On September 28, 2024, I released an article that stirred the waters of Ethiopian political discourse far beyond its printed lines. Titled Between Wonder and War: Ethiopia’s Ambitions Clash with Reality, and published in the Ethiopian Reporter, the piece sparked intense reactions across the ideological spectrum. It was met with both admiration and criticism, not only among ordinary readers but especially among astute minds and seasoned observers of Ethiopian politics. Supporters of the current leadership hailed it as a timely validation of developmental courage amidst turbulence, while critics viewed it as a premature glorification of state ambition in the face of widespread suffering and institutional fragility. For some, it affirmed the possibilities of transformation in motion. For others, it raised the alarm over the dangers of aesthetic governance overshadowing justice. Yet beyond the debate, the article offered a sober reflection on a central paradox. Can a nation build while it bleeds. Can it dream while it doubts. Can it still choose progress without perfect peace. These questions were not answered with absolutes, but offered with the humility that even within contradiction, a country can still move forward, and perhaps, still be reborn.
One year has passed. Over thirty-five cities have joined the architectural uprising once confined to Addis Ababa. Urban transformations now ripple across the national landscape. From the greenery of Hawassa to the renewal of Jimma, from the aesthetic rise of Bahir Dar to the reordering of Adama, a new visual vocabulary is being written across Ethiopia’s civic spaces. Cities once defined by disorder and decay now host roundabouts, cultural plazas, shaded walkways, and vibrant boulevards. Some now rival, and even surpass, capital cities of more economically developed nations. These are no longer dreams on blueprints. They are realities under our feet, forged not in comfort, but amid crisis.
Yet the question persists. Can roads compensate for repression. Can beauty coexist with bullets. How do we celebrate public parks while parts of the nation starve. This is the moral and philosophical contradiction that we must not run from, but confront with courage. Development is not the antithesis of justice. It is the architecture of hope. It does not erase suffering, but it offers an alternative to its permanence. The concrete of today may be contested, but the dignity it can provide tomorrow is undeniable.
To those who equate megaprojects with moral failure, I offer this. The absence of light never fed the hungry. A nation without vision will only inherit its own despair. Roads are not simply transportation tools. They are arteries of possibility. They move laborers, schoolchildren, ambulances, farmers, and traders. They bind fractured lands and signal to citizens that the state is not paralyzed by pity. To build is not to forget. It is to remember what a better future could look like.
In my earlier article, I acknowledged the wounds. The armed resistance in Oromia. The growing discontent in Amhara. The fragile and uncertain calm in Tigray. I did not mask the reality. I placed it next to ambition. And today, those fires have not been extinguished. If anything, new sparks are rising. In parts of Amhara, security remains elusive. In Oromia, decentralized violence challenges the very framework of federal control. In Tigray, uncertainty threatens to undo the gains of peace. Even darker are the whispers of looming conflict between Ethiopia and Eritrea. These are not fictions. They are facts, heavy with consequence. But despite all this, Ethiopia has refused to stop building.
Development did not wait for war to end. Mega projects were not paused for politics to settle. Addis Ababa, once dismissed by many as an uninspiring capital for a proud continent, has reintroduced itself to Africa and the world. It has become not only the political heart of the African Union but also a growing hub for investment, diplomacy, cultural renaissance, and continental convenings. Events once diverted elsewhere are now gravitating toward a city that has rewritten its narrative through infrastructure and imagination. What was once aspirational has become evidence.
For example, Jigjiga, the capital of the Somali Region, once overlooked in national development narratives, is now emerging as a marvel in its own right. The urban beautification project underway there, though delayed in its early stages, has begun to redefine not only the city’s identity but also its regional standing. The transformation has captured the attention of Somalis across the Horn of Africa, many of whom now travel to Jigjiga not merely to visit family or attend conferences, but to witness with awe a city that challenges long-held assumptions about what is possible in peripheral Ethiopia. For some, the architectural and infrastructural changes are so striking that they momentarily question whether they are still in Africa. If Addis Ababa is earning its title as the diplomatic capital of the continent, Jigjiga is fast becoming a symbol of what inclusive development can look like when regional ambition is matched with federal commitment.
This defies conventional logic. No textbook would recommend building boulevards during blockades. No manual suggests hosting summits amid social fractures. Yet here we are. And the paradox holds. If Addis Ababa could blossom while the nation bled, perhaps there is a lesson not in denial, but in defiance. If wonder is real, then peace is not unreachable. If transformation is visible, then dialogue is viable. If leadership has risked much to dream aloud, perhaps it deserves a listening ear, not a reflexive dismissal.
Still, there are critics who read only what confirms their cynicism. For them, praise is always propaganda. Progress is always performance. And writing that dares to dwell on potential is accused of romanticism. But Ethiopia’s story is not one of absolutes. It is one of tensions. It is not a battle between heroes and villains, but between competing truths. The duty of the intellectual is not to pick sides in that binary, but to write across the whole terrain.
We all carry contradictions. So too does the state. So too does society. It is precisely because of this that our discourse must be honest and whole. To write of fountains is not to forget funerals. To speak of flyovers is not to silence farmers. The nation must be narrated in full. The beautiful. The broken. The becoming.
There is no perfection in Ethiopia’s governance. The Prosperity Party is navigating internal tremors. Regional states face capacity deficits. Institutions often trail behind vision. But none of this cancels the fact that the country has chosen motion over stagnation. That in itself is a political and spiritual posture worth contemplating.
What remains urgent is for this development to mean more than skyline elevation. The transformation must be institutional as much as infrastructural. The corridors must lead not just to trade routes, but to public trust. Cities must become spaces of inclusion, not islands of privilege. The dream must not exclude those on the margins. Development must never be a monologue of the elite. It must be a national chorus.
Mocking the dream because the dreamer is flawed diminishes the very essence of growth. What is required is refinement, not rejection. Vision must be sharpened through accountability, shaped by inclusive thinking, and advanced with thoughtful execution. Abandoning the capacity to imagine a better nation is not a sign of realism, but a surrender to stagnation. Progress requires those willing to write what is just and build what is essential, even when the conditions remain uncertain and the applause is not guaranteed.
Today’s leadership stands at the heart of a generational test. Confronted by internal contradictions, exposed to relentless critique, and burdened with the task of competing with the continent’s most advanced nations, it continues to push forward. This effort, though imperfect, speaks to an undeniable truth. It is easier to inherit a broken legacy than to reconstruct a credible one. Amid war fatigue, institutional fragility, and a polarized society, choosing development over despair, vision over victimhood, and movement over paralysis remains an act of national courage. That determination to deliver amidst division deserves thoughtful recognition and critical support from all who seek a stronger Ethiopian state.
Nations are remembered not solely for their darkest moments, but for how they convert adversity into momentum. Ethiopia’s story is still unfolding. It is not yet the model it aspires to be, but neither is it the caricature many once claimed it to be. For those who find disagreement within these reflections, engagement is encouraged. Rebuttal is welcomed. A robust national discourse is not weakened by dissent but strengthened by the courage to exchange ideas with integrity. A deeper democracy depends not on unanimity but on the discipline to listen, the maturity to evolve, and the shared belief that a better Ethiopia is not only possible but within reach.
Mohamud A. Ahmed (Prof.) is a political analyst, and a researcher. He is also the board chairman of OWS Development Fund.
Contributed by Mohamud A. Ahmed
