Adwa: The Hidden Cost to Tigrayan Identity

The Battle of Adwa in 1896 is immortalized in history as Ethiopia’s defiant stand against Italian colonialism, a moment of African pride and resilience. Widely celebrated as a symbol of Black resistance, it is often presented as a unifying triumph for Ethiopia and a beacon for Pan-Africanism. Yet, beneath this polished narrative lies a troubling reality for Tigrayans, who bore the brunt of the battle and its aftermath. Far from empowering Tigray, Adwa became a turning point that weakened Tigrayan nationalism, exposing it to exploitation by Ethiopian rulers’ intent on centralizing power. This opinion piece unravels the layered consequences of Adwa for Tigray, offering a critical lens for Tigrayan elites and those seeking to understand the battle’s true legacy — a legacy not of victory but of deception and enduring loss.

The Deception of Adwa: A Trojan Horse Unveiled

Tigrayan warriors were instrumental in securing the victory at Adwa, their bravery and sacrifice undeniable. Their blood soaked the battlefield, yet the spoils of this triumph were swiftly claimed by Menelik II’s Ethiopian empire, transforming a Tigrayan effort into a symbol of centralized Amhara dominance. The narrative that emerged—one of Ethiopian unity under Menelik’s banner—was a poisoned gift to Tigray, luring its people into a false sense of shared glory while ensuring their subjugation. This reframing stripped Tigray of its agency, reducing its people to pawns in an empire-building project prioritizing Amhara’s hegemony over Tigrayan autonomy. As I argued in an earlier piece published in Aiga some time ago, The Quest for Unifying Tigrayan Leadership, Ethiopian rulers have historically sought to suppress Tigray’s influence by eroding its political and economic base. Adwa was no exception—it was a calculated opportunity for the Ethiopian state to consolidate power at Tigray’s expense.

The legacy of Adwa has been polished into a national myth, one that generations of Tigrayans have been taught to revere. This pride, however, rests on shaky ground. Adwa did not usher in prosperity or recognition for Tigray; instead, it entrenched a narrative benefiting an Amhara-dominated state. By celebrating it as a collective Ethiopian achievement, Tigrayans were blinded to their own marginalization, their history of independent struggle overshadowed by a story serving the empire’s interests. Long before Adwa, Tigrayans repelled Ottoman incursions in the 16th century, held off Egyptian expansion in the 19th century, and thwarted Mahdist Sudanese invasions — all without Ethiopian support. Adwa was not the pinnacle of our resilience but a chapter exploited to erase that legacy.

The Brutal Aftermath: Economic Sabotage and Demographic Warfare

Menelik’s forces did not merely pass through Tigray on their way to Adwa; they ravaged its economy and society with brutal intent. They systematically plundered Tigray’s resources — confiscating livestock, looting food stores, and cutting down forests—leaving the region incapable of sustaining itself. This was not collateral damage but a deliberate act of economic sabotage, designed to cripple Tigray and ensure its dependence on the Ethiopian state. Even more heinous was the systematic rape of Tigrayan women by Menelik’s soldiers. This was not a chaotic byproduct of war but a calculated policy of demographic warfare aimed at diluting Tigrayan bloodlines and shattering the region’s social cohesion. The generations that emerged from these atrocities often grew up with a fractured sense of identity, making them more susceptible to relinquishing their Tigrayan heritage. It is a bitter truth that many who now align themselves against Tigrayan nationalism, particularly in opposition to the TPLF, trace their lineage to this historical strategy of forced assimilation. This tactic was not unique to Menelik’s time; the Derg regime replicated it by strategically deploying large military contingents to settle in Tigray during the 17-year armed struggle, further attempting to alter the region’s demographic fabric and weaken its collective identity.

A chilling modern echo of this crime came from Ethiopia’s current Prime Minister, Abiy Ahmed, who in a parliamentary session stated, “One in ten soldiers of Menelik had a child from a Tigrayan woman.” Far from a neutral observation, this remark was a deliberate jab at Tigrayan identity, suggesting that Tigrayans are already intermixed and thus lack a distinct existence. It echoes Menelik’s demographic warfare, subtly justifying the erasure of Tigrayan nationalism and their right to self-determination. More disturbingly, it hints at Abiy’s policies — his genocidal campaign against Tigray mirrors this historical strategy, using violence to dismantle Tigray as a people. Whether a historical reference or a Freudian slip, his words expose a disturbing continuity: the use of rape and intermixing as tools to weaken Tigrayan unity, then and now.

A Personal Reckoning: Escaping the Adwa Myth

I know this deception firsthand. In the early 1990s, while studying in the Netherlands, I was among the first Ethiopians to document Adwa’s history online. As a student with access to the nascent internet, I compiled historical accounts and published them on a university-hosted website. Feedback poured in—people were eager to learn about this great African victory. I was proud, believing I was sharing a moment of resistance that belonged to all of us, especially Tigrayans. I saw Adwa as a symbol of strength, something to celebrate. I had no idea I was perpetuating a lie. It wasn’t until 2018, when Abiy Ahmed’s regime came to power, that I began a profound reckoning. Reflecting on Adwa’s true meaning for Tigray, I saw how this so-called victory had been used to manipulate generations, binding us to a state that systematically weakened us. That was when I liberated myself from the myth, and I am now convinced that Adwa was a curse to Tigrayan identity. This personal journey mirrors a broader reckoning that Tigrayan scholars, thinkers, and youth must undertake.

What triggered this reckoning? It was not a random moment of reflection but a realization shaped by my prior understanding of Abiy Ahmed—his personality, deep-seated resentment toward Tigray, and broader political ambitions. I knew from the start that his rise to power would mark a turning point that could either alter Tigray’s trajectory for the better or accelerate its destruction. I suspected the latter. His political maneuvering, rhetoric, and strategic alliances all pointed to an agenda that sought to diminish, if not erase, Tigrayan agency.

As events unfolded after 2018, my predictions were tragically confirmed. Abiy’s consolidation of power was accompanied by calculated efforts to rewrite Ethiopian history, marginalize Tigray, and delegitimize its role in shaping the country. Witnessing this deliberate erasure unfold before my eyes forced me to reexamine everything. I saw how the battle of Adwa had been weaponized, not to honor Tigrayan resilience but to chain us to a state that never intended to recognize our sacrifices. What I once celebrated as a defining African victory was, in truth, a tool of Tigrayan subjugation. That was when I liberated myself from the myth of Adwa—and with it, from the illusion that Ethiopia had ever truly embraced Tigray as an equal.

The Modern Manipulation: Adwa as a Political Tool

The deception of Adwa persists today, deliberately weaponized by Ethiopia’s modern rulers to serve their ends. The Adwa Victory Memorial Museum, unveiled with fanfare by Abiy Ahmed’s regime in Addis Ababa, stands as a glaring testament to how this historical myth is manipulated—not to honor the raw truth of Tigrayan sacrifice but as a cornerstone in a broader, sinister strategy to sustain his eroding grip on power. This gleaming edifice is no genuine reckoning with history; it is a cosmetic artifact, meticulously crafted to peddle Ethiopia’s imperial narrative to pan-Africanists and the global Black community who revere Adwa as a symbol of anti-colonial resistance. It casts Menelik II as the heroic architect of a united African stand, conveniently glossing over his complicity in selling neighboring regions into European hands and his army’s ruthless plunder of Tigray’s resources and women. The museum exalts Adwa’s triumph while burying the economic devastation, violated bodies, and fractured communities left in its wake, offering a sanitized fable that obliterates Tigray’s distinct suffering beneath a veneer of Ethiopian glory.

This manipulation lays bare a painful reality: Adwa did not liberate Tigray but ensured its fragmentation, cementing its political dispossession under Ethiopian dominion. The battle’s outcome tore the Tigrayan people asunder, dividing them across two administrations—Eritrea under Italian control and Tigray proper within Ethiopia—severing their collective strength and exposing them to the empire’s relentless divide-and-rule tactics. This was no unintended consequence but a deliberate byproduct of Menelik’s victory, which safeguarded Ethiopian sovereignty at the steep price of Tigrayan unity. Consider the haunting counterfactual: had Italy triumphed at Adwa and occupied Tigray, the region’s political fate might have been uncertain, and its people would have been subjected to colonial exploitation. Yet, under such a foreign yoke, Tigrayan identity—forged in resistance—might have endured intact, untainted by the insidious assimilation that Ethiopian rule imposed. Instead, Menelik’s success shackled Tigray to an empire that crushed its political aspirations and waged a systematic campaign to erase its historical agency and autonomy. This is not to romanticize Italian rule—its cruelties would have been profound—but to illuminate the tragic irony that Adwa, lionized as Africa’s victory, delivered Tigray into a deeper, more enduring subjugation, cloaked in the illusion of shared triumph.

For Abiy Ahmed, the museum is a political prop in his faltering quest to redefine Ethiopia’s identity under the banner of “Ethiopianism”—a carefully spun narrative to bolster his weakening rule. His strategy rests on three precarious pillars: first and foremost, weakening Tigray and dismantling the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) as his chief rival for power; second, brandishing the Ethiopianism card to rally Amhara elites by amplifying their historical narratives; and third, peddling a dubious Oromo identity to persuade Oromos that this empire is now theirs to claim. Yet, this grand design is unraveling. His escalating clash with Amhara elites, who grow wary of his duplicity, chips away at his support base daily, exposing the brittleness of his ambitions. In this context, the Adwa Museum is less a tribute to history and more a desperate gambit to centralize authority—smothering Tigrayan history beneath a pan-Ethiopian facade while his true intent remains the suppression of Tigray’s voice and vitality. Time will reveal whether this ploy cements his crumbling rule or hastens his inevitable downfall. Still, for Tigrayans, it reaffirms a bitter truth: Adwa, then and now, remains a tool of their subjugation, not their salvation.

Divide and Rule: A Persistent Strategy

The Ethiopian empire, long steered by its Amhara elite, has perpetually regarded Tigray’s strength as a threat to its dominion. Before Adwa, Tigrayan rulers like Ras Alula stood as formidable obstacles to centralized control, their autonomy a thorn in the empire’s side. After the battle, Menelik II turned Adwa’s outcome into a masterstroke of division, not unity. By ceding Eritrea—including northern Tigrayan lands—to Italian rule under the Treaty of Wuchale while retaining Tigray proper, he cleaved the Tigrayan people in two, fracturing their cohesion across colonial and Ethiopian borders. Within Ethiopia, he stoked rivalries among Tigrayan nobles, redistributed lands to loyalists, and sidelined the region from imperial power, cementing its subordination. The social scars from his army’s occupation—exacerbated by the children born of systematic rape—further splintered Tigrayan communities, embedding discord that his successors exploited to keep Tigray fragmented and pliable.

This divide-and-conquer playbook endures, resurfacing with chilling precision in the recent war on Tigray. Abiy Ahmed’s regime has mirrored Menelik’s tactics—devastating Tigray’s economy through blockades and destruction, sowing distrust among its leaders via propaganda, and unleashing violence to destabilize its social fabric. Ethiopian rulers, from Menelik to Abiy, dread Tigrayan unity, and Adwa unwittingly handed them the blueprint: a fragmented Tigray, stripped of collective power, is easier to dominate. Each February, Tigrayans join Ethiopia in commemorating Adwa, a ritual steeped in paradox. Far from fostering Tigray’s resurgence, the battle’s legacy entrenched its vulnerability — a wound deepened by every unreflective celebration.

Conclusion: The Survival of Tigray Through Truth

It’s time to face a painful truth: Adwa was not a triumph for Tigray but a decisive moment in its subjugation. While Menelik and his empire emerged fortified, Tigray was left divided, weakened, and politically dispossessed. The narrative instilled in our children—that Adwa was a shared Ethiopian glory—veils a stark reality of exploitation and loss. To deem Adwa a crime against Tigray is not an exaggeration but a vital reckoning. The battle and its brutal aftermath dealt wounds far beyond the physical—economic devastation, violated women, shattered communities—all meticulously wrought to erode Tigrayan identity. Celebrating Adwa without confronting this violence sustains our oblivion. Tigray’s future rests on unearthing the truths buried beneath this mythos. Far from a moment of empowerment, Adwa was a historical deception, its toll deepened by Menelik’s atrocities and reverberated in Abiy’s policies. By recasting this history with unflinching honesty—honoring the valor of Tigrayan fighters while laying bare the betrayal that ensued—we can forge a more substantial, unified identity. The choice is stark: Embrace the truth to safeguard Tigray’s survival or risk vanishing beneath the weight of a lie.