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Blood and Honor Culture Holds Us Back

Ethiopia must escape its warrior legacy

Ethiopia, a nation with a rich and complex history, finds itself entangled in a recurring cycle of war and conflict. While political, economic, and ethnic tensions play a significant role, a deeper, often overlooked, factor lies in the cultural and psychological conditioning of its people—particularly the way war is glorified and woven into the fabric of national identity.

Ethiopia’s deeply rooted warrior culture has perpetuated this cycle, often romanticizing war and heroism while neglecting the devastating consequences of violence.

From an early age, Ethiopian children are immersed in narratives that glorify warriors as national heroes. These stories are passed down through generations—through family discussions, community gatherings, and even school curriculums.

A child grows up hearing tales of brave ancestors who fought colonial invaders, internal enemies, or rival tribes, often depicted as defenders of national pride and honor. In rural communities, these stories often revolve around conflicts with neighboring clans or ethnic groups, reinforcing a legacy of warfare and heroism.

This aligns with the Culture of Honor theory, which suggests that in societies where personal and group honor are central to identity, violence is often legitimized as a means to defend or restore that honor. In such cultures, status is closely tied to public displays of courage, aggression, and retaliation—traits deeply embedded in Ethiopia’s warrior traditions.

Living Tradition

These traditions are not preserved in abstraction; they are kept alive through lived memory and everyday storytelling. War heroes are not just distant figures from history books—they are family members, neighbors, and local legends, immortalized through conversations, songs, and folktales. In many households, elders recount tales of past battles, presenting war not merely as a tragedy but as a path to honor and respect.

For instance, in my own family, my late uncle Nenqo Dube is revered for killing a lion with a spear—an act symbolizing exceptional bravery and strength. Among the Guji Oromo and other Oromo clans, those who kill a human enemy, lion, elephant, giraffe, or buffalo earn a special status known as midda or mirga, meaning privilege or elevated rank.

These individuals grow their hair long and are ceremonially anointed with butter in a ritual called dibata. They also wear a distinctive arm ring known as hirboora to signify their achievement.

However, the midda granted for killing a human is selective. Among the neighboring Oromo clans, only the killing of Borana or Arsi—considered sidii (worthy adversaries)—bestows this honor. Killing members of other ethnic groups, such as the Sidama, Gedeo, or Somali, does not grant midda, removing any incentive for conflict with them.

This distinction is mutual: Borana and Arsi also only receive midda for killing a Guji warrior. As a result, these three clans—Guji, Borana, and Arsi—refer to each other as sidii sadeen (“the three adversaries”), not as true enemies (diina or nyaapha), but as worthy opponents akin to lions. This led to extensive conflicts among them, often referred to as sidii wars.

This tradition began to fade after 1974, was actively discouraged, and had disappeared entirely by 1991. However, the practice of earning midda through killing lions and elephants persisted. I personally witnessed such a ritual after 1991 when Kassa Chachu killed an elephant and was ceremonially anointed, continuing a centuries-old tradition of honoring courage and strength.

National Culture

Similar cultures exist throughout Ethiopia. Songs like Shilela Qererto and Fukera, which incites individuals to battle and glorify heroism and violence, testify to this widespread martial ethos.

As Donald Levine wrote in Wax and Gold, “The identity of Amhara males is very much bound up with their capacity for aggressiveness, by both violent and verbal means. A man who has killed someone is regarded with a certain amount of veneration.” Across regions and ethnic lines, martial valor remains a marker of status and respect, reinforcing a culture where violence is not only remembered—but revered.

War heroes from these conflicts were not only praised but granted special status within their communities. Their names were immortalized in songs, stories, and public gatherings. They became revered figures, admired not only by men but also by women who found them attractive.

Achieving such status brought special privileges and elevated one’s social standing. These narratives were more than historical accounts—they shaped collective identity, perceptions of struggle, and definitions of heroism.

As individuals strive for recognition and status, and as cultural traditions glorify conflict, the means of warfare are inevitably celebrated. Weapons are highly valued; owning one symbolizes power and prestige.

Instead of prioritizing education or agricultural development, successive governments have focused on building weapons. This pattern dates back at least to the era of Emperor Tewodros, who famously imprisoned European missionaries, demanding they manufacture weapons rather than preach. This eventually led to the creation of the formidable Sebastopol cannon.

Ethiopian culture has cultivated a love for war. Even traditional dances frequently feature spears and guns, symbolizing strength and valor. This martial spirit even extends into love songs, where expressions of passion and devotion are infused with imagery of bravery and conquest.

Public commemorations, statues, and national holidays further embed these ideals into the collective consciousness. The message is clear: to be a hero, one must fight. This instills in young minds a desire to engage in war—not out of necessity, but to prove their worth and gain social recognition.

On the other side of this glorification lies grief and vengeance. While victors celebrate, those on the losing side are left with pain and a thirst for retribution. Children who grow up hearing that their father was killed by a particular group carry that trauma and seek vengeance when the opportunity arises.

This cycle ensures that conflicts are never truly resolved but passed from generation to generation, fueling an endless chain of violence.

With such a deeply ingrained warrior culture, conflicts easily reignite. Political groups and leaders exploit these sentiments, rallying support by invoking historical grievances and urging communities to take up arms in the name of justice or revenge. Ethnic and ideological divisions become battlegrounds, with each side believing it is continuing the legacy of its forefathers.

Ethiopia needs a cultural transformation in how war is perceived. Rather than glorifying conflict, the nation must promote peacebuilding, diplomacy, and conflict resolution. Education should instill these values, not merely recount military victories.

Media and storytelling are powerful tools that can reshape the national narrative. Instead of romanticizing war, they should highlight its devastating human cost and the suffering it brings.

National identity should be redefined to celebrate innovation, economic progress, and social cohesion—not military might. Ethiopia’s heritage includes remarkable achievements in architecture, literature, and diplomacy, areas deserving equal, if not greater, recognition than its history of warfare.

True strength lies in building, not destroying.

Cultural Shift

Ethiopia’s deep-rooted warrior ethos has served the nation well—preserving sovereignty against colonial powers and oppression. But when martial valor dominates cultural identity at the expense of other virtues, it transforms from a source of strength into a self-perpetuating cycle of conflict, with consequences that ripple across generations.

While honoring history is important, the nation must shift its focus toward peace and progress. The media should share stories from peaceful nations to inspire change. Some improvements have already been made—particularly in peacebuilding, education, and development—but these efforts must be expanded and institutionalized through national policy and curricula.

By embracing a culture of unity, innovation, and sustainable growth, Ethiopia can redefine what it means to be strong—not through military power, but through peace and prosperity. This cultural shift will ensure a more stable and hopeful future for generations to come.

To truly move forward, Ethiopia must undergo a fundamental transformation in its national identity. Peace, education, and innovation must replace militarism as the pillars of national pride. Media and education must emphasize the long-term costs of war and the benefits of diplomacy and cooperation.

Only through such changes can Ethiopia break the cycle of conflict and build a future of lasting progress rooted in unity and stability.

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While this commentary contains the author’s opinions, Ethiopia Insight will correct factual errors.

Main photo: Oromo horseman wearing lion’s mane headdress.

Published under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International licence. You may not use the material for commercial purposes.

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