Some years ago, a colleague asked me for the extension number of our Information Technology unit. I gave it to her, and soon enough, a young technician showed up. From his concerned expression, I could tell he expected a serious technical meltdown—perhaps a server crash or a virus outbreak.
Instead, he found the problem was embarrassingly simple: a loose cable. We had called in a specialist merely to connect a power line.
To his credit, he said nothing to shame us. With quiet grace, he resolved the issue and left. We were both relieved and mortified. It was just a wire. But in its simplicity lay a powerful truth: no matter how advanced your software, no matter how cutting-edge your device, it is nothing without connection—nothing unless it’s plugged in.
This idea extends far beyond the realm of electronics. In Southern African philosophy, the concept of ubuntu—“I am because you are”—embodies the essence of human connectedness. We are defined not by our isolation but by our relationships, by the dialogues we share, by the communities we build. As philosopher Mogobe Ramose puts it, “A person’s humanity is dependent on the appreciation, preservation and affirmation of other persons’ humanity.”
On May 5, 1941, Ethiopia was liberated from Italian occupation. That victory, commemorated annually, was not easily won. Eighty-four years ago, during the Italo-Ethiopian War (1936–1941), our nation endured atrocities that still echo in the collective memory. On February 19, 1937, following an assassination attempt on Viceroy Rodolfo Graziani, Italian fascists unleashed a brutal reign of terror on Addis Ababa. Civilians were slaughtered. Homes were burned. Pregnant women were mutilated. The violence was indiscriminate and horrific.
And yet, from that darkness rose unity. Ethiopian patriots, regardless of region or background, stood together. They resisted with one voice, bound by a vision of freedom and sovereignty. Their connection to one another—and to the nation—was their strength.
Today, that sense of unity feels frayed.
We live in a time of suspicion and fragmentation. Trust between neighbors, colleagues, and communities is waning. The solidarity our ancestors once wielded as a weapon of resistance has been replaced by division and doubt. The connection—like that loose cable—has come undone.
The United Nations Economic Commission for Europe defines social cohesion as the “glue” that binds communities: the shared sense of belonging, mutual trust, and common values that create solidarity.
That glue appears to be drying up.
The Ethiopia envisioned by the patriots of 1941 was not just one of sovereignty, but of shared purpose and collective strength.
Yes, Emperor Haile Selassie re-entered Addis Ababa and restored the throne. Yes, Ethiopia’s sovereignty was never formally relinquished. But what of our spiritual sovereignty—our belief in one another?
We need, desperately, a kind of national IT specialist—a “link technician” of sorts—who can help us reconnect. Not to cables, but to one another. Someone, or perhaps all of us collectively, must help restore the line to the legacy of 1941, to the spirit of unity, to ubuntu.
Only then can we truly honor our history. Only then can we pass on something worthy to the next generation: not just stories of resistance, but a living, breathing example of connection.
Contributed by Selamawit Kidane
