To The Ethiopian & Adoption Communities: I No Longer Belong

Being able to finally connect with the Ethiopian community after so many years of separation was life-altering for me. I felt like I reconnected with a lost part of myself.

To finally meet people who looked like me, who came from where I came from, to build community and to form close friendships has been a huge blessing. My friends were there for during very tough times. They took care of me while I was pregnant and afterwards. I was alone and had very little support. They held my son while he was a newborn, our kids played together. I went to their engagements, weddings, baby baptisms, birthday parties and funerals. They helped me logistically and financially when I tried to search for my family in 2016. We laughed and cried together. I have so many great memories. I’m grateful for the love, the support and the friendships.

Ever since connecting with the Ethiopian community, I was very much taught that we were all Ethiopian. When I asked if I looked like I was from a particular group, the response was always “we’re all mixed” or “we’re all Ethiopian” or “it doesn’t matter”. I was surrounded by immense pride in being Ethiopian. There was an intense focus on unity, which I welcomed. We never talked about politics or ethnicity - both topics that were always of interest to me, but were off-limits. These conversations were quickly shut down, so I stopped asking questions. I was aware that there were divisions in Ethiopia, but they seemed far-away and they were, from my experience.

I knew about the Oromo Protests but I wasn’t really aware of what was happening. Unfortunately, I wasn’t on Twitter and I was dealing with many personal issues that took up my time and energy. I wasn’t reading the news nor was I in close contact with my Ethiopian friends (who aren’t Oromo or don’t identify as Oromo).

But when the war broke out, I was very shocked to learn peoples’ reaction - nobody I knew came out strongly against the war. The fact that most people I knew were in support of the war was extremely confusing for me.

In my head, unity means that you care about everyone equally. Unity is not selective, it means everyone. The fact that this war would harm people, but people supported it threw me for a loop.

I was openly against war from the beginning, politics aside. Regardless of the justification for war, it always results in devastation and the most vulnerable pay the cost. That’s why I opposed it from the beginning.

In October 2020, I re-joined Twitter to stay connected to the adoptee world and by pure coincidence, I started learning more about the experiences of groups/nations in Ethiopia (who don’t even call themselves Ethiopian).

I was met with the grim reality; the Ethiopian unity gospel that was preached to me was nullified very quickly, but it’s taken me a while to digest it and accept the reality. 

In retrospect, the shiny veneer of unity turned out to be a cheap way to dismiss and disregard the reality of how divisive Ethiopian society is. Because I was adopted and don’t speak any languages of Ethiopia, I’ve been detached from cultural and linguistic nuances. Perhaps it was a blessing, but also proved to be a rude awakening. 

The amount of sheer verbal violence, hate and gaslighting online is shocking. To be frank, I believe hate and fear is what fueled support for this war. Denial, shame and guilt are what is sustaining it.

If you care about your people (especially people you profess to want unity with) this type of online behaviour would be unthinkable. If you have diverging political views, you attend talks, you host workshops, you try to be in dialogue. You do not resort to online trolling and violent harassment. 

When there’s love and real community, hate is not acceptable or normalized as it is. Hate is condemned swiftly.

If you love your people, you raise your voice. You support your community. You empathize with them, even when you have different views and experience. You acknowledge their suffering and you work towards finding solutions on individual or community levels.

To be clear, I have not seen my friends engage in hateful behaviour online, however I am witnessing their silence. I am seeing them post Bible verses, cute selfies, affirmations and pet photos. No visible concern, nothing about the humanitarian situation - no Go FundMe’s or UNHCR links for refugees.

It leaves me wondering: where is the unity you spoke to me about? Where is your love for your fellow Ethiopians? Does your love for Ethiopia or Habesha culture, not include Tigray or Tigrayans? Does your love not include your Tigrayan friends and their families in Tigray or now in Sudan?

I believe that there is a moral responsibility to speak up when you see wrong being done to others, especially when it involves their humanity. If you are a public figure or an authority figure in the community, then the burden is greater.

I continue to be amazed at how public figures, influencers, social media personalities and people who make a living off of Ethiopian or Habesha culture are remaining silent. 

Since when is caring about humanity controversial or political?

I am writing this because I love my friends, I love my community. My heart breaks every day, many times.

I gave up bringing it up in conversations. I left group chats. I will not talk about politics when millions of people’s lives are at stake. People are being bombed and starved. Women and girls are being gang raped and are losing their limbs. Men and boys too and are being summarily executed.

So, no —I will not engage in conversation with you about politics. I have lost friends as a result. I stand firmly in my conviction.

The politics may be controversial for some, but the humanitarian impact speaks for itself. 

For a quick refresher: 80% of Tigray remains cut off from the outside world - no humanitarian aid allowed. Two armies (one foreign) and militia groups are occupying and controlling vast parts of Tigray. People are being trapped on their land. They’re being robbed, crops are being burned and enduring unspeakable violence to their bodies. Men, women, children, babies. This is genocide.

Hospitals destroyed. Ayder Hospital in Mek’ele is the only functioning hospital, but it’s struggling and equipment is being looted constantly. Medical staff are fearful. The same military that is committing atrocities is closely watching those it harmed as they seek medical assistance. 

So my questions are: when will you stop pretending that this isn’t happening? When will you stop saying this is disinformation? When will you stand up for what is right?

If you love your country and your people, you come out strong condemning hate and violence directed at targeted groups - there wouldn’t be widespread support for the systematic destruction of everything sacred to their culture and social fabric, including women and children’s bodies.

You would be devastated at the harm it’s causing them and for the generations to come.

This goes for Tigrayans and other groups/nations as well. If you love your people, you fight for them, you fight with them. You stand in solidarity.

For non-Ethiopians connected to Ethiopia and who are remaining silent, I’m not sure what your motives are. Ethiopian adoptees and their adoptive parents come out strong advocating for black lives and show an appreciation for Ethiopian culture (which includes Tigrayan culture and other nations as well), yet are startlingly silent about the war on Tigray.

If you’re committed to black lives matter and to helping Ethiopian mothers and children— doesn’t that include women and children in Tigray? Why are you selective in your advocacy? Show your solidarity, their lives matter as much as yours.

As outsiders, we have a degree of distance by virtue of our outsider status. We can say what think without reprisal and speak out for the people of Tigray, who are voiceless due to the war.

As for me, this war has fundamentally changed my relationship to the broader Ethiopian/Habesha community and Ethiopian adoption community as well.

It’s impossible for me to belong to communities that ignore, deny and shame the suffering of others. Communities that don’t stand in solidarity with their own and other peoples’ struggles. Because I am not seeing my values reflected in either communities, I am stepping away.

I am choosing to align myself with individuals, groups and organizations that are firmly rooted in intersectionality - of lived experiences, groups, peoples; who stand in solidarity with others (and show it) and who seek understanding, in order to achieve peace and reconciliation.  

I look forward to building a stronger community with like-minded people. The Horn of Africa desperately needs it. The younger generation is bright, talented and forward-thinking - they want change and they’re ready for it. They’re also watching the older generations react and are trying to make sense of it.

What will we tell them? What legacy are you leaving on your children? 

I don’t know how we will recover from what is happening in Tigray, but I remain committed to positive change.

Death is always an opportunity for rebirth. The lives lost haven’t been lost in vain - they are pushing us towards a better future, if you are willing to listen.

This is clear call to action. To do better.

We need to be the change we want to see back home, here in the diaspora.

In the meantime, use your voice and agency to effect positive change. Have constructive conversations with others (if possible). Be on the right side of history. 

There’s an event happening today called 24 Hours For Tigray, a global lobby calling for attention to the humanitarian crisis.

*Disclaimer: I will not read and reply messages where you offer reasons and justifications for not talking about the war. Just sit with yourself instead.

-Kassa