia is a “chosen” nation with a manifest destiny, unique for its Orthodox Christian heritage and imperial lineage. This bred a subtle arrogance in state dealings, a presumption that Ethiopia would endure when others in Africa might not (the flipside of which we now see questioned). Among Tigrayans, following decades of dominance and then the recent trauma of war, a distinct exceptionalism has emerged: a view of Tigray as the stalwart defender of Ethiopia’s sovereignty (citing Tigrayan generals at Adwa and the TPLF’s pivotal role in toppling the Derg) combined with an almost messianic self-image as an embattled, virtuous minority. In the Tigrayan narrative, they are a people who repeatedly saved Ethiopia, only to be repaid with betrayal – reinforcing a sense of moral superiority entwined with victimhood. The Oromo, for their part, increasingly voice an ethos of Oromo exceptionalism centered on having the largest population and a rich pre-colonial democratic tradition (the Gadaa system), yet being denied their rightful primacy in modern Ethiopia. Many Oromo feel they have a unique destiny to finally correct Ethiopia’s course, casting their liberation from “colonial” subjugation not just as their own justice but as a chance to remake Ethiopia into a more equitable polity.

At the same time, a pervasive culture of victimhood permeates Ethiopia’s factions – a psychological legacy of the cycles of oppression and violence. Ethnic communities have internalized narratives of collective suffering to such a degree that victimhood becomes a core identity. The Oromo speak of gadaa values and past glory, but also of a century of being “others’ victims” – whether under Menelik’s guns or under Amhara cultural domination or under TPLF’s repression. Tigrayans, reeling from what they label a genocide in 2020–22, now carry profound victim psychology: many genuinely believe the world turned a blind eye to an attempt to exterminate them, leaving them with a lasting siege mentality and trauma that will echo for generations. Amharas too have increasingly adopted a victim narrative, especially as they have been targeted in ethnic massacres in recent years by extremists in Oromia and Benishangul. The gruesome killing of hundreds of Amhara villagers by Oromo militants – events that Human Rights Watch and others have documented – has given rise to a chorus of Amhara voices insisting that they, in fact, are the most persecuted group in Ethiopia today, despite the stereotype of Amharas as historical rulers. This phenomenon of competitive victimhood means each group sees itself as the primary casualty of Ethiopia’s historical saga. Such a mindset is profoundly destabilizing: when every side sees itself as the aggrieved underdog, zero-sum thinking and unwillingness to compromise harden. Grievances become sacred, not to be negotiated but avenged or at least acknowledged above all.

These victimhood and exceptionalism tropes are reinforced by deliberate demonization of the “other,” turning communities against each other with fear and hatred. Ethiopian discourse, especially in vernacular languages and on social media, often descends into dehumanization of rival ethnic groups. During the Tigray war, propaganda networks amplified grotesque caricatures: Tigrayans were painted as treasonous “junta” members or even as vermin by some federal and Amhara voices, while some Tigrayan outlets referred to Amhara militias and leaders as “fascists” or compared Abiy’s rule to genocidal regimes. In earlier times, the TPLF-led government demonized Oromo and other dissenters as terrorists or “narrow nationalists,” while Oromo ethno-nationalists in turn vilified the “neftegna” (Amhara settlers) as inherently evil oppressors. Over decades, the habit of blaming some ethnic other for all problems – rather than engaging in good-faith dialogue – has become deeply ingrained. This cultural demonization plays out in education and media. Each group’s folklore and even school curriculum (where regional states control history education) may omit or distort the contributions of others, subtly reinforcing prejudice. The result is a fractured societal psyche in which empathy is limited to one’s in-group and historical empathy for others’ suffering is almost entirely absent. Instead, distrust and fear prevail: communities genuinely fear that if the “other” gains power, existential harm will come to them – a fear stoked by memories of past atrocities. Thus, victimhood narratives and demonization feed each other in a vicious loop: one’s own victim status is confirmed by the villainy ascribed to the other side, which in turn justifies preemptive acts that victimize the other, keeping the cycle alive. Psychologically, Ethiopia’s fractures are self-perpetuating; without a concerted effort to break these narratives, they ensure that each generation inherits the animosities and traumas of the last.

Narrative Control and Political Theater — How Regimes Manipulate Memory

In Ethiopia, power has always rested not just on force but on controlling the national narrative. Competing regimes – imperial, Marxist, ethno-federal, and now populist – each engineered official histories and public rituals to legitimize themselves and marginalize opponents. The state’s narrative control infrastructure has been refined over decades to shape how Ethiopians remember their past and view their present, often through elaborate political theater. Under Emperor Haile Selassie, the court historians and the church crafted a hagiographic history of a unitary Christian empire. The emperor himself would stage grand pageants, such as his Jubilee in 1955 or the lavish imperial coronation ceremonies, to dramatize continuity with a 3,000-year Solomonic lineage – a spectacle reinforcing the myth that all Ethiopians shared in this ordained monarchy. Dissenting histories, such as the perspectives of the conquered Oromo or the narrative of Eritrean distinctness, were strictly suppressed. The imperial regime even controlled education tightly, producing textbooks that glorified emperors and omitted the darker sides of empire.

The Marxist Derg regime (1974–1991) overturned those imperial icons and introduced its own brand of narrative manipulation. Mengistu Haile Mariam’s junta tore down statues of emperors and renamed the calendar to start “Year Zero” at the revolution – an attempt to reset national memory. The Derg propagandists replaced older myths with a socialist narrative of class struggle: the feudal aristocracy (and by implication, their Amhara base) were demonized as exploiters, while the “masses” were lauded as revolutionary heroes. The Red Terror was accompanied by morbid theater – public displays of executed “counter-revolutionaries” – meant to instill a narrative of inevitable triumph over traitors. Yet even as the Derg promoted internationalist socialist rhetoric, it invoked Ethiopian patriotism when needed (for example, in rallying against Somali invaders in the 1977 Ogaden War). This schizophrenic narrative strategy ultimately rang hollow, and many ethnic rebels simply wrote their own counter-memories of Derg oppression, to be used later.

After 1991, the TPLF-led EPRDF government undertook one of the most radical narrative rewrites: institutionalizing ethnic histories as part of the new federal ethos. For the first time, the state officially acknowledged that Ethiopia was an amalgam of nations with different historical experiences. Museums and memorials sprang up to commemorate the suffering of specific groups – for instance, tributes to Oromo freedom fighters or Afar culture. The TPLF itself, however, controlled the master narrative: it depicted the EPRDF’s victory over the Derg as a collective liberation of all nationalities, framing the ethnic federal constitution as the fulfillment of historical justice. At the same time, the EPRDF regime was keen to cement its own hero status. Each year, it orchestrated anniversary celebrations of the downfall of the Derg (“Ginbot 20” Victory Day) with military parades and revolutionary songs. State media incessantly reminded citizens that the ruling party had delivered them from the abyss of famine and war. History textbooks were revised to include formerly marginalized histories – but also to elevate the TPLF/EPRDF narrative of unity through diversity. Critics accused the regime of whitewashing its own abuses (like the mass killings of Anuak in Gambella in 2003, or the post-2005 election violence) by keeping tight control over media and historiography. Indeed, the government maintained strict censorship; journalists who probed too far into sensitive historical or ethnic issues were silenced, and a federal “Ministry of Peace” monitored and massaged inter-ethnic discourse.

Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, upon taking office in 2018, initially relaxed censorship and allowed a burst of free expression – a brief thaw in narrative control. However, as political fragmentation increased, Abiy’s administration reverted to heavy-handed information management and crafted its own grand narratives. Abiy, with a flair for dramatic political theater, launched projects like the “Unity Park” in Addis Ababa (restoring Emperor Menelik’s palace as a public museum) and erected statues of past leaders, signaling a resurrection of Ethiopia’s imperial symbols as icons of national unity. He preached about a singular Ethiopian identity, harking back selectively to historical moments of togetherness (such as Adwa) while downplaying the divisive legacy of imperial conquest. This narrative shift was deliberate: Abiy sought to delegitimize ethnic separatism by reviving an older Ethiopian nationalism. At the same time, during the Tigray conflict, his government engaged in outright memory manipulation and denial. Federal officials consistently downplayed or denied atrocities – notably, spending months insisting there were no Eritrean troops in Tigray even as evidence mounted. State media provided an echo chamber for the government’s framing of the war as a lawful operation against a rogue clique, actively omitting reports of civilian suffering. Social media was periodically shut down to control the spread of Tigrayan accounts. When admissions had to be made (as when Abiy finally acknowledged Eritrean involvement), they were accompanied by spin to protect the government’s image. The aim was to shape both domestic and international perceptions: to maintain domestic support by hiding uncomfortable truths and to prevent an international outcry by controlling the narrative of the conflict. In essence, Abiy’s government turned the information space into another battlefield – a strategy consistent with past regimes, albeit using modern tools.

Throughout Ethiopia’s history, then, regimes have engaged in performative acts and propaganda to entrench their preferred version of history and reality. Whether through state media monopolies, educational curricula, or public ceremonies, those in power have tried to mold collective memory to their advantage. This has often meant manipulating or erasing inconvenient truths – for example, glossing over famine crimes or blaming unrest on shadowy foreign plots – which only deepens mistrust among populace groups who see their lived experiences negated. It also means that Ethiopia lacks a shared, uncontested memory of key events; every narrative is politicized. The political theater continues: even the recent establishment of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission can be seen as an attempt to control the narrative of past abuses (critics fear it may be used to grant impunity or to write a history sympathetic to the government). In fractured Ethiopia, memory itself is a terrain of struggle – and regimes that master the art of narrative control can mobilize support or suppress dissent effectively, at least for a time. But this manipulation comes at a cost: when reality ultimately breaks through (as in the truth of war atrocities eventually emerging), the credibility of the state is severely undermined. Ethiopia’s experience shows that imposing a single narrative in a divided society can offer short-term stability at best, while in the long run it amplifies the very fractures it seeks to paper over.

Diaspora, Clergy & Institutional Reinforcement — Who Sustains the Fracture

The perpetuation of Ethiopia’s fractures is not only an internal process; it is actively sustained by influential external and societal actors – notably the diaspora communities, religious institutions, and formal structures – who reinforce identity cleavages in multiple ways. The Ethiopian diaspora, numbering in the millions across North America, Europe, and the Middle East, has become a critical (if unwieldy) protagonist in the country’s identity wars. Far from leaving homeland conflicts behind, Ethiopian diaspora networks often intensify them from afar. Expatriate communities are split along the same ethnic lines, and thanks to social media and satellite TV, they now inject money, rhetoric, and lobbying efforts into Ethiopia’s conflicts. Diaspora activists and media outlets have emerged as megaphones for ethno-nationalist narratives. For example, during the Tigray war, Ethiopian diasporas engaged in a “battle of narratives” online: Tigrayan diaspora groups organized campaigns to raise awareness of alleged genocide, flooded Twitter with hashtags, and lobbied Western governments to censure Addis Ababa; on the other side, Ethiopian and Amhara diaspora voices painted the TPLF as terrorists and accused Western media of bias, even staging demonstrations in Western capitals to support the Ethiopian government. This diaspora grievance amplification often lacks the moderating influence of on-the-ground reality – ensconced in foreign capitals, some diaspora factions take more hardline positions than those living in Ethiopia, pushing polarizing agendas without facing the direct consequences of conflict. The Ethiopian diaspora’s internal schisms have even spilled into religious centers abroad: in one remarkable case, an Ethiopian Orthodox Church in Ohio saw its congregation bitterly divided, with Tigrayan members and clergy on one side and Amhara on the other, feuding over which language (Tigrinya or Amharic) to use in liturgy – a proxy for taking sides in the war back home. Across the diaspora, families and friends have been splintered by disagreements over the war and ethnic politics, mirroring Ethiopia’s fractures and sometimes exacerbating them through relentless social-media barrages and funding to rival political groups. Rather than serving as peacemakers, diaspora communities often act as identity echo chambers, preserving old wounds and rallying international attention to local ethnic causes, thereby both sustaining the emotional intensity of conflicts and internationalizing them.

The Ethiopian clergy and religious institutions also play a dual role in either bridging or widening fractures – and of late, that role has been the latter. Historically, the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church was a cornerstone of national identity, at least for highland Christians, providing a shared religious culture that somewhat transcended ethnicity. Indeed, emperors leaned on the church to inculcate loyalty, and the Orthodox faith was a key marker distinguishing “Ethiopians” from outsiders. However, the church itself has been riven by ethnic and linguistic disputes. Non-Amhara groups long resented that the Orthodox liturgy and administration favored Amharic and Ge’ez, marginalizing Oromo and others within the church. These tensions came to a head in early 2023, when a group of Oromo Orthodox clerics declared a breakaway synod, accusing the patriarchate (led by an ethnic Tigrayan patriarch) of discriminating against Oromo believers and imposing Amharic culture. The schism led to deadly clashes in Oromia as faithful and clergy took sides, and it required the Prime Minister’s intervention to broker a deal – including promises to expand Oromo-language services and ordain more Oromo bishops. This episode underscored how deeply identity politics have penetrated even spiritual life: what should have been a unifying national institution became another arena for ethnic assertion. Similarly, Ethiopia’s Muslim communities (about a third of the population) have their own internal dynamics – for instance, tensions between Oromo Muslims and others, or protests against perceived government interference in Islamic affairs – which occasionally intersect with ethnic fractures. Religious leaders, whether Orthodox priests, Islamic scholars, or Protestant pastors, often command great trust among communities; when they align with ethnic agendas (even implicitly, by using one language over another or by echoing a group’s historical grievances in sermons), they lend those fractures a sacral legitimacy. The Orthodox Church in particular, with its centuries of intertwining with the state, has many clergy who are unabashed about their ethno-national loyalties. During the Tigray conflict, the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church, Abune Mathias (himself Tigrayan), tried to speak out against the war’s atrocities, describing them as a “genocide” – but he claimed his message was censored by the government, highlighting the contest between moral authority and state narrative. Meanwhile, some lower-ranking clergy either sided with the federal cause or with Tigray, effectively blessing each side’s narrative. The clerical identity anchoring in Ethiopia remains potent: religious holidays, churches, and mosques often double as spaces where historical memory and ethnic identity are reinforced in ritual. When those institutions fracture (as seen in the Oromo-Orthodox split), it profoundly shakes communities, because it not only validates the ethnic divide but suggests even God’s house is partitioned by language and tribe.

Finally, Ethiopia’s own institutions – from the constitution to the education system – entrench the fractures structurally. The federal constitution, as noted, enshrines ethnicity as the fundamental organizing principle of the state. This constitutional identity lock-in means that from birth to death, an Ethiopian’s bureaucratic existence is framed by ethnic category: identity cards list ethnicity, politics is channeled through ethnic parties, and territorial administration maps to ethnic demographics. Such a framework both empowers group rights and cements group fault lines. There is scant incentive in this system to adopt a multi-ethnic political identity; power and resources flow through ethno-regional units, so people naturally rally to their group’s banner. Education, too, has been regionalized: since the 1990s, most students are taught in their mother-tongue at least in primary years, learning their own region’s history from local perspectives. While this is a laudable boost for cultural rights, it also means that a child in Tigray or Oromia might grow up with little knowledge of, or empathy for, the history of other Ethiopians beyond what is in federal civics class. Each region has its own media (TV, radio in local languages) further amplifying its narrative. Additionally, official institutions like the military and civil service, which once served as mixing pots (albeit dominated by certain groups), have themselves become ethnic battlegrounds. Under EPRDF rule, the military officer corps was heavily Tigrayan; now under Abiy, efforts to balance or restructure the army have led to perceptions (and misperceptions) of favoritism towards Oromo or Amhara officers, causing portions of the military to be seen as aligned with one group or another. The recent attempt to integrate regional special forces into the national army sparked mutiny in Amhara Region, as many there saw it as an attempt to weaken Amhara power specifically. Moreover, Ethiopia’s judiciary and bureaucracy, while formally neutral, often face accusations of bias or unequal treatment in cases of inter-ethnic disputes, further eroding trust in national institutions. Outside the state, civil society organizations and even the diaspora associations mirror the divisions: for every pan-Ethiopian forum abroad, there is an Oromo Community Association or a Tigrayan Advocacy group singularly focused on its constituency’s interests.

In essence, the very fabric of Ethiopian society – from churches and mosques to schools, from diaspora forums to constitutional clauses – contains reinforcement bars for ethnic identity. These reinforcing agents ensure that fractures are constantly reproduced and hard to heal. When a diaspora TV channel broadcasts nightly diatribes about the ruling group’s malfeasance, or when a regional president invokes ancestral lore to rally his people, or when a constitution makes ethnicity the key to political entitlement, they collectively act to keep identities rigid and often at odds. Healing Ethiopia’s divides would require these influential actors to pull in a different direction – toward reconciliation and a common narrative. So far, however, most have proven more effective in sustaining the fracture than mending it. As a result, Ethiopia’s fractures are not merely relics of history; they are actively upheld by communities and institutions in the present day, making the work of national integration ever more challenging.

Foreign Policy Behavior & Spillover Risk — Eritrea, Egypt, Somalia, Sudan

Ethiopia’s internal fractures have invariably shaped, and been shaped by, its relations with volatile neighbors, turning the Horn of Africa into a highly interdependent conflict system. Fracture at home often invites meddling from abroad, while regional rivalries amplify domestic divides. In the case of Ethiopia, each of its key neighbors – Eritrea, Egypt, Somalia, and Sudan – has played a role in the country’s internal conflicts, either as instigators exploiting Ethiopia’s weaknesses or as stakeholders fearing fallout from Ethiopia’s turmoil.

Eritrea offers the most intimate example of fracture-become-foreign-policy-dilemma. Eritrea was once part of Ethiopia until 1993 – effectively Ethiopia’s “lost province” that seceded after a protracted independence war. That war itself was a manifestation of Ethiopia’s fracture along national lines, and Eritrea’s successful breakaway created a permanent kin-state dynamic vis-à-vis Ethiopia. Tigray, the northernmost region of Ethiopia, shares a border – and ethnic kinship (Tigrinya language) – with Eritrea, which complicated relations after independence. Initially, the TPLF and Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) were allied rebels, but they fell out and fought a brutal border war in 1998–2000. Eritrean President Isaias Afwerki came to view the Tigrayan-led Ethiopian government as his arch-enemy, fostering a kin-versus-kin feud (Tigrayans in power in Addis vs. Tigrinya-speaking Eritreans). This animosity led Eritrea, a tiny but militarized state, to act as a spoiler in Ethiopian affairs for two decades: Asmara hosted and armed Ethiopian insurgent groups (from Oromo rebels to Islamist militants) in an attempt to destabilize the TPLF-dominated regime. Eritrea’s role exemplified foreign narrative weaponization – Eritrean media and officials consistently framed the TPLF as a common enemy of Eritreans and other Ethiopians alike, trying to build an anti-Tigray alliance in the region. President Isaias cultivated relationships with Amhara nationalists and others disaffected with the TPLF, projecting himself as a champion against the “TPLF tyranny.” In 2018, when Abiy Ahmed came to power and made peace with Eritrea (a move that earned Abiy a Nobel Peace Prize), it realigned the regional calculus: Eritrea now had an ally in Addis Ababa, and together they turned their sights on the Tigrayan leadership in Mekelle. The Tigray war saw Eritrea intervene decisively on the side of Abiy’s federal forces, sending thousands of troops across the border. Eritrean forces carried out some of the war’s worst atrocities in Tigray, ostensibly to help destroy the TPLF – an extraordinary case of a foreign state directly exacerbating an internal conflict. The risk, of course, is that Ethiopia’s conflict with the Tigrayans became interwoven with Eritrea’s own grudges, essentially regionalizing a civil war. Even after the Tigray ceasefire, Eritrea’s presence looms: if Tigrayan-hardline elements were to resume an insurgency, they might find refuge or support in the Eritrean highlands (though ironically the Eritrean regime is hostile to the Tigray people as a whole due to the war). Meanwhile, should Ethiopia descend into wider chaos, Eritrea might try to seize border territories or prop up proxies, given Isaias’s interest in a weak Ethiopian state. Thus, Ethiopia’s fragmentation directly invites Eritrean interference, as seen vividly in recent years. The spillover risk is mutual: a collapse of law and order in northern Ethiopia could send shockwaves into Eritrea – for example, a mass refugee outflow or the empowerment of Eritrean dissidents operating from Tigray. The two countries’ stability is intertwined, for better or worse.

Egypt represents a more classic geopolitical adversary, with Ethiopia’s fractures providing opportunity for Cairo to press its long-standing aims. The crux of the Ethiopia-Egypt rivalry is the Nile: Ethiopia’s highlands supply the majority of the Nile waters that Egypt utterly depends on. Historically, Egyptian leaders fretted over any Ethiopian project that could threaten downstream flow. In recent times, Ethiopia’s construction of the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) on the Blue Nile became a focal point of tension. Egyptian strategists have often viewed Ethiopia’s internal unrest as a chance to apply pressure. Over the decades, Ethiopia has repeatedly accused Egypt of covertly backing Ethiopian rebel groups to keep Ethiopia weak and unable to fully harness the Nile. During the 1970s–80s, there were reports of Egyptian support to Eritrean rebels. In the 2010s, amid Oromo anti-government protests and instability, Ethiopian officials alleged that Egypt funded and trained elements of the outlawed Oromo Liberation Front (OLF) – charges that Egypt denied, but which were credible enough that even international media noted the rivalry spilling into proxy conflict. Cairo’s logic may well be Machiavellian but straightforward: an internally divided Ethiopia is less capable of threatening Egypt’s water security. Thus, from Ethiopia’s perspective, foreign (Egyptian) interference has long been a factor aggravating internal strife – whether through moral support for dissident narratives or material support for insurgencies. In 2021, as the Tigray war raged, Ethiopian diplomats went as far as claiming Egypt was on a “long-standing policy of destabilizing and weakening Ethiopia,” citing “ample evidence” of Egyptian assistance to various anti-government forces. This included claims that Egyptian agents were supporting a Gumuz militia in Benishangul (the region where the GERD is located) to sabotage the dam. While independently verifying such covert ops is difficult, the pattern of mutual suspicion is clear. For its part, Egypt sees instability in Ethiopia as a double-edged sword – the collapse of a state of 120 million could unleash refugee flows and regional chaos that might eventually reach Egypt’s doorstep. So Cairo doesn’t openly seek Ethiopia’s collapse. Instead, it prefers an Ethiopia preoccupied with internal problems and amenable to a favorable Nile agreement. Egyptian diplomacy has thus oscillated between threats (President Anwar Sadat once ominously warned that Egypt would go to war over water) and engagement (periodic negotiations and African Union-led talks). The spillover risk involving Egypt is primarily strategic: a desperate Ethiopia might be tempted to lash out or militarize the Nile dispute if it feels existentially threatened, while a desperate Egypt might consider direct action (like airstrikes on the dam) if it perceives a weak Ethiopia unable to retaliate. Either scenario could spark a broader regional conflict.

Somalia and Ethiopia have a long, fraught history of interlinked conflicts rooted in ethnic and territorial overlaps. Large parts of Ethiopia’s Somali Region (Ogaden) were once claimed by Somalia under the irredentist idea of a “Greater Somalia.” That claim led to the 1977–78 Ogaden War, when Somalia invaded to “liberate” Ethiopian Somalis – a war Ethiopia barely won with Soviet help. Since then, Somalia’s collapse into chaos (after 1991) ironically removed a state adversary, but introduced new problems: Islamist militancy and warlordism on Ethiopia’s border. Ethiopia intervened militarily in Somalia multiple times (notably in 2006 and later as part of the African Union mission) to fight Al-Shabaab and prop up a friendly government in Mogadishu. Ethiopia’s internal fractures influence these engagements. For instance, Ethiopia’s deployment in Somalia has often included contingents drawn disproportionately from certain ethnic units (like troops from Somali Region of Ethiopia, or from the federal army divisions historically commanded by Tigrayans). When Ethiopia plunged into the Tigray war, its ability to patrol the Somalia frontier diminished; indeed, Addis withdrew some troops from Somalia to reinforce domestic fronts. This created openings for Al-Shabaab, illustrating a spillover effect: internal Ethiopian strife can embolden jihadists next door, potentially destabilizing Somalia further and by extension Kenya or other neighbors. Conversely, chaos in Somalia (e.g. a resurgent Al-Shabaab or ISIS faction) can directly threaten Ethiopia’s own Somali Region, which has a history of separatist insurgency (the Ogaden National Liberation Front fought Addis for decades until a 2018 peace deal). The loyalty of Ethiopia’s Somali Region is not taken for granted – if Ethiopia severely weakens, there is a latent risk of Somali irredentism reawakening, whether from clan militias or a future Somali government. Ethiopia’s Oromia Region also borders Somalia (and Kenya’s Somali areas), and there are clan ties that occasionally allow Somali militants to slip into Ethiopia. Thus, Ethiopia’s fractures could spill into Somalia by providing recruits or safe havens to extremist groups (as disaffected Ethiopian Somalis or Oromos might ally with Somali fighters). Additionally, any large-scale conflict in Ethiopia could send refugees pouring into Somalia (a reversal of the usual flow), straining a country that is barely recovering from its own state failure. In the diplomatic arena, Somalia’s stance has been interesting: the previous Somali president, Farmaajo, was close to Abiy and Isaias (Eritrea), forming what some dubbed a “Horn troika.” But Somali opinion is divided; some fear a powerful Ethiopia while others see opportunity in Ethiopia’s distraction. Overall, Ethiopia-Somalia relations show how a fractured state’s foreign policy behavior often entails managing proxy elements and insurgencies that loop back into domestic security.

Sudan is another neighbor entwined with Ethiopia’s internal dynamics. Sudan and Ethiopia share a long border and several cross-border ethnic groups (e.g. the Benishangul-Gumuz, Kunama, Nuer, etc.), and both countries have faced civil wars and power struggles that sometimes intersect. Historically, Sudan under Islamist leader Omar al-Bashir harbored Ethiopian rebels (including the TPLF in the 1980s when it was fighting the Derg) and in turn Ethiopia hosted Sudanese rebels (like the SPLA during Sudan’s civil war). This tit-for-tat support was driven by regime interests and ethnic affinities. In the present day, Sudan and Ethiopia have a heated dispute over a border enclave called al-Fashaga – fertile land long farmed by Ethiopian (Amhara) farmers but claimed by Sudan. When Ethiopia was bogged down in Tigray conflict in late 2020, Sudanese troops seized most of al-Fashaga, calculating that Ethiopia was too distracted to respond forcefully. This move immediately linked to Ethiopia’s fractures: the Ethiopian forces that would normally patrol that frontier had been redeployed to the north, and some of those border units were commanded by officers of Tigrayan origin who were purged or defected when the war started, creating a security vacuum. The Sudanese incursion fed Ethiopian perceptions of a conspiracy exploiting their internal weakness, possibly coordinated with Egypt (indeed Egypt and Sudan drew closer in that period, both wary of Abiy’s Ethiopia). Tensions flared, with exchanges of fire on the border and nationalist rhetoric on both sides. Sudan also became directly involved in the Tigray war’s humanitarian dimension, hosting tens of thousands of Tigrayan refugees who fled the fighting into eastern Sudan. Khartoum had to manage those camps and was accused by Addis of allowing the TPLF to use Sudanese territory for supply lines – something Sudan denied but which underscored the mistrust. Sudan’s own political instability (particularly after the 2019 ouster of Bashir and the ongoing turmoil between military factions in 2023) is another factor: a weakened Sudanese state may be unable to control militias or rebels along the border, potentially giving Ethiopian insurgents or communal fighters freer rein in those remote areas. There is also the Nile issue: Sudan is caught between Egypt and Ethiopia on GERD – initially supporting the dam for the regulated flow but later aligning more with Egypt as relations with Ethiopia soured due to Tigray war and border clashes. If Ethiopia’s fractures worsen, Sudan might see advantage in pressing its claims (like permanently asserting control over al-Fashaga or pushing for a better water deal), but it also fears instability: war in Ethiopia could send a flood of refugees into Sudan (beyond Tigrayans, potentially Amharas or others if wider civil war erupts), and could cut off important trade routes (Port Sudan is crucial for Ethiopian commerce now that Eritrean ports are largely closed to Ethiopia). Hence, Sudan and Ethiopia sit in a precarious dance where each country’s internal conflicts (Sudan’s Darfur or Blue Nile wars, Ethiopia’s myriad conflicts) have cross-border ethnic dimensions and each worries about the other collapsing. Recent reports of Sudanese fighters (perhaps aligned with the RSF paramilitary) arming Gumuz militias in Ethiopia, or Ethiopian militias chasing opponents into Sudan, exemplify this porous interplay.

In all these neighborly relations, a clear pattern emerges: kin-state entanglements and foreign meddling are amplifiers of Ethiopia’s fractures. Eritrea’s involvement in Tigray, Egypt’s patronage of dissidents, Somalia’s historical claims, and Sudan’s opportunistic moves all exploit Ethiopia’s ethnic or regional divisions. Ethiopia’s foreign policy, in turn, has often prioritized neutralizing these threats: making peace with Eritrea to isolate Tigray rebels, engaging in Nile negotiations to stave off conflict with Egypt, intervening in Somalia to prevent hostile forces from uniting with Ethiopian Somalis, and negotiating with Sudan (or showing military force) to secure its borders. These are strategically actionable insights: any actor dealing with Ethiopian stability must account for the spoiler role of external players. The spillover risk of Ethiopia’s fracture goes beyond immediate neighbors too. The Horn of Africa as a whole is a strategic crossroads where Gulf powers (like UAE, Qatar, Turkey) and global powers (US, China, EU) compete. A fractured Ethiopia has already drawn in drones from the UAE, peacekeepers from African Union mediators, and humanitarian intervention from the UN. If Ethiopia’s conflicts reignite or spread, it could destabilize the entire region – threatening Red Sea security, emboldening insurgencies in Kenya or Uganda (if the notion of ethnofederal collapse inspires others), and necessitating costly international responses. In the worst case, Ethiopia’s fracture could lead to a Yugoslavia-like breakup with contested borders, which in the Horn’s context could easily spark interstate wars (for example, an independent Oromia might have irredentist sentiments with Oromo areas in Kenya, or an independent Amhara might fight with Sudan over borderlands, etc.). The prevention of such scenarios has become as much a foreign policy challenge as a domestic one for Addis Ababa. Ethiopia’s leaders must perform a high-wire act: reassuring neighbors that Ethiopia’s instability will not threaten them (to avoid preemptive meddling), while also asserting enough authority to deter opportunism. That is exceedingly difficult when the central government’s capacity is strained by internal strife. Hence, until Ethiopia’s internal fractures are addressed, its external relations will remain fraught with suspicion and intervention – a constant risk of localized conflicts spiraling into regional conflagration.

Fracture Index Table — Ethiopia on 10 Diagnostic Dimensions (Score 0–3)

To systematically assess Ethiopia’s structural predisposition to internal conflict, we apply Prime Rogue’s Fracture Diagnostic criteria. Each dimension is scored from 0 (absent) to 3 (deeply institutionalized) with Ethiopia-specific justification:

1. Cultural Cleavage Depth: Score = 3

Ethiopia’s cultural-ethnic cleavages are profound and enduring. Major groups (Oromo, Amhara, Tigrayan, Somali, etc.) have distinct languages, religions, and historical narratives, often seeing themselves as separate “nations.” These cleavages date back to the formation of the state (e.g. imperial conquests) and have been reinforced by ethnofederal structuring. Inter-marriage and shared institutions exist, but identities remain strong and politically salient, making cleavage depth maximal.

2. Victimhood as National Doctrine: Score = 2

While not an official state doctrine, competing narratives of victimhood dominate Ethiopian politics. The federal government doesn’t formally promote a single victimhood narrative for all citizens (hence not a 3), but each ethnic faction propagates its own grievance-as-identity (Oromo as colonized, Tigrayans as besieged, Amhara as scapegoated). Under EPRDF rule, a version of victimhood was quasi-official: the constitution itself implied that all “nations and nationalities” had been oppressed and were now empowered, which entrenched grievance-based politics. Victimhood narratives drive mobilization across the spectrum, thus highly present, though fragmented.

3. Generational Indoctrination: Score = 3

Ethiopia’s fractures are passed down through generations via education, family socialization, and political messaging. From imperial-era schooling that glorified the empire to current regional curricula that highlight ethnic heroes and martyrs, youth are routinely imbued with their group’s version of history. In Tigray, for instance, an entire generation grew up celebrating TPLF “martyrs” and mistrusting the central state, only to actually fight a war echoing their parents’ conflict. The persistence of inter-ethnic animosities (e.g. Oromo vs. Amhara) in young protesters and militias today attests to effective generational transmission of fracture.

4. Clerical Identity Anchoring: Score = 2

Religion in Ethiopia is intertwined with identity, but its role in anchoring ethnic fracture is mixed. The Ethiopian Orthodox Church historically underpinned Amhara-Tigray highland identity and contributed to marginalizing others, which still resonates (e.g. demands for Oromo-language liturgy). The 2023 Orthodox schism showed clergy can activate ethnic sentiments. However, the Orthodox Church has followers across multiple ethnic groups (Amhara, Tigray, Oromo converts), and Islam similarly cuts across ethnic lines (Oromo, Somali, Afar). So while clergy involvement in ethnic issues is significant (score 2), it is not absolute – religion sometimes unites across ethnicity, preventing a full score.

5. Diaspora Grievance Amplification: Score = 3

Ethiopia’s far-flung diaspora (in the US, Europe, Middle East) intensely amplifies ethnic grievances and hardline narratives. Diaspora media outlets, fundraising, and lobbying have turbo-charged conflicts – from funding armed groups to waging social media wars that demonize rivals. For example, diaspora TV channels like ESAT (anti-TPLF) or OMN (pro-Oromo) have significantly influenced domestic tensions. Diaspora activists often adopt uncompromising stances and inject international visibility to local conflicts (e.g. massive diaspora rallies during the Tigray war), entrenching positions and complicating peace efforts. This criteria is deeply present at the maximum level.

6. Foreign Narrative Weaponization: Score = 2

External actors weaponize Ethiopia’s internal narratives to serve their interests, though not always uniformly. Examples include Egyptian and Eritrean propaganda highlighting Ethiopian government oppression to justify their interference. During the Tigray war, foreign social media (some linked to diaspora but also bots/trolls possibly from regional adversaries) spread disinformation to sway opinion. Eritrea explicitly framed the TPLF as a threat to regional stability to rationalize its military intervention. However, there isn’t a single foreign power consistently controlling Ethiopia’s narratives at a doctrine level – rather, multiple actors (Egypt, Eritrea, Gulf states, Western media) selectively exploit narratives. This concerted weaponization is significant but not monolithic (score 2).

7. Kin-State Entanglement: Score = 3

Ethiopia’s ethnic nations bleed across borders, and those kin-states actively drive conflict. Eritrea is essentially a Tigrinya kin-state that intervened against Tigray. Somalia historically claimed Ethiopia’s Somali region, and Somali insurgents had support from Somali kin (and by extension, Somalia’s government in the past). Oromo populations straddle Kenya (and historically had support networks there). Sudan and South Sudan share Nilotic ethnic ties with Ethiopian communities (Nuer, Anuak) that have at times been involved in each other’s wars. These cross-border kin dynamics mean Ethiopia’s internal strife is never isolated – neighbors are often directly involved under the banner of protecting or furthering the interests of their ethnic kin. This entanglement has been deeply institutionalized (score 3)

8. Constitutional Identity Lock-In: Score = 3

Ethiopia’s constitution itself locks in ethnic identity as the basis of politics. Ethnic federalism grants groups territorial homelands, official languages, and even secession rights, making identity the foundational principle of the state. This has made ethnicity an immutable factor in governance – citizens are effectively pigeonholed into ethnic categories in political representation and resource allocation. Attempts to transcend identity (like pan-Ethiopian parties) struggle against the constitutional structure that rewards ethnic mobilization. The “Lock-In” is total: changing this would require amending a constitution that itself can hardly be altered without triggering ethnic suspicions.

9. Displacement Memory Fixation: Score = 3

Memories of lost homes and forced displacement are a powerful rallying cry in Ethiopia, strongly present among multiple groups. The legacy of Menelik’s era “neftenya” settlers still fuels Oromo narratives of stolen land. Conversely, Amharas fixate on recent expulsions from Oromia and Tigray – massacres and ethnic cleansing that they term genocide. The contest over districts like Welkait (Western Tigray), where each side invokes historical demography to claim rightful ownership, shows how past displacements guide present conflict. The country’s many internally displaced persons (nearly 3 million as of 2023) often come from communities attacked due to ethnic identity, and they carry trauma and vengeance narratives. Every ethnic militia can cite a litany of places where their people were uprooted. This near-obsession with settling historical scores over land and resettling “our people” earns the highest score.

10. Narrative Control Infrastructure: Score = 2

Ethiopia’s state has a developed apparatus for narrative control – government-owned media, stringent hate speech and anti-terror laws that suppress dissenting voices, and periodic internet blackouts used to control information. During conflicts, the federal government has tightly managed press access and spun events to its favor (e.g. curated press tours, denial of atrocities until pressure forces admission). The education system also serves to inculcate official narratives (varying by regime). However, unlike totalitarian states, Ethiopia’s info control is not absolute – various regional outlets, foreign media, and social media circumvent it to some extent. The EPRDF regime’s narrative control was comprehensive, but Abiy’s era saw an initial opening then partial clampdown. So, infrastructure exists and is used, but leaks in the information environment prevent full Orwellian control (score 2).

Contemporary Implications — Regional Destabilization, Civil War Risk, Governance Failure

Ethiopia’s structural fractures are not just historical curiosities; they define the country’s present stability and threaten its future. The nation now faces a critical juncture where these many fault lines could either be managed through unprecedented reforms and reconciliation, or could tear the country apart in a worst-case scenario of state collapse. The implications today of Ethiopia’s fracture are dire and far-reaching:

Internally, Ethiopia stands perilously close to sustained civil conflict on multiple fronts. The two-year Tigray war (2020–2022) ended with a peace agreement, but it left Tigray devastated, armed, and wary. The truce is fragile – while active combat halted, the underlying political dispute over Tigray’s status and contested territories like Western Tigray remains unresolved. Tigray’s population suffered atrocities that will fuel anti-government sentiment for years. Should the federal government renege on rebuilding and reintegrating Tigray, or if Amhara-Tigray territorial disputes reignite, conflict could resume. Meanwhile, even as that war paused, another has been smoldering in Oromia, where the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) continues an insurgency against Addis Ababa. 2023 saw heavy fighting between the OLA and federal forces after repeated failed peace talks. The Oromia conflict is arguably now the country’s most deadly, with reports of massacres and an incapacity of the state to fully control vast rural areas. In Amhara region, a new flashpoint emerged in 2023 when the federal government attempted to disband regional special forces (militias). Amhara militias (Fano) rebelled, briefly seizing towns, leading the government to declare a state of emergency. Though that uprising was contained, resentment runs high in Amhara against Abiy’s government, partly due to perceptions that he favored Tigray in the peace deal and that Amhara interests (like holding onto Western Tigray) are being sidelined. Thus, the potential for renewed civil war involving Amhara forces against the center is real.

The complex interplay means Ethiopia could face multiple conflicts simultaneously – a nightmare “Balkanization” scenario. Already during 2021, the federal army was stretched thin, effectively fighting on three fronts (Tigray, Oromia, and a smaller Afar-Issa conflict in the east), while also dealing with ethnic clashes elsewhere. This strain led Ethiopia to rely on irregular mobilization (ethnic militias, regional forces, even a call for civilians to join the fight against Tigray’s advance in late 2021). It highlights a worrying fact: the cohesion of the national army has been undermined by fractures. The Tigrayan component of the army broke away in 2020; many Amhara officers and rank-and-file were more loyal to Amhara regional authorities during the 2023 mutiny than to the federal command. There are Oromo factions in the military suspected of sympathizing with Oromo protestors. Such fissures in the security forces lower the threshold for state collapse, as the monopoly of violence fragments.

Governance is suffering profoundly. Since 2018, Ethiopia’s attempt at a democratic transition was derailed by these crises. Elections were postponed (the very issue that sparked the Tigray conflict when Tigray objected to the delay and held its own poll). The federal government has frequently resorted to emergency measures – shutting down internet, arresting opposition en masse (including prominent ethnic leaders like Oromo activist Jawar Mohammed), and deploying the army internally. This contradicts the promised political liberalization and has arguably slid Ethiopia back toward authoritarian tactics, now justified by security imperatives. Yet, heavy-handed security responses often backfire by deepening grievances (e.g., mass arrests of Tigrayans in Addis in 2021 alienated even those Tigrayans who were not anti-government). Institutional trust is eroding: many from Tigray, Oromia, and Amhara simply do not trust federal institutions to be impartial. The judiciary, for instance, is seen as doing the regime’s bidding when it prosecutes ethnic opposition figures while officials implicated in violence (like security forces who committed abuses) go unpunished. This breakdown of rule-of-law and perceived bias feeds a vicious cycle – groups prefer to seek justice or redress through their own means (protests, armed struggle) rather than through courts or elections.

Economically, Ethiopia’s fractures have slammed the brakes on what was once one of Africa’s fastest-growing economies. Conflict and instability scared off investors, cut growth, and forced the state to divert billions to war expenses. Inflation is high, debt is mounting, and crucial infrastructure in war-torn areas lies in ruins. Famine and drought conditions have been exacerbated in conflict zones because aid delivery was impeded (as seen in Tigray and parts of Oromia). If insecurity continues, Ethiopia risks a humanitarian catastrophe and becoming heavily dependent on foreign aid for basic survival of millions. Already, war and ethnic violence have produced over 4 million displaced (IDPs and refugees) – a humanitarian crisis straining the government and aid agencies – especially corrupt aid agencies like USAID. With climate shocks (Horn of Africa drought) layered on top, Ethiopia could see localized famines, which historically have been destabilizing (the 1970s famine fueled the revolution against Haile Selassie; the 1980s famine delegitimized the Derg).

Regionally, an unstable Ethiopia is a source of destabilization beyond its borders. During the height of the Tigray war, for example, the drawdown of Ethiopian peacekeepers from Somalia and South Sudan created security gaps. Fighters from Ethiopia (whether fleeing Tigrayans or others) crossed into Sudan, prompting Sudan to militarize its border. The inter-ethnic strife can also ignite cross-border ethnic solidarity movements, potentially pulling neighbors into Ethiopia’s conflicts (Sudanese Beja or others might sympathize with Benishangul rebels, Kenyan Oromos with the OLA, etc.). Moreover, Ethiopia has been a cornerstone of African peacekeeping and regional diplomacy (AU HQ is in Addis). If Ethiopia is internally crippled, the Horn of Africa loses its traditional linchpin. This vacuum can invite external powers to meddle more (we see Turkey, UAE, Iran all increasing engagement in the Red Sea region, possibly eyeing Ethiopia’s situation to extend influence). There’s also fear of terrorist exploitation: Al-Shabaab in Somalia reportedly has started recruiting among ethnic Somalis in eastern Ethiopia and carrying out small incursions – sensing Ethiopian forces are thinly spread. Should Ethiopia’s central authority weaken further, jihadist groups or armed smugglers could carve out havens in lawless pockets (like border zones of Kenya/Somalia/Sudan), affecting regional security and international interests (trade routes, etc.). The Nile waters dispute is another flashpoint: an Ethiopia in chaos would make coordinated Nile management impossible and could push Egypt towards desperate measures. Conversely, if Ethiopia stabilizes and resumes filling the GERD unilaterally, Egypt-Sudan might escalate tensions. Thus, Ethiopia’s fracture is closely tied to regional peace or conflict.

On the optimistic side, the very severity of these implications has spurred some efforts at reform. In 2022–2023, the government launched a National Dialogue Commission to address fundamental issues (though the TPLF initially refused to participate and some Oromo opposition boycotted, casting doubt on its inclusiveness). The Pretoria peace agreement (Nov 2022) that ended active hostilities in Tigray was a significant step – it has at least opened humanitarian access and stopped the large-scale killing. If it holds, it could be a model for compromise. The Amhara uprising in 2023 similarly signaled to Abiy’s government that force alone won’t work – right after quelling it, the government floated the idea of negotiations with Amhara factions and made some conciliatory appointments. There are also grassroots peace initiatives in ethnically mixed communities striving to quell violence. These flickers suggest that Ethiopian stakeholders recognize that perpetual conflict is untenable.

However, the clock is ticking. Many analysts warn Ethiopia could face a fate akin to Yugoslavia or the Soviet Union – a multi-ethnic state fragmenting violently – if a new national consensus isn’t found. A fragmented Ethiopia would likely produce new states along ethnic lines (an independent Tigray, perhaps Oromia, etc.), but those would be born amidst war, mass displacement, and contested borders, possibly leading to protracted wars between successor states (as seen in the Balkans). Even a less extreme outcome, such as Ethiopia surviving but in a much looser confederation, would require careful constitutional overhaul – a peaceful re-negotiation of the union. Right now, trust is so low that such negotiations are hard to envision; yet without them, the default path is continued strife.

In summary, Ethiopia’s fractures mean that the risk of state failure is real. The country is at risk of a multi-front civil war that could surpass the Syrian conflict in complexity, and the collapse of central authority would echo beyond its borders in humanitarian and security crises. The only alternative is deliberate de-escalation: inclusive dialogue to address core grievances (power-sharing, resource distribution, justice for atrocities), possibly a new constitutional settlement, and confidence-building between rival communities. The stakes are enormous: Ethiopia’s future as a unified state hangs in the balance, and with it the stability of an entire region. Without concerted action, the structural fractures detailed in this brief could translate into Ethiopia becoming the world’s next failed state – a disastrous outcome for Ethiopians and Africans at large.

Conclusion — What Fracture Means for Ethiopia’s Future and State Survivability

Ethiopia’s long-standing fractures have reached a point where the country’s very survival as a coherent state is in question. The cumulative effect of entrenched ethnic division, polarized historical narratives, and zero-sum politics is a nation pulled apart at the seams. Ethiopia today faces a stark choice: undertake a fundamental reimagining of its national compact to accommodate its diversity in a peaceful manner, or continue down a path of fragmentation and conflict that could lead to de facto disunion. The events of the past few years – a devastating civil war, recurrent ethnic uprisings, and the near implosion of the national army – have demonstrated that the old modus operandi of authoritarian unity can no longer hold this mosaic together. The illusion of strong central control has been shattered; Ethiopia must either negotiate its diversity or risk violent breakup.

The findings of this brief paint a picture of a state where almost every classic factor for internal collapse is present: multiple identity groups with competing nationalisms, narratives of past injustices fueling present vengeance, regionally-backed insurgencies, and faltering institutions. Comparisons to the former Yugoslavia or the Soviet Union are not alarmist but instructive. Like Yugoslavia, Ethiopia is a multi-ethnic federation held together in the past by strongman rule and a unifying ideology that has since eroded. When those states faced political liberalization amid economic stress, they unraveled into ethnic components. Ethiopia could be on a similar trajectory absent preventative action. Already, we see quasi-parallel governments in Tigray (the TPLF administering during the war) and a trend of regional states acting autonomously, sometimes in defiance of Addis. If Ethiopia were to disintegrate, the humanitarian and geopolitical fallout would be immense – likely even greater than Yugoslavia’s, given Ethiopia’s population size and strategic location. It is a scenario the African Union and global powers dread, and thus there is considerable diplomatic will to keep Ethiopia intact. But ultimately, Ethiopia’s future will be decided by Ethiopians themselves.

State survivability will hinge on Ethiopia’s ability to forge a new inclusive political settlement. This could mean a genuine federal power balance (perhaps moving toward a confederation to grant regions more self-governance while preserving basic unity), a robust system to protect minority rights in each region, and credible guarantees that no group will be hegemonic over others. It will also require dealing with the past: some form of truth and reconciliation process to address historical grievances on all sides, so that these do not continue to poison inter-ethnic relations. The task is Herculean – essentially creating an Ethiopian identity that celebrates diversity without imposing uniformity, a feat that has eluded the country thus far. Prime Minister Abiy’s initial vision of pan-Ethiopian unity foundered because it glossed over legitimate ethnic aspirations and fears; conversely, the ethnofederalist model empowered identities but entrenched divisions. A middle path must be charted.

For now, a fragile calm holds in parts of Ethiopia, but it is the silence of exhaustion and uncertainty rather than a firm peace. The fracture index we assembled shows Ethiopia scoring high on nearly every risk factor – a warning sign that without significant change, relapses into conflict are likely. The coming year or two will be pivotal. If the government successfully follows through with a National Dialogue that includes key opposition (including armed groups) and yields a roadmap for reform, Ethiopia might step back from the abyss. If, however, the current approach of piecemeal coercion and isolated negotiations continues, discontent will fester and new crises will erupt.

In conclusion, Ethiopia’s fractures mean that the status quo of centralized multi-ethnic statehood is no longer tenable. The country will either adapt through profound structural reforms, finding unity in a more equitable form of diversity – or it will face increasing internal warfare that could culminate in fragmentation. The survival of Ethiopia as we know it is at stake. This is a moment of both grave danger and potential opportunity: the danger of collapse, and the opportunity to address root causes of conflict and re-found the Ethiopian state on more solid, consensual ground. The choices made by Ethiopia’s leaders and people now will determine whether Ethiopia’s future is one of renewed stability and regional leadership, or whether the “fractured state” finally fractures beyond repair, fulfilling a tragic prophecy that observers have long warned of. The world is watching, and Ethiopians are living the uncertainty of this pivotal chapter. The hope is that wisdom and compromise prevail over hubris and hatred – for the alternative, as this brief has laid bare, is a lose-lose outcome for all involved.