After Mekelle: Why I Believe the Tigray Defense Forces Are Likely to Prevail

In an essay published on October 4,^[1]I questioned the international media's portrayal of the Tigray Defense Forces' (TDF) recent withdrawal from Mekelle and other urban centers as a decisive military defeat. I argued that capturing towns and destroying a fighting force were two very different things.

I also suggested that the war could no longer be understood through Tigray alone. It was becoming a wider struggle involving armed movements across Ethiopia, with potential consequences for Eritrea and the surrounding region.

More than three weeks later, I remain convinced that the TDF's withdrawal should not be mistaken for its defeat. I believe the TDF will ultimately prevail in its struggle against the imposition of federal military rule.

My conviction rests not simply on battlefield developments, but on a deeper understanding of the history of Tigray, the relationship between its people and the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF), and the enormous political and military problems confronting Abiy Ahmed's government.

Recent Developments and Historical Experiences            

The TDF resumed offensive operations in central Tigray in October. The Critical Threats Project reported that Tigrayan forces regained Abiy Addi and Werkamba on October 14.^[2] Federal forces subsequently retook Abiy Addi, while the October 23 assessment described continued fighting in central and northern Tigray.^[3]

An October 23 Associated Press report described former Tigrayan fighters registering for disarmament and reintegration, even as TDF commanders pledged continued resistance.^[4] These developments reveal divergent choices among Tigrayans exhausted by war. The Amhara Fano – another armed group in the Amhara region – has also challenged federal positions and contested transportation routes across Amhara. 

These developments matter because they contradict the impression conveyed by the initial headlines. The Ethiopian National Defense Force (ENDF) entered Mekelle and occupied important towns, but the TDF retained the capacity to reorganize and resume fighting. Territorial occupation has not brought the war to an end.

There is a historical experience that helps explain why I have been reluctant to interpret the withdrawal from towns as military defeat. It is one that Eritreans of my generation know particularly well.

In 1977, Eritrean liberation movements made extraordinary advances against the Ethiopian military. The Eritrean People's Liberation Front (EPLF) and the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF) controlled much of the countryside and several important towns. The Ethiopian army appeared increasingly unable to maintain its position across Eritrea.

The situation changed dramatically in 1978. With massive Soviet military assistance and Cuban involvement, Mengistu’s government launched a major counteroffensive against the Eritrean liberation movements. Cuba’s role deserves particular scrutiny and nuance. Its contribution to the struggles against colonialism and apartheid in Angola and Southern Africa was historically significant. But its support for Mengistu’s government is, in my judgment, a tragic historical mistake.^[5]

Confronted with overwhelming conventional firepower, the EPLF chose not to sacrifice its fighting force defending every liberated town. It relocated toward the Sahel and consolidated its defenses around Nakfa.

The Ethiopian army recovered substantial territory. On a map, its victories appeared overwhelming. But the EPLF had preserved its military organization and its ability to continue fighting.

What followed was remarkable. The EPLF did not simply disappear into the mountains. It built hospitals, factories, workshops, schools and other institutions in caves, valleys and protected spaces between the mountains. Wounded fighters were treated in underground hospitals. Mechanical workshops repaired equipment and manufactured essential supplies. Schools educated children, including those orphaned by the war.

The mountains became more than places of refuge. They became the foundation of a functioning society under conditions of prolonged warfare.

Thirteen years after the Ethiopian counteroffensive, the EPLF entered Asmara. The EPLF's eventual victory was not simply a military achievement. The Derg had progressively lost political credibility among large sections of the Eritrean population. Its military campaigns, coercion and destruction made it increasingly difficult to govern except through force. The EPLF's military organization was essential, but so was its relationship with the communities that sustained the struggle.

The Eritrean comparison nevertheless has limits. The EPLF fought for independence, while the movements now cooperating against Abiy Ahmed have different constitutional aspirations. The EPLF's military victory in 1991 did not itself determine the internationally recognized status Eritrea achieved through the 1993 referendum. The survival of an armed movement does not tell us whether its political destination is independence, autonomy, a reconfigured federation or some other settlement. It would therefore be wrong to infer that Tigray, Amhara, Oromia and other regions must each become separate states if the present system of rule collapses.

I believe there is an important lesson here for Tigray. The TPLF's relationship with the Tigrayan population did not begin with the 2020 war. It goes back to the seventeen-year struggle against the Derg from 1975 to 1991. That struggle was sustained by ordinary Tigrayans, particularly rural communities whose support made the movement's survival possible. Historian John Young's Peasant Revolution in Ethiopia: The Tigray People's Liberation Front, 1975–1991 examines the deep relationship between the TPLF and the peasants who sustained its struggle.^[6] The movement's success depended not simply on military skill, but on its capacity to organize communities, address local grievances and develop popular support.

For many Tigrayans, the TPLF is not simply another political party. Its fighters are their children, brothers, sisters, parents and relatives. The liberation struggle is part of their family history. They remember those who fought, those who sheltered fighters, those who sacrificed their livelihoods and those who never returned. That relationship has survived enormous political changes, serious mistakes by the TPLF leadership and the devastation of the 2020–2022 war.

Yet the depth of this historical relationship raises a difficult question: how much more can the people of Tigray be asked to sacrifice? The rural communities that sustained the seventeen-year struggle against the Derg endured another devastating war between 2020 and 2022, followed by displacement, hunger, shattered livelihoods and an uncertain peace. Families who have already lost children may have little willingness or capacity to support another round of mobilization. For them, a new military campaign is not an abstraction. It threatens another generation.

I do not assume that historical attachment to the TPLF amounts to support for every decision its leadership makes today. Human Rights Watch reported forced recruitment by Tigrayan authorities in 2026, including accounts involving unwilling civilians and former fighters.^[7] The TPLF leadership has denied these allegations of coercion. Where the alleged human rights abuses occur, the movement risks alienating the very families whose support sustained earlier struggles. A Tigrayan farmer may regard the TPLF as part of the community’s history, reject federal military occupation and still resent the demand to send another son to war. Those positions are not contradictory.

Considering the People of Tigray 

Similarly, a peasant may regard the TPLF as part of Tigray's history and still have lost confidence in its present leadership. Another may reject Abiy Ahmed's government while opposing the recruitment of a son or daughter into yet another war. Such attitudes do not cancel one another. They reveal how war fatigue can weaken an armed movement's civilian foundations without necessarily strengthening public allegiance to the federal authorities occupying the towns.

The TPLF’s historical legitimacy is a political resource, not an unlimited entitlement to sacrifice. Criticism of coerced recruitment should not be mistaken for support for Abiy Ahmed. Nor should opposition to federal rule be confused with an unconditional mandate for renewed war. The people whose lives are being fought over must have a voice in deciding their own future.

Tigray today is undoubtedly more divided than it was during the previous war. The remarkable sense of unity that emerged in response to the federal offensive has weakened. Abiy Ahmed has exploited divisions within the Tigrayan political and military establishment, drawing prominent Tigrayan figures and former fighters into his government's political and military campaign.

These divisions have real consequences. Tigrayans aligned with Addis Ababa know the language, population and terrain. Some possess the same military experience and organizational knowledge as the TDF. They are not unfamiliar outsiders, and their participation complicates the military situation.

The divisions also threaten the social networks on which armed Tigrayan factions depend. When relatives and former comrades find themselves on opposing sides, communities may become unwilling to provide recruits, supplies, shelter or information. Every new demand for military service can deepen resentment among farming households still struggling to recover their livestock, harvests and children lost to earlier fighting. These effects are difficult to measure, but they are central to any assessment of the TDF's ability to sustain a prolonged struggle.

But Abiy Ahmed should not confuse dividing the Tigrayan leadership with winning the allegiance of the Tigrayan people. The distinction is fundamental. Tigrayans can be angry with the TPLF, disappointed in its leadership and critical of its decisions while continuing to regard its fighters as their own children, brothers and sisters, with all their faults and imperfections.

For many Tigrayans, the ENDF is not viewed as a liberating force. It is seen as an occupying army associated with the devastating violence of the previous war.

A population deprived of food, medicine, banking services, electricity, transportation and security may welcome the arrival of anyone who offers immediate relief. Such gestures should not be dismissed. Yet relief from deprivation is not the same as political allegiance, much less forgiveness for the suffering inflicted during the previous war.

I do not believe that temporary improvements will be easily sustained in Tigray, or that the population will forget the killings, starvation, sexual violence, displacement and destruction endured during the 2020–2022 war and its devastating aftermath in 2023. Families remember those who did not return. Reopening a bank or a market cannot erase those memories.

The larger question is whether Abiy Ahmed can establish lasting security in Tigray when the government struggles to maintain peace elsewhere in Ethiopia. I have serious doubts. What matters is not the appearance of calm during the first days of military occupation but whether people can live securely, obtain essential services and exercise political choice without coercion.

Some welcoming gestures in occupied towns may also express genuine dissatisfaction with the TPLF leadership or support for an alternative Tigrayan administration. These possibilities deserve acknowledgment. But a gathering, however sincere, cannot establish what the wider population believes. Neither celebration nor silence substitutes for representative political consent.

This is where I believe Abiy Ahmed faces his greatest political problem. His October 16 appointment of five officials^[8] to administer Tigray does not resolve the crisis of political legitimacy. These officials were selected by Addis Ababa, not through a popular electoral mandate from the people of Tigray. The federal government's own announcement placed them under instructions issued from the center.

Many Tigrayans regard political figures who have aligned themselves with Abiy Ahmed as having betrayed their communities. Their previous standing does not automatically confer credibility, but the breadth of popular support or opposition cannot be established from public gatherings alone.

These appointees must establish credibility among people profoundly divided by war, displacement and competing visions of Tigray's future. Some residents may welcome an easing of hardship, but political legitimacy cannot simply be delivered from Addis Ababa.

By late October, the federally appointed caretaker administration was encouraging schools to reopen and public servants to return to work. Some former Tigrayan fighters were registering to return to civilian life. These are changes that exhausted residents may understandably welcome. But the restoration of services is not the same as a durable political settlement, and the readiness of some fighters to demobilize does not establish the political allegiance of the broader population.

The people of Tigray have memories. They lost parents, children, brothers and sisters during the previous war. They endured displacement, starvation, sexual violence and the destruction of essential institutions. The joint investigation by the United Nations Human Rights Office and the Ethiopian Human Rights Commission documented grave violations during that conflict.^[9] Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International documented extensive atrocities against Tigrayan civilians in Western Tigray.^[10]

These experiences cannot be erased by appointing five officials and promising elections. I believe substantial opposition to federal military rule persists, particularly in communities shaped by the earlier liberation struggle and the devastation of the recent war. But attachment to the TPLF, rejection of federal occupation and support for renewed TDF mobilization are distinct questions. Their relative strength cannot be measured reliably under present conditions, and Tigrayan war fatigue must not be overlooked.

Historical loyalty is no guarantee of continuing consent. Families in Tigray have already suffered extraordinary losses, and reports of forced recruitment show how demands for another war can alienate even people who strongly reject federal military rule. Amhara families supporting Fano face their own losses of young workers and the cumulative damage to agriculture and commerce. A community can believe its grievances are justified while rejecting coercive recruitment or questioning the decisions of its armed leadership.

This imposes a common standard on every side. The lives of ENDF soldiers cannot be treated as disposable instruments of Addis Ababa, and neither can the lives of TDF, Fano or other opposition fighters become disposable instruments of their commanders. That does not establish that all parties bear equal responsibility for the war. It means that political grievances and military resilience, however real, cannot excuse disregard for fighters or the civilians who sustain them.

Changing Realities and Looking Forward

The Derg's loss of legitimacy in Eritrea provides an important historical comparison. It could capture towns and maintain military garrisons, but it could not overcome the alienation produced by years of warfare and repression. Abiy Ahmed faces a comparable contradiction in Tigray.

There is also an enormous difference between Tigray's circumstances in 2020 and today. During the previous war, Tigray confronted the combined military power of the Ethiopian federal government, Eritrean forces and Amhara armed groups. Its population was largely surrounded, blockaded and isolated.

Today, significant Amhara armed movements that once fought against Tigray have aligned themselves with the TPLF against Abiy Ahmed. Afar armed groups have also joined the broader opposition alignment, alongside the Oromo Liberation Army and organizations from other parts of Ethiopia.

The seven-group Ethiopian Peoples' Forces Alliance for Survival, known as Tsimdo, announced in September,^[11] represents a significant advance in the coordination of opposition to Abiy Ahmed. Its constituent movements had never previously formed a common political and military alliance, and some had fought one another. Their cooperation does not erase differences over territory, sovereignty or Ethiopia's future.

The federal government has relied heavily on co-optation and selective negotiations to exploit divisions within its opponents’ constituencies. In Tigray, it has supported rival political and military structures. In Amhara, separate negotiations with Fano factions have occurred without a comprehensive settlement, while in Oromia, defections and reintegration have coexisted with continuing conflict. These tactics can weaken an opposition movement, but they do not automatically win the allegiance of the communities it claims to represent. The alliance, nonetheless, must address its members’ unresolved political and territorial disagreements rather than assuming that a common opponent has eliminated them.

The alliance remains, in important respects, a marriage of singular purpose. Its members have agreed to confront a common government while shelving disputes that have sometimes brought them into violent confrontation. The announced aspiration for an inclusive transition is not yet a publicly demonstrated agreement over contested boundaries, regional autonomy, revenues, command of the armed forces or protection of minorities. If the coalition succeeds, what becomes of Tsimdo itself? Will it remain a political association, form a temporary government or dissolve into rival movements? Its durability cannot be assumed simply from its ability to coordinate opposition.

The question is especially serious for ordinary people. The removal of a government would not suspend the need to pay teachers and health workers, preserve public banking, distribute food and medicine, protect farms and markets, or prevent reprisals by armed men. A transitional settlement must make those responsibilities explicit before violence produces another vacuum of authority. Nor should the appointment of Tigrayan figures to federal offices be mistaken for reconciliation. Such appointments may attract some support and weaken claims of exclusive representation, but their legitimacy depends on genuine accountability and civilian security, not simply on who appoints them.

The alliance has spoken of an inclusive transitional government, but the public still needs to know how its members would resolve disputes, maintain civilian administration and bring armed formations under accountable authority. Removing a government and reaching agreement on a durable settlement are different tasks. The same distinction between military power and political legitimacy applies to Abiy Ahmed's opponents as well as to Abiy himself.

Tigray is more divided internally, but it is no longer surrounded by the same coalition of enemies it faced in 2020. Fano's operations are particularly important in this changed environment.

While much of the international media has concentrated on the ENDF's capture of towns in Tigray, Fano has been disrupting important transportation routes across Amhara. In early October, Fano captured Wurgessa along the main highway connecting Addis Ababa with northern Ethiopia.^[12] Fighting around Mekane Selam disrupted another important road, while operations around Dabat and other areas placed additional pressure on transportation routes.

The Critical Threats Project's October 8 analysis documented several of these disruptions.^[13] The significance of these disruptions goes far beyond the capture of individual towns.

An army can occupy Mekelle, Alamata or other urban centers, but its soldiers must still receive food, fuel, ammunition, medical supplies and reinforcements. Its formations must remain connected to one another and to their command structures.

Fano's operations suggest an emphasis on disrupting these connections. The result could be growing difficulties for federal forces trying to maintain their deployments across different regions.

Another difference is the two forces' dependence on technology. The ENDF relies on sophisticated military equipment and extensive maintenance and supply systems. Fano's largely decentralized formations have generally operated with lighter equipment, fewer technological requirements and stronger local networks. Disruption of major roads therefore does not necessarily impose the same costs on both sides, although neither force is independent of ammunition, fuel, communications or other supplies.

The distinction should not be exaggerated. Fano's relative adaptability does not spare the communities of Amhara from the consequences of interrupted trade and transportation. The same roads that carry military supplies bring medicine and fertilizer to rural areas and allow peasants to sell their harvests. In addition to military attacks on civilians in the region, continued disruptions can damage the livelihoods of the very population on which Fano depends. Its ability to endure a conflict is therefore not the same as its ability to offer a sustainable political future.

But technological simplicity does not make human lives more readily replaceable. Fano, the TDF and their allies do not have an inexhaustible supply of fighters. Their recruits come from communities with limited human and economic resources: farmers, workers, students, former soldiers and young people whose absence is felt in households, fields and workplaces. Every death, permanent injury and year of interrupted work or education has consequences far beyond the battlefield.

The TDF draws on veterans of earlier fighting and on new recruits from Tigrayan communities. Fano formations have grown from local armed networks and include young people and former members of regional and federal security forces.^[14] Recruitment patterns in other allied movements vary, and reliable figures for their numbers and losses are unavailable. None of these organizations should treat the population from which it draws its members as an unlimited reserve of manpower.

Reliable figures for federal troop deployments in Tigray are also unavailable. Whatever the precise number, sustaining forces in northern Ethiopia while fighting in other regions places considerable demands on the ENDF's logistics.

The ENDF has also faced allegations of relying on massed infantry assaults, often described as human wave tactics. Such methods were reported during the previous Tigray war, and their possible use in the present fighting deserves closer scrutiny.

There are no uncomplicated heroes in this war. Forced recruitment by Tigrayan authorities cannot be justified by invoking the atrocities of the previous war. Nor can the federal government invoke sovereignty to excuse civilian harm, collective punishment or the needless sacrifice of its soldiers. Yet acknowledging wrongdoing on different sides does not mean that their responsibility is identical. Who initiated or escalated fighting, who harmed civilians and who prolonged the conflict must be examined on the evidence.

The peasant who fears another TDF recruitment drive and the Ethiopian mother who fears her son will be sent into another deadly offensive may have more in common than the commanders directing their lives. Neither wants to bury another child. The survival of ordinary people must matter more than the reputations of political and military leaders. That is also why the TDF’s capacity to fight should never be treated as proof that everyone in Tigray wants the war to continue.

Challenges for the Federal Government 

The military situation brings to mind what I would call a developing Bermuda Triangle for the ENDF. I use this expression to describe a possible military predicament in which an army possesses considerable manpower and technological superiority but finds its formations increasingly dispersed across contested territory while the roads and communications connecting them come under pressure.

Fano's disruption of transportation routes, the TDF's renewed operations in central Tigray and the ENDF's multiple military commitments all contribute to this danger. It is not yet established that federal formations have become isolated, but the pressures on their logistical connections deserve far more attention than they have received.

This is also why I believe the TDF's withdrawal from towns and cities makes military sense. Defending fixed urban positions against an opponent with substantial superiority in drones, artillery and conventional firepower can be extremely costly. Relinquishing those positions may preserve organized forces for another phase of the struggle. There is also the question of what happens after an army captures a town. The occupying force must maintain security, supply its soldiers, administer essential services and protect the civilian population. These responsibilities become more difficult when transportation routes are contested and armed resistance continues elsewhere.

Modern drones have changed warfare, but they have not eliminated these fundamental requirements. They can strike targets and support military operations. They cannot, by themselves, establish legitimate political authority over a hostile population. The controversy surrounding the alleged military use of Mekelle's Alula Aba Nega Airport illustrates the importance of logistics.

A statement attributed to Debretsion Gebremichael of the TPLF accused federal forces of using air transportation to move troops and military supplies because overland routes had become increasingly difficult to maintain. The specific allegation remains unverified.

But there is a documented historical precedent. In October 2021, CNN published an extensive investigation showing that Ethiopian Airlines aircraft transported weapons between Ethiopia and Eritrea during the opening weeks of the previous war.^[15] The investigation relied on cargo documents, photographs and eyewitness testimony. Ethiopian Airlines denied wrongdoing.

The present allegations require independent scrutiny. Civilian aviation must not be endangered by military use, and passengers and crews remain entitled to protection under international humanitarian law. The wider significance concerns whether the federal government can sustain its northern military campaign as transportation routes come under pressure.

The regional dimension is equally important. The government's difficulties extend well beyond Tigray. In Arsi Zone, Oromia, the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church reported that 14 Christians were killed in Merti district on October 20 and another 46 in Shirka on October 24.^[16] The identity of the perpetrators remains disputed. Whatever the eventual findings, the killings underscore the continuing vulnerability of civilians. Reuters reported on October 27 that Oromia officials accused the OLA and its allies, while a source connected to the alliance accused regional authorities. Neither account was independently substantiated, but the lack of protection of civilians is clear. These killings demand impartial investigation rather than uncritical acceptance of political accusations.

In Moyale, a dispute involving security forces and armed civilians linked to the Oromia and Somali regional states has sent thousands fleeing into Kenya. On October 27, Kenya's National Commission on Human Rights reported that approximately 40,000 people had sought refuge across the border.^[17] This is another indication of how disputes over territory and authority within Ethiopia can expose civilians to grave danger.

Arsi and Moyale have different histories, causes and immediate actors. Neither proves that the federal government ordered the violence. They do, however, raise questions about its capacity to protect civilians and mediate conflicts among the populations and regional administrations it claims to govern. A government unable to provide sustained security across its territory has yet to demonstrate how it will create durable peace in Tigray.

Accounting for External Forces and Regional Implications

Abiy Ahmed's government has developed close political and economic relations with the United Arab Emirates. The UAE's expanding involvement in the Horn of Africa, including its support for Sudan's Rapid Support Forces and its interests around the Red Sea, has made it a central actor in regional rivalries. As Reuters explained in its October 2 analysis, the renewed Ethiopian conflict is increasingly entangled with competing Gulf interests, the war in Sudan, and tensions involving Eritrea, Egypt and Somalia.^[18]

I believe Abiy Ahmed's alignment with the UAE must be understood within this wider struggle for influence. Critics see his regional ambitions as increasingly intertwined with those of Abu Dhabi, particularly concerning the Red Sea. Ethiopia's internal conflicts and its relations with neighboring countries cannot be neatly separated from these external partnerships.

Eritrea is central to this issue. In 2020, the Eritrean government made what I regard as a tragic decision to join Abiy Ahmed's war against Tigray. Eritrean families lost sons and daughters in a conflict that I do not believe was necessary for the defense of Eritrean sovereignty. Thousands of families have never received a satisfactory accounting of the sacrifices made.

The deeper crisis is not confined to Abiy Ahmed or to the immediate fortunes of Tsimdo. The future of Ethiopia is uncertain, including whether the country can survive in its existing political form. A far-reaching reconfiguration may be necessary if its diverse peoples are to negotiate a relationship they consider legitimate. A looser federation, confederal arrangements or other forms of self-government are matters for political deliberation, not questions that generals can settle by occupying towns. Fragmentation is possible, but it is not inevitable, and the collapse of centralized authority would not automatically create viable independent states.

John Markakis, Günther Schlee and John Young confront this deeper problem in The Nation State: A Wrong Model for the Horn of Africa.^[19] They question the assumption that internationally recognized states necessarily match the political communities and allegiances within their borders. Their critique is not a ready-made prescription for breaking countries apart. It asks whether political arrangements inherited from empire and external intervention can produce consent and peace when power remains concentrated at the center. Pan-Africanists have made these arguments long before the current devastations.

The Horn is heavily militarized, shaped by successive wars and weapons supplied since the Cold War. Rival outside powers equipped governments and armed forces long before today's struggles. The Cold War ended, but militarization did not. New partnerships have brought armed drones, military training and other equipment into conflicts whose roots remain unresolved. Chatham House documented Emirati military assistance to Ethiopia during the Tigray war, including drones.^[20]

The struggle for influence around Red Sea ports, transport corridors, agricultural land and mineral resources gives outside actors incentives to deepen their presence. Their interests are not identical, nor does every foreign investment harm local people. But weapons and strategic partnerships can strengthen the ability to wage war without strengthening the institutions needed for peace. Responsibility for violence remains with the leaders who order it, while arms suppliers and powerful outside patrons must also answer for the foreseeable consequences of their support.

Today, the same Ethiopian government with which Eritrea cooperated is making increasingly assertive claims concerning the Red Sea, while federal forces have advanced toward the Eritrean frontier. Reuters reported the entry of Ethiopian troops into Zalambessa on October 13, intensifying fears of another interstate confrontation.^[21]

Eritrea's sovereignty is not negotiable. Ethiopia's economic dependence on maritime trade does not give its government the right to annex another country's coastline. Access to ports can be negotiated. Infrastructure can be built. Commercial agreements can be reached. War and territorial annexation are not legitimate substitutes for diplomacy. The prospect of another war between Ethiopia and Eritrea should concern everyone familiar with the region's history. Both societies have already sacrificed generations of young people to devastating conflicts.

Those who would pay the highest price are least able to escape. Peasants cannot simply leave their land and harvests; workers cannot go indefinitely without wages; vendors cannot afford to lose the small businesses on which families depend. Displaced people, children, older people and those who depend on regular medicines have even fewer choices. Some of the wealthy and politically connected may have savings or family connections abroad. The overwhelming majority must remain and endure whatever follows.

But uncertainty about the future cannot justify accepting the suffering of the present. My judgment is that Abiy Ahmed's continuing system of rule offers no credible route out of Ethiopia's deepening crisis. That conviction does not absolve his opponents of the obligation to show how civilians will be protected, public salaries and services maintained, rival forces restrained and competing political aspirations accommodated. Ethiopia needs a fundamental political transformation, not simply new occupants of the same centralized institutions. The people who have already sacrificed so much must not be asked to pay once more for a political future left undefined.

I remain convinced that federal military occupation cannot secure durable rule in Tigray, and I believe the TDF can outlast the attempt to impose it. This is my political and historical judgment, not a claim that war is popular or that its outcome is predetermined. The movement’s social roots and changing alliances matter, but so do the limits imposed by exhaustion, recruitment practices and the enormous human cost of continued fighting.

The TDF faces serious problems. Its leadership is divided, its opponents possess formidable aerial capabilities, and some former Tigrayan military and political figures have aligned themselves with Addis Ababa. These realities cannot be ignored.Public resentment over renewed fighting and recruitment adds another serious challenge to its leadership.

But neither can the deep historical relationship between the TPLF and the people of Tigray. For many Tigrayans, the fighters remain their own children, brothers and sisters, with all their faults and imperfections. They may criticize their leaders, resent their mistakes and disagree about the future. That does not mean they accept the authority of a government they associate with the destruction of their communities.

This is the essential distinction that Abiy Ahmed's military victories cannot resolve. He can capture towns, appoint officials and announce elections. He can present former Tigrayan leaders who have joined his government as evidence of political acceptance. But none of these acts can substitute for the consent of the population.

The Derg discovered in Eritrea that military power could not indefinitely compensate for the loss of political legitimacy. I believe Abiy Ahmed faces a similar problem in Tigray, made more difficult by the ENDF's multiple military commitments and the changing alliances across Ethiopia.

The international media may continue to measure the war by the towns captured and the flags raised over government buildings. I prefer to look at the deeper political and social forces that sustain resistance. The people of Tigray are not simply inhabitants of territory to be conquered. Their historical memory, political aspirations and relationships with the movements that emerged from their communities cannot be erased through military occupation. Nor should another generation of young Ethiopians and Eritreans be sacrificed in pursuit of political ambitions that cannot be achieved through military force alone.

Abiy Ahmed may occupy Mekelle, but that does not mean he has won Tigray. I believe the TDF's resistance will outlast his attempt to impose rule by force. The map may show who controls the cities. It cannot measure the historical memory, political allegiance and popular legitimacy that ultimately determine whether such control can endure.

Yohannes Woldemariam is an independent researcher. He holds a PhD in International Relations from the University of Massachusetts Amherst. His writing focuses on the Horn of Africa, state formation, sovereignty, and regional politics.