So, yesterday was my last day in Addis Ababa. These past two months have flown by; I
have learned more than I thought possible and been inspired in so many ways by
the people I have met. I will miss
Ethiopia: the people, the work,
the sights and sounds, and of course the food and coffee! My experiences here have been varied,
some good and some bad. All of
them have been informative and valuable in their own way. Each has made me reflect on what
I value, rethink my opinions of certain issues, and expand my understanding of
complex societal and cultural dynamics.
One of the most valuable, and exciting, experiences happened
last Thursday. For Ethiopians, it
was the end of Ramadan: Eid Al-Fitr. I had scheduled an interview
at Siddartha Development Organization for that morning, not knowing the
significance of the date. The
manager later told me that it would be a national holiday. I asked him if people would be at the
office, he said yes; I asked him if it would be an inconvenience for the staff
or for the interviewees for Mikiyas (IOFA’s translator) and me to come in the
morning, he said no. So, I
confirmed the time and wrote the interview on my calendar.
The night before the interviews, I had dinner with a friend
who mentioned that there might be protests on Eid Al-Fitr. I asked when and where they would be,
knowing that I would have to plan my journey to avoid those areas. He said that the activity would be mainly
at the Stadium, where the Addis Ababa Muslims would go in the morning to
worship. No problem, I thought, I
don’t have to pass by the stadium on my way to Siddartha Development. Just to make sure though, I told
Mikiyas that if things were bad in the morning we would cancel the interviews.
This might be a good time to give you, the readers, some
background on the political/religious discontent in Ethiopia. A couple of years ago, Islamist
extremists put the word out that they were targeting Ethiopia, Kenya, and
Nigeria to expand their influence in East Africa. This, understandably, put the Ethiopian government on
edge. The political climate here
has been stable for the past 8 years, but it could change. Sure enough, some more radical imams
began to speak out against the government and stir up discontent among some of
the Muslim population. The
government tried to repress these radicals, but couldn’t do so without
tightening restrictions on all Muslims.
This, of course, has frustrated the entire Ethiopian Muslim
population. Last year, there began
to be protests during Ramadan, culminating in a large protest on Eid Al-Fitr
that turned violent. This Ramadan,
there were protests every Friday in some Addis mosques and in many of the
regional Ethiopian areas. About a
week before Eid Al-Fitr, calls came for a mass protest for the end of Ramadan. This was general knowledge for
Ethiopians, but not for the ferenji tourists.
So, on Thursday morning I left my guest house to find that
the road was closed—there were no line taxis (public transportation)
running. This wasn’t too
surprising since my guest house is located just North of a mosque, and there
were quite a few people on their way home. Everyone was chatting, nothing was alarming. I decided to walk up to Mexico Square
(a major taxi hub) to catch a line taxi North. As I approached the square, the crowds became thicker, and I
soon realized there were no line taxis in the square. Then I heard shouts and saw a huge crowd filing down the
main road. It seemed that if I
could get across the road, I would be able to make my way to the National
Theater/Ambassador area, in which is located a fair number of international
hotels. I could hire a private
taxi and still get to the interviews on time.
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| Some of the protestors around the Ambassador area |
I squeezed through the crowd in Mexico square and made my
way towards the National Theater.
I soon came to another major road with another large group of
marchers. An elderly gentleman
with two young boys pulled me to the side of the street against a building. “Better to wait here until they pass,”
he told me. I was watching the
marchers and wondering how long it would take before I could get to the hotel,
when something stirred the crowd and they began to stampede. I pressed myself against the wall to
make as much room for them as possible.
I then saw what had happened—the police had arrived. The police had their clubs out and were
holding riot shields. That’s when
things went bad. The protestors
started throwing rocks, large ones, at the police, who were standing near to
me. I ran to a small book kiosk
where some other women were huddled.
The police began chasing down the men and beating them. The men were fleeing every direction,
but still throwing rocks and shouting back.
The owners of the book kiosk, to whom I am forever indebted,
pulled the women and me into the small shop, turned off the lights, and barred
the windows. We sat in the dark,
hearing the commotion outside and waiting for everything to die down. I pulled out my phone and texted a few
of my friends my location and what was happening. After about half an hour, the owners opened the kiosk
windows and let us out. The street
was littered with debris, but was otherwise eerily silent. I hurried to Ethiopia hotel (maybe .25
km away) and sat in the café until the roads opened, then took a private taxi
back to my guesthouse. I thank my
lucky stars that I didn’t see the worst of the protests, which took place in
the Merkato.
So what do I take away from this experience? First, I now have a deep appreciation
for the political stability of my home country, which makes it possible for us
to enjoy the freedoms enshrined in our constitution. It has also made me deepened my understanding of foreign
governments that I, as an American, by criticize for being repressive. It’s easy for me to level such
criticism in a country that’s secure, where political leaders do not have to
worry about being overthrown by radical extremists, where our neighboring
countries are also relatively stable.
I’m not saying that I agree with the Ethiopian government’s crackdown on
religious and journalistic freedom, but I do understand, and can even empathize
with, their motives. And even
though I can become a little frustrated with many Ethiopians’ views of Muslim
dissenters (which can be interpreted as unsympathetic and condescending) and
their general disinterest in politics, I also know why ths kind of attitude
prevails. In case you have
forgotten (or never heard), Ethiopia experienced an extremely oppressive
communist regime, a tragic famine, and political upheaval within the past 25
years. Can we blame the Ethiopian
majority for preferring a strong (and stable) government How does one protect a people’s rights
to freedom of speech and worship and also maintain a stable government in a
(relatively) insecure region? On
the other hand, can we blame Muslim protestors for claiming their own religious
freedom and trying to expose the government’s repressive means of silencing
their voices? There are no easy
answers.
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| Some of the Eid Al-Fitr protestors |
Unwittingly being caught in the middle of a protest is one
of those experiences that can often come upon world travelers. In fact, many people I know who have
lived and worked abroad have similar stories. In some ways it’s become a source of pride and
legitimacy—one can claim to be “enlightened” or an “expert” because he/she has
been in the middle of a REAL riot.
But this attitude is just part of the ignorant neoliberal attitudes that Westerners have towards the two-thirds world. I had absolutely no business being out and about that day,
if I had had any sense I would have realized that my local contacts were trying
to warn me to stay inside. If I
had been smart, I would have turned around and headed back to my guest house
when I first saw the agitated crowds in Mexico square. But I didn’t. To be completely honest, a small part of me wanted to
witness the march, to get the full “Ethiopian experience.” I counted on my racial/ethnic identity
to protect me, exploiting it as a means to be a kind of voyeur—to see and
experience the excitement political unrest, perhaps at the expense of
others. In this way, I am just as
guilty as the “tribal tourists” I was repulsed by in India. As a Westerner, I have to consciously
and continuously reflect on how my presence stirs the waters, where I do and
don’t belong, where I should and should not go. Only then can I respectfully experience this vast, diverse,
and infinitely complex world.
Note: I did not take the pictures on this blog, I pulled them from Aljazeera, which republished twitter photos of the protests.
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