Justice: A word so powerful, so righteous, just turned out to be a two-faced clown that protects the powerful, that listens to the rich, that decides who is guilty based on the status of a person standing in front of it.

The wealthy with good connections will be treated as if their actions have no consequence, as if they are the righteous, standing above the law.

Not guilty.

Never guilty, Case dismissed.

A regular citizen who doesn’t have a blood tie, a connection to powerful people, or someone influential standing behind you- well, you are unlucky.

You will bear the full weight of the law. GUILTY

Ugly double standard, a system failure, a system: who is supposed to protect you only protects those who are important enough to be protected. It protects them from the consequence of breaking the law.

It’s sickening how much danger we are in. Every single one of us. How much thin ice we are standing on, with nothing but our bare feet beneath us. If you think you are safe right now, sitting in the comfort of your home, if you think you trust those around you, if you think the law will protect you, you are very wrong.

It only took him a few hours to kill Keneni, whom he claimed he loved so much in his music. And if he really did get away with it because he knew the right people, then what does that say about the justice we are promised? The evidence was there, everything they needed to demand answers. Yet if connections were enough to protect him, then he was standing above the law.

And mind you, there is a set of rules that society has put on women.

Cover yourself up. No, no, it doesn’t matter what age you are—whether you are nine or ninety. Cover yourself up. Don’t let them see a glimpse of skin. The fact that you have a body is the problem, let alone showing it.

Don’t walk alone. Don’t stay out too late. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t be too friendly. Don’t be too loud. Don’t drink. Don’t trust too easily. Don’t get into cars with people you don’t know.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Don’t.

There is always another rule.

And somehow, when a woman is hurt, we do not ask why there were so many rules designed to keep her safe. We ask which one she broke.

I am always accused of being angry most of the time.

I am angry because I know one slip of these rules is going to break the ice beneath my feet and drowning with no savior on my side.

I know how unsafe it is to LIVE, to exist.

I think we played it very nicely so far; we should be even angrier, bolder, and demand safety or basic human rights.

It’s not for shiny empowerment anymore. This is about survival.

Coward

In this particular definition, let’s see it as a character rather than an insult

coward is a person who couldn’t face the truth, who runs from tough talk, avoids danger at all costs, who lies to protect today’s peace at the cost of tomorrow’s freedom. I gave this character a face; he has a figure.

He is the one who also protects their loved ones not from ill intent but the opposite, actually, out of love, so they will shield them from the ugly truth.

Perhaps you saw a bit of yourself in that character, like me, or perhaps you don’t agree at all. That’s the thing about a coward: he convinces himself that he is just being kind

There are always things you wouldn’t tell to protect peace: something bad you heard, something you saw, something that would ruin the sense of reality the other person has, so keeping everything in the dark seems to be the only option. Or is it just an act of cowardice?

Throughout this article, we'll return to a single question, one that rarely has a comfortable answer

The ugly truth or the convenient lie?

The ugly truth : perhaps easy to explain

"It is better to be told a hurtful truth than to be told a comforting lie." — Randy Susan Meyers

People often associate truth with virtue, but truth itself isn't kind or cruel. It's simply what is. A diagnosis can be true. A betrayal can be true. Love can be true. Death is true. Reality doesn't care whether it comforts us. It just simply gives you what’s there.

We always hear that the truth will set you free; once you get it off your chest, you are as light as a feather. There is a famous proverb that goes, “እውነትን ተናግሮ የመሸበት ማደር ይሻላል።” which basically suggests that telling the truth and accepting the consequence no matter what it is. Aside from that, from a religious and societal point, honesty is praiseworthy; it’s the right thing to do regardless, so then why do people lie? Specifically, why do people lie to protect? Why do cowards lie out of love?

The convenient lie

A coward always has an excuse for why he is the way he is. he thinks it’s kind to protect people from the harsh truth. He justifies himself by saying that he is just protecting the peace.

Can you blame him though?

Perhaps the coward doesn’t fear the truth itself; maybe he is scared that the truth will destroy the peace that the lie protected. Perhaps he feel responisble to whatever he is hiding, maybe guilty even though he didn’t technically do it; he is just the bearer of bad news.

Can this type of dishonesty be justified?

And I dare to wonder who this lie really shields?

The other person? The one who is telling the truth?

One serious note: we are not naive enough that every truth should be told. I don’t understand telling truths that are going to do nothing to the reality. Honesty is not the same as indiscriminate disclosure. Not every fact deserves to be spoken the moment it is discovered. Some truths are ours to tell; others are not. Some liberate. Others merely wound.

But that raises another question.

Who decides which truths should remain hidden?

The person carrying the truth?

The person it belongs to?

Or does the truth belong to itself, demanding to be spoken regardless of the consequences?

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are entirely my own and are based on my personal observations and experiences. They are intended to encourage discussion, not to present absolute facts.

The loss of identity in Ethiopian television is contributing to the slow death of traditional media. Viewers are no longer as interested in television programs as they were a decade ago, and much of their attention has shifted to other platforms.

On platforms like TikTok, viewers can choose from an endless variety of content. Whether they are interested in politics, comedy, fashion, sports, documentaries, or short dramas, there is something for almost every audience. Ethiopian television, however, often feels repetitive. Switch from one channel to another, and you are likely to find similar shows, similar entertainment programs, and similar formats with different hosts. Rather than offering viewers something unique, many channels appear to imitate what is already working elsewhere.

There are several reasons for repetition;

One is not knowing your Target audience. Several television channels don’t specifically know for whom they are delivering. Trying to fit every piece of content into one will end up being relevant to none. For instance, it’s like bringing dancers for an older audience that are seeking political content and for a younger generation who are looking for entertainment; offering 2 hours of political analysis will not be appealing. These mismatches came from not having a specific niche and not knowing who your audience is; this resulted in a gap between the audience and the producers, which will affect the relevance in the near future.

Why was Kana TV different?

Kana was a breath of fresh air; it wasn’t only the same old same programmes that only changes setting and host. It had a clear identity. Its content revolved around international dramas and films, and viewers knew exactly what they were tuning in to watch.

Even though it received backlash for “poisoning the generation,” Kana understood its audience. It wasn't trying to appeal to everyone. It knew exactly what it wanted to offer and stayed consistent. Whether people loved it or criticized it, the channel stood out because it had an identity.

Why is ARTS TV the best?

For me, ARTS TV is one of the Ethiopian channels that has managed to build a strong identity; it’s not in competition to hold audience attention, and it doesn’t operate based on what’s working on the other stations. It knows its target quite well, and it focuses mostly on Africa and Ethiopia(as the name indicates: African Renaissance Television Service) and all contemporary issues that need to come to light, intellectual people in niche fields that should be more appreciated.

I'm not saying every Ethiopian television channel is irrelevant. Many of them produce valuable content. My argument is that too many channels feel like copies of one another. When several stations are producing almost identical talk shows and entertainment programs, they end up only focusing on one slice of the pie, where most is solely forgotten

The other most common complaint I hear is the lack of consistency across series, movies, and sitcoms. A show might air for a few weeks, gain a loyal audience, and leave viewers eagerly waiting for the next episode, only for it to disappear mostly without any explanation. I find that quite disrespectful to the audience. If viewers have invested their time and attention in a program, I think the consistency should be reciprocated.

And when it comes to children’s channels and programs, as someone who was practically glued to the TV growing up, I’ve watched the quality slowly decline over the years. (I can’t believe I’m saying this; I feel old already.) Children’s attention spans have changed because of their growing attachment to tablets and smartphones. Sometimes it feels like they don’t even know how to sit through a full movie anymore. Instead of seeing this as the end of children’s television, the media should see it as a challenge. Broadcasters need to adapt by creating content that is engaging enough to compete for children’s attention rather than giving up on them altogether.

One channel that understood this was Ye Ethiopia Lijoch. Speaking from experience, it was one of the few Ethiopian channels that genuinely knew how to capture children’s attention. I remember watching my younger cousins completely forget about their tablets because they were so invested in the programs. Then, just like many other promising shows and channels, it disappeared.

That, unfortunately, sums up the problem with Ethiopian television: consistency.

To add the cherry on top, we are living in the age of AI; creative industries are crumbling in front of our eyes. I have noticed its increasing use on some Ethiopian television channels in ways that raise important questions about creativity and originality.

Ethiopia, and Africa more broadly, still have many areas where we are working to catch up, from technological development to industrial growth. Yet, for some reason, we seem quick to embrace AI in spaces where human creativity should still be at the forefront. Our country is full of stories waiting to be told. Every day there are developments in entertainment, fashion, business, sports, culture, and politics that deserve thoughtful coverage.

I recently watched a program on Abay TV, which is the main reason I started writing this article. AI-generated content was streamed for almost the entire Sunday. I understand using AI for entertainment, and I don’t mind it appearing for a few minutes as a fun segment. But an entire Sunday filled with AI-generated videos featuring celebrities that have no relevance to our country, it felt excessive.

The media has its own responsibility. It is created by people, for people. Countless stories are waiting to be told: new fashion trends shaping the industry, emerging businesses, artists, musicians, entrepreneurs, athletes, and important political and social issues unfolding every day. Instead of giving those stories the attention they deserve, valuable airtime was dedicated to artificial content.

To be clear, I am not against AI. It is a tool, just like every technological advancement before it, and it can make media production more efficient when used responsibly. What I am against is using AI as a replacement for human creativity. I am against channels relying on AI-generated commercials instead of hiring local creatives. I am against choosing the lazier option at the expense of real people.

Ethiopia is full of talented people who are still waiting for their opportunity. There are incredible underground musicians, filmmakers, designers, photographers, comedians, writers, and artists who have never been given a platform to showcase their work, waiting for a stage to shine so that they could educate, inspire, and entertain millions

That is why I believe Ethiopian media is one of the most underutilized industries in the country. It has enormous potential. Instead of relying on repetitive formats or filling hours of programming with AI-generated content, television could become the place where new talent is discovered, important conversations begin, and original Ethiopian stories are finally given the spotlight they deserve.

Have you ever been to a Habesha function? Not the ones held in hotels. Not the ones with caterers doing all the work. I’m talking about the real neighborhood ones, or should I call them ድግስ (a party, feast, or banquet)?

The week before these events is full of work (like no joke), and you might find your home packed by everyone with one sole purpose: to help.

The elder mothers with hands of gold, whose hands have prepared dishes for years, and there are the mothers who help with the beverages (tela and tej mainly), which by the way, have probably been doing it since your grandparents’ wedding, and mind you, the taste is still the same—everyone in the neighborhood will testify to that.

The first few days are more of spreading the news around, which is normally told during coffee ceremonies. We all know the importance of coffee ceremonies in our country, and its very important in this neighborhood as well.

My grandmother and her neighbors have been consistently drinking coffee for years. When I say years, I mean since my mom was 7, and I am 18 now (I will leave the maths for y’all).

The news was told, and everyone said in unison, “elleeleleleeeeeeee….esey eseyyyyy”. Congratulations filled the air. They talk about how little he used to be, how quickly time has passed, and how he has grown into a man. Some laugh, some even cry, and some prayed for him. I sat there quietly, watching this wholesome moment.

“እስቲ እኔም ሙሉዬ ቤት ልሂድ፣ ልጅዋ ሊመረቅ እኮ ነው፣ ሥራ ላግዝ።” my grandma would say, wrapping her netela around her waist. That’s how I knew the preparations had officially begun.

Since I wasn’t trusted with any of the major responsibilities(don’t judge), my cousins and I were assigned jobs like running errands, carrying things from one room to another, and babysitting the younger kids while the adults worked.

Now and then, everything would come to a pause for a coffee ceremony. But if you know anything about an Ethiopian coffee ceremony, you know it isn’t really a break. It’s a whole event by itself. Laughter in every corner of the house as conversations bounce from the upcoming celebration, to the children, to politics, to neighborhood gossip....basically everything under the sun. I honestly believe this is the heart of the celebration, even more than the event itself.

Of course, we can’t forget the elder fathers and the men. They’re the ones slaughtering the ox, setting up the tent, arranging chairs and tables, lifting heavy equipment, and making sure everything is ready. Then, somehow, they change into suits and become the hosts of the event.

You hear them shouting,

“እረ ጨምር! ምን ሆነ? ድግስ አይደል እንዴ!”

They’re constantly making sure every guest has enough food, enough drinks, and a place to sit. Hospitality is their responsibility, and they take it veryyyy personally.

You’ll find this kind of celebration mostly in neighborhoods and family compounds rather than hotels. Sometimes I wonder if catering businesses and hotels are slowly replacing this tradition. They’re certainly making life easier, especially for our mothers, who carry the biggest share of the work. And honestly, they deserve that relief.

But I also wonder if something gets left behind when we outsource everything.

Because the preparation isn’t just preparation. It is the tradition and a way of showing love by itself.

The day after the graduation, while we were having coffee, I asked my mom and grandmother a question that had been on my mind all along from the beginning.

“What is the payment for all the neighbors who spent an entire week working?”

My grandmother and my mom both said, “There is no payment. You do it out of love.” They even think the concept of payment is straight up disrespectful, and they said it sounds like separating them from the family.

I’ve watched these people do this for years. No one asks for money. No one keeps track of the hours they spent. The family’s victory becomes everyone’s victory. Their hardship becomes everyone’s hardship.

In this particular graduation, these neighbors had watched the graduate grow up. They had held him as a baby, corrected him as a child, and celebrated every milestone along the way. They were his second mothers and fathers. So when they stayed until two in the morning, making sure everything was ready for the next day, they didn’t complain. Because this wasn’t someone else’s celebration. It was theirs too.

That’s what makes a ድግስ so beautiful.

This has been my motto for most of my good and bad decisions. It frees me from obsessing over the perfection of the outcome and lets me focus on the experience. When you think about it more, there is actually no such thing as good or bad because it is temporary. It doesn’t matter, just be happy as long as you existed for the time being. Do whatever you want to do, whatever you want to experience.

But on the other side of the coin, the term “you only live once” doesn’t sit right with me. What do you mean I only live once? I will only be one person. I will never get to experience life again. I will never get to talk, laugh, or be with my family and friends again. What about our loved ones who passed away young? They never got the chance to experience all this. They won’t come back either. What do you mean I only get to be one person? My time is limited. I will never get to be all that I dreamed of, and on top of that, I can’t even try it next time. I don’t get to read all books. I don’t get to see the whole world. I don’t get to work on every dream.

In the Bible, Hebrews 9:27 says, “And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.” This verse underlines the importance of living purposefully and making the most of the time given, rather than relying on reincarnation or multiple chances. I often have this conversation with God. I ask Him, do we actually only have one life? I don’t believe in reincarnation, but in my heart I also struggle to believe I only have this one chance. This creates long conversations with people. I was even asked if I love this worldly life so much that I don’t want to be united with God, which is totally out of context from what I am trying to say.

I understand this Bible quote in simple terms as, you only have one life, so be intentional about what you are doing. Don’t just sleepwalk through it thinking you will get another chance. As for the beauty of it, scarcity creates value. When something is limited, it feels more precious, meaningful, and worth caring about. That’s why time, opportunities, relationships, and moments feel important, because they aren’t endless.

In the end, the idea that we only live once is both comforting and unsettling, but it teaches the same lesson from two different directions. It reminds us not to waste our time in fear, perfectionism, or regret, because pain and embarrassment are temporary and life is meant to be experienced. At the same time, it gently urges us to be intentional, because our time is limited and every choice matters. Perhaps the meaning of one lifetime is not to do everything or become everything, but to live deeply, love sincerely, and experience our own unique story while we are here. When we accept this, the fear of having only one life slowly transforms into gratitude for the chance to live it at all.

I was watching a vlog of a girl, and she was playing Teddy Afro’s music while getting ready. She mentioned that she used to dislike Amharic music and couldn’t even remember when she started listening to it again. And I was like, girl, me too. That sparked a question in my head: Does everyone go through a phase where we all collectively start hating anything Ethiopian, like music, books, even the cultural clothes?

I remember wearing jeans and a T-shirt on Culture Day because, for some reason, our traditional clothes suddenly didn’t feel cool anymore. “Come on, I am in 8th grade now; I am not wearing that”. We wanted to be seen as modern, and Western pop culture had become the standard of what “cool” looked like. Around that same time, schools began reducing Amharic learning because we had to focus on developing our English. The idea was that Amharic wasn’t going anywhere, but English was the key to the future.

This made me wonder: Is this how cultures slowly get colonized? Is this how languages fade, when the generation meant to carry them forward starts rejecting them just to fit in? I feel like I was a victim of this myself. Finding my way back to loving my culture has been a journey of small steps, and it’s honestly embarrassing to realize how much my Amharic reading skills have diminished.

Let’s not even talk about rejecting African identity. As Ethiopian’s there is a phrase we always say, “እኛ አፍሪካውያን አይደለንም, እኛ ሐበሻ ነን.” It’s meant to express how unique Ethiopia is, but to me, it can feel toxic to reject our origins. We are African.

One time, I was going to the bazaar wearing a simple outfit and decided to add Netela. Many people told me I had an “African style.” That confused me, I was wearing our own culture. I get similar comments when I wear my afros, even though most Ethiopians naturally have kinky hair. Moments like this made me realize how deeply these ideas are rooted in us.

African history has been shaped by colonization and white-washed narratives. Because Africa is often portrayed as poor or underdeveloped, some people start to see African clothes as “too colorful” or tasteless. When media and mainstream culture constantly push these ideas, rejecting our own culture almost becomes normal. Modernization has made Western lifestyles more attractive, often making traditional customs appear outdated, leading to reduced enthusiasm for indigenous heritage.

So who is responsible for this disconnection? The media? Schools? Parents? Society? Or ourselves? It’s painful to see younger generations going through the same thing.

Of course, English is important. It’s a global language, and in many ways it makes expressing emotions and ideas easier. But rejecting our own language and culture just because it isn’t considered trendy is something else entirely. That feels like peer pressure on a cultural level. As Pambazuka News puts it, “Parents often focus on work, which can lead to limited time for passing on cultural knowledge, while global economic structures reward Western-aligned practices.”

Now that I understand this, I’ve been trying to reconnect with my heritage. I’m learning to love my natural hair no matter how much they try to convince us it’s “unprofessional”, incorporating Ethiopian/African style into my everyday outfits despite it being called too colorful, and reading more in Amharic to make up for the lost days. I’ve started to realize how deeply beautiful and under-celebrated Ethiopian Art is. Seeing content creators my age proudly celebrate their culture makes me genuinely happy and gives me hope that it’s not totally forgotten after all.

It makes me realize that this isn’t just an individual experience, but something many of us are quietly going through at the same time, finding our way back to something we never truly lost, just forgot to value for a while. Maybe that’s how we find our way back home.

“ my spiral represents a growth, a growth out of my cage that I created for myself ,a growing out of society wound that was passed on us , and a growth out of whatever I survived in this life time and what will come in the future.” -From my journal

when I first saw a spiral I didn’t notice any special feeling but I did notice its endless outward loop that We will return to again and again yet never to the same place it started. it will get bigger in size and further from the first point. This realization changed the way I think about growth, healing and life in general.

I used to think healing means forgetting everything that happened, leaving it all in the past like it never happened to begin with, don’t get me wrong I wish it was true too but just like the spiral, we will still go back again and again to the same places, to the same wounds but from different distance, There are still moments when I find myself standing in familiar emotions, feelings I thought I had already left behind. For a second, it feels like I haven’t moved at all. But I’m not the same person I was at the beginning. Each time I return, I am farther from where I started. I still feel those emotions, but now I recognize them as signs of growth. Returning to them doesn’t mean I am going backwards in fact it means I am growing beyond them, little by little, over time.

When I say this, you might ask, “But when will I finally forget and leave it all behind?” my honest answer is, you won’t. and maybe that’s what life really is. We return to the same places so we can see how far we’ve come. How would you know you’re growing if you never revisited what once hurt you? Each time you move through another circle of the spiral, you learn something new and carry that lesson forward that will help you build the next circle of spiral loop. That’s just how life works, and in the end, those experiences are what shape you into who you are.