🔖𝙏𝒊𝙜𝒓𝙖𝒊 𝑾𝙚𝒆𝙠𝒍𝙮 𝘿𝒊𝙜𝒆𝙨𝒕 𝓔𝒏𝓭𝒊𝒏𝓰 March 18, 𝟐𝟎𝟐6

𝐴 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑤𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛-𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑏𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 —𝑧𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝐓𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑣𝑎𝑠.

Dear Substack friends and readers,

I have selected three topics for this week’s Tigrai Weekly Digest. The first is the hot topic of Shewit's detention, and the second is the public discussion making the rounds about General Megbey's bold statements. I have also written about the famous or infamous ''ዘይንድይቦ ጎቦ…’’, national anthem in Tigray, as a challenge to you to take up.

Enjoy your reading, and please recommend my Substack blog to your friends so they can subscribe.

Dissent or Crime? The Unsettling Case of Shewit Wudassie

The detention of Shewit Wudassie—a university lecturer, active political interlocutor, and emerging YouTube voice—since Thursday, 12 March 2026, in Mekelle, raises serious concerns that demand public scrutiny and voice.

In recent months, Shewit has been consistently present in the public sphere, articulating critiques of the TPLF while advocating for a return to normalcy in Tigray. His interventions, particularly through YouTube, have been accessible, reasoned, and directed toward informing citizens of their political rights and responsibilities. He has sought, above all, to equip the public with the parameters needed to assess the evolving situation in Tigray and Ethiopia at large.

Yet, the charges reportedly brought against him—allegations of involvement in the movement of firearms and explosives—appear incongruous with his public persona and professional standing. A university academic engaged in such activities strains credulity. Moreover, if the experiences of others, such as Guesh Gebre, are any indication, such charges are likely less about substance and more about silencing dissent.

The pattern suggests a broader intent: to rein in outspoken critics, to deter emerging voices, and to send a chilling message to those who either speak out or contemplate doing so. It risks transforming the instruments of justice into tools of intimidation—punitive not only in their immediate effect, but in their wider signal to society.

Having listened to Shewit’s public addresses, I have found no incitement, no recklessness—only a deliberate effort to promote civic awareness and political engagement. If such voices are curtailed, the cost will not be borne by the individual alone, but by the public discourse itself.

At this juncture, the responsibility rests heavily on the regional courts in Tigray. The moment calls for judicial clarity, independence, and courage. Justice must not only be done, but be seen to be done.

I say to the courts ‘‘Do not allow politicians to use the machinery of justice toward the wrong end!’’

When Will Tigray Revisit Its Anthem?

When is Tigray going to change its national—more precisely, regional—anthem?

Just this week, I heard the long-standing anthem—“ዘይድይቦ ጎቦ፤ ዘይንሰግሮ ሩባ፤ ወይክ ኣይህሉን፤ መስመር እዩ ሓይልና፤ ሀዝቢ እዩ ሓይልና ወይክ ኣይንሰዓርን”—being sung at a nearby kindergarten in Mekelle, close to my family home. I found it deeply unsettling to hear children—none older than ten—chanting words so steeped in the language of struggle and sheer endurance.

The anthem is, without doubt, a remarkable literary creation. Its imagery is vivid, its resolve unflinching. It asserts that ‘’We’’, the people, have extraordinary fortitude in the harshest of wartime conditions, even invoking the reality of enduring unimaginable physical suffering. I understand that it is the intellectual product of distinguished figures such as Eyasu Berhe and Asefa Mamo, both Tegadelti, both now sadly deceased. Their work belongs to a particular moment in history, one defined by armed struggle, where such language had purpose and urgency.

But that raises a pressing question: why do we still need this now?

The song may well have served its purpose during the years of resistance, with its sharp edge and uncompromising tone. Having said that, a verse or two that honors the gallantry and resilience of the people of Tigray would not be out of place even now. Yet, to have an entire anthem saturated with themes of war, combat, and relentless struggle—repeated daily by young children—feels misplaced.

The question I ask: Is it right to require innocent children to internalize such imagery every morning? Shouldn’t an anthem—especially one taught at the earliest stages of life—reflect more future aspirations?

Where, then, are the broader norms, values, and ethos of the people of Tigray in this anthem? Should we not strive to craft something that captures the full richness of our history—our courage, yes, but also our culture, dignity, wisdom, and hope for the future?

It is, frankly, embarrassing that this song continues to function as a regional anthem despite widespread discomfort and opposition. At its core, it is a war song—designed to mobilize a population for resistance. It is not a song that speaks to peace, development, or the building of a healthy and forward-looking society.

Tigray deserves an anthem that reflects not only where it has been, but where it hopes to go.

General Megbey: Between Symbolism, Controversy, and the Burden of Words

General Megbey has, for some time now, stood at the center of public controversy—more so since his lengthy phone interview in February 2025 with an FM radio station in Addis Ababa.

He has been linked, in public discourse, to allegations surrounding the gold rush in the plains and ravines of Shire, with some accusing him of benefiting from illicit extraction. Others portray him as a war hawk—someone too ready to invoke resistance and, by implication, to send the youth back to the frontlines. Formally, he is neither the head of the military in Tigray nor its official spokesperson. Yet, his outspoken nature and frequent media appearances have made him a consequential voice—one whose words travel far and provoke strong reactions.

This was not always the tone of his public image.

During the 2020–2022 war, Megbey emerged as a symbol of resilience. At a time when federal forces had advanced deep into Tigray—reaching Mekelle after overcoming resistance at immense human cost—his voice was among the first to signal that the struggle was not extinguished. For many, he embodied defiance and restored a sense of hope when the situation appeared all but lost.

That legacy, however, now sits uneasily alongside his recent communication.

Setting aside, for a moment, the unresolved allegations regarding gold and personal enrichment, there is a noticeable shift in tone. At a time when the public mood calls for restraint, reconstruction, and careful diplomacy, Megbey has continued to speak in the language of resistance. People now want to hear public figures articulate and advocate in earnest for peace and diplomacy, and not to pronounce the usual themes such as: ‘‘we are invincible!’’ and ‘‘we shall fight on!’’ even if those words are qualified by saying: ‘‘….. when our sovereignty is being violated’’. It is not that ordinary folks are cowed and intimidated already. It is just that the words can be self-fulfilling. The more you talk about war and resistance, the more you will invite it.

More strikingly, in a recent appearance just a week ago, Megbey spoke openly—and at length—about his personal wealth, almost declaring himself “filthy rich” and listing properties in places such as Dubai, Addis Ababa, and Mekelle.

Two messages appeared to underlie his remarks: first, that his wealth is legitimate and unrelated to current allegations; second, that despite such means, he remains committed to the national cause, having set aside comfort for struggle.

Public opinion has not shifted. Those who already saw him as a patriot may feel reassured. Those who doubted him now consider his own words as further evidence to question his integrity. In that sense, the intervention has reinforced existing positions rather than reshaping them.

There is, in my view, a broader issue at play—one of accountability and communication.

On the matter of wealth, there is nothing inherently wrong with former members of the military engaging in lawful enterprise, particularly in changing times where economic roles are evolving. However, when significant wealth is accumulated within a relatively short period—especially by individuals whose careers were not traditionally rooted in business—it inevitably raises questions. These are not accusations in themselves, but legitimate concerns that call for a clear and credible explanation.

Equally important is the manner of communication.

Why enumerate properties so publicly, and with such emphasis? Particularly when, in a previous interview, Megbey had downplayed the extent of his holdings. The shift invites speculation: is it pride, frustration, or an attempt at transparency? Whatever the motive, the execution was flawed.

In a region where many are still grappling with loss, displacement, and economic hardship, detailed proclamations of personal wealth—even if legitimately earned—can appear tone-deaf. A more measured approach would have sufficed: a simple affirmation that he has assets and that they were acquired lawfully, through prior enterprise, without delving into specifics.

Timing and tone matter.

In today’s Tigray, words carry weight far beyond their immediate intent. And for figures like General Megbey, that weight is even heavier—because they are not merely individuals speaking, but symbols being interpreted.