Issue No. 310

Last week, a dozen historical artefacts collected in the 1920s by then-German envoy to Ethiopia, Franz Weiss, were handed over to the Institute of Ethiopian Studies at Addis Ababa University in a grand ceremony. Among the restituted collection are several items of cultural and historical significance, including two ceremonial crowns, alongside shields and paintings. Hailing their return and pledging to continue seeking the retrieval of other consequential artefacts, Addis's Tourism Minister Selamawit Kassa stated that the objects would be accessible to the public and for academic study, calling it a "milestone in safeguarding Ethiopia's cultural heritage." Certainly, the return of these objects to public view in Ethiopia is a cause for celebration, yet it must be galling for those in Tigray, whose own distinct cultural heritage was ransacked not by some distant colonial power but by their own government and its allies between 2020 and 2022.

With northern Ethiopia teetering on the brink of full-out war, the question of restitution is far from many people's minds. But for a number of reasons, it is worth casting back to the deliberate and sustained assault on the very histories and collective memories of the Tigrayan people by the marauding Ethiopian, Amhara, and Eritrean forces. Hand-in-hand with the massacres at Axum and Adigrat came cartloads of Tigrayan goods and historic works looted from the rock-hewn monastries and churches throughout the historic region. Among them were priceless artefacts from the Axumite kingdom as well as manuscripts in Ge'ez dating back centuries, some of which eventually found their way to markets or online auctions. But most items will never be recovered, let alone the trove of intangible heritage held by the monks, priests, and scribes killed by the invading troops. Ethiopia and its allied Amhara and Eritrean forces all participated in Tigray's sacking, albeit motivated by different reasons, ranging from the attempt to exterminate the people of Tigray due to their association with the ruling Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) to an effort to reassert narratives of Amhara nationalism and supremacy. 

But even before the litany of cultural crimes in Tigray, the question of reparations and restitutions had remained alive within the Ethiopian body politic-- even if ignored at the centre. Much of this relates to Ethiopia's legacy as an uneasy empire itself, with communities in the southern highlands, including within Oromia, Sidama, and Gurage, among others, harbouring distinct grievances as part of their forced, violent assimilation under Menelik II in the late 19th century. Political movements, including the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA), remain activated by and coalesced around the confiscation of vast tracts of land for the Abyssinian settler-soldiers known as the 'nafxanya' or the suppression of customary traditions. Such an awkward assemblage of diverse communities within Ethiopia was once encapsulated in the early 1990s, when the new TPLF government outlined its aspirations to transform a 'prison of nations' into a 'nation of nations,' which served as the ideological Marxist basis for the beleaguered ethnic federal system. Such hopes have long-since faded, however, and the prospect of the Abiy government broadening its tent beyond a narrow band of elite to address these live, complex issues today appears virtually nil.

Instead, even while the desecration of Tigray took place, PM Abiy Ahmed was establishing a reputation for a fondness for giving lengthy tours of particular glittering palaces or the Adwa Victory Memorial Museum, as well as dispatching foreign dignitaries to bask in the 'new Addis.' In turn, the Pentecostalist leader has sought to frame himself as the ruler of this 'Dubaification' of the capital, which has distinctly erased the Oromo and southern histories from this new aesthetic. The prime minister's much-touted Corridor Development Project is far more than a handful of road widenings or the beautification of sidewalks; it is, instead, an explicit attempt to co-opt and coerce the capital's history. The razing of the historic Piazza — the Italian-era Amhara-majority neighbourhood — symbolises Abiy's attempt to rewrite history and establish himself in the pantheon of great Ethiopian leaders, alongside the prospect of reestablishing 'sea access' or reclaiming looted colonial-era objects. And yet the gulf between the rhetoric of the Prosperity Party relating to protecting Ethiopia's unique and extraordinary history and culture, and its relentless domestic wars that have caused untold damage, is immense. 

Beyond Tigray and Ethiopia, discussions of colonial cultural violence have, in recent years, pervaded European and American museums, and whether, how, and when to restitute objects with bloody or dubious provenance to their country of origin. Most notable, of course, has been the Benin Bronzes, the intricate centuries-old metalwork ripped from the halls of palaces in the Kingdom of Benin in 1897 by British colonial troops. Scorch marks are visible on some of the bronzes, which have come to encapsulate the debate and controversies surrounding the restitution of objects worldwide. And, in turn, several nations and governments have wielded heritage claims as part of unifying state-building visions, such as Athens' insistence that the British Museum return the Parthenon Marbles. 

For Ethiopia, though one of just two African nations uncolonised by European powers, there also has been a particular emphasis on facilitating the return of Ethiopian artefacts held overseas, including manuscripts and objects looted during the British 1868 'expedition' to Maqdala, as well as ecclesiastical objects and imperial regalia from European museums. The British sacking of Maqdala scattered hundreds of noteworthy objects, some of which have returned in recent years, including a triptych that depicts Jesus's crucifixion and a complex brass imperial shield. And yet, rather than proving unifying, much of Ethiopia's restituted objects and their display in centralised museums have instead fed Abiy's co-opting of history. 

Tragically, the subject of cultural violence feels just as relevant today as it did two centuries ago. Just take Ethiopia's neighbour, Sudan, where, alongside the grave atrocities in El Fasher and beyond, there has been an unrelenting assault on the country's rich and diverse history as well. Epitomising these crimes, the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) ransacked the National Museum in Khartoum during its occupation of the capital from April 2023 onwards, looting nearly all objects on display to be carted out of the city. Only a handful of the museum's immense statues remain, including one of King Taharqa, a pharaoh from 690-664 BC, which was presumably spared only because of its vast scale. Such pillaging and desecration-- here and in Tigray-- represents a past, current, and future assault on our collective understanding of these extraordinary societies.

Restitution remains a highly charged, inherently political act. But when the Tourism Ministry asserts that these returned objects will be available to the public, does that include those in rural Amhara, western Oromia, or much of Tigray encamped in underfunded displacement camps? Or will the histories and access to them remain limited to a privileged few in Addis? None of this is to argue that the return of these Ethiopian artefacts from a German family is not a powerful act of return, nor a step in the right international direction. But so far, rather than a defender of Ethiopian culture, Abiy's tenure will instead be remembered for much graver events-- the Tigray genocide above all, as well as the wars in Amhara, Oromia, and now possible military adventurism into Eritrea.