I met my old-time friend for dinner at a small Ethiopian restaurant in Washington, DC—one of those places that instantly reminds you of home with the smell of shiro and freshly roasted berbere in the air. Before our food even arrived, his friend, whom I learned was a highly educated professional who follows Ethiopian politics, joined us. Within minutes the three of us were in a full debate about transitional justice. He spoke with genuine passion, but it soon became clear that although he followed political discussions closely, he had never truly engaged with the concept itself. To him, Transitional Justice (TJ) was simply “a way for powerful people to escape accountability.” His idea of justice was singular: prosecutions for those he believed had harmed his community, with little room to consider that his own side might also have to answer for abuses.
So, I did what many of us who work in law cannot resist doing: I walked him through the basics—not to lecture him, but to clarify the misconceptions that many people reasonably have. I explained that transitional justice does not replace criminal accountability, nor does it allow anyone accused of serious crimes to walk free. Instead, it recognizes that in contexts where thousands have participated in violence, institutions are weak, and courts are overloaded, justice requires multiple tools. TJ combines truth-telling, accountability, reparations, reforms, and reconciliation—because no single mechanism can hold the weight of a nation’s trauma. He remained fully engaged in the conversation, asking questions and offering reflections, and by the end of our dinner he acknowledged that he had misunderstood the concept. That conversation stayed with me. If someone educated, engaged, and politically aware could misinterpret TJ so easily, what does that mean for ordinary citizens across Ethiopia?
This is why I am writing this article: to clarify what transitional justice means, why Ethiopia needs it, and why skepticism—though understandable—should not lead us to reject a process that is critical to preventing future violence.
Transitional justice is unfamiliar in Ethiopia, and many people ask legitimate questions: How can we speak of justice while conflicts continue? Can a process led by state institutions be trusted? Isn’t this just another political maneuver? These concerns are genuine. But rejecting TJ because it is imperfect is like refusing medical help because the health center is not ideal; the alternative is far worse. Transitional justice does not mean forgetting victims or allowing criminals to escape. It is designed precisely for societies emerging from widespread violence—societies like ours—where prosecuting every perpetrator is impossible, where state institutions are fragile, and where communities are deeply polarized.
The benefits of TJ for Ethiopia are many, and they cannot be overstated. First, it allows for truth-telling and recognition of victims. Silence is not healing; it is a slow poison. Ethiopians carry trauma that will not fade with time. Whether ten years or a hundred years pass, people remember injustice. Second, transitional justice helps lay the foundation for the rule of law. A country cannot survive on political negotiations every time there is a disagreement. If people do not trust institutions—courts, police, prosecutors—they will continue to settle disputes through violence. TJ supports institutional reform so that Ethiopia can move from a culture of force to a culture of law. Third, and perhaps most importantly, transitional justice is essential for preventing cycles of violence. Impunity is the fuel of conflict. When wrongdoers believe nothing will happen to them, history will repeat itself—quicker and more viciously.
Ethiopia is not alone in facing such challenges. South Africa confronted decades of racial violence through a truth commission that, while imperfect, helped avert national collapse. Rwanda used community-based Gacaca courts to process genocide cases when its formal justice system was overwhelmed. Colombia created a comprehensive TJ model blending prosecution, truth commissions, reparations, and reforms. Sierra Leone used a hybrid court alongside a truth commission to balance accountability and reconciliation. None of these processes were flawless, but they helped their countries move forward rather than relive the past.
Our own process—born out of the Pretoria Agreement—remains fragile and underdeveloped. It is too quiet, victims are hesitant, civil society is weakened, donors are cautious, and political trust is at an all-time low. But abandoning the process now would be a historic mistake. Silence is not reconciliation; it is erosion. Ethiopia cannot afford to bury the past and hope it disappears. It never does.
For transitional justice to succeed, Ethiopians must demand a process that is inclusive, credible, and community-driven—not one controlled solely by political elites. We must also push for meaningful institutional reforms, because without functioning rule of law institutions, TJ will be nothing more than a report gathering dust. Donors, too, have a critical role to play; transitional justice requires long-term investment, expertise, and resources. And civil society must reclaim its voice—documenting abuses, supporting victims, educating communities, and monitoring implementation.
Ethiopia stands at a crossroads. Will we confront our painful past honestly, or will we allow it to define our future? Will we build institutions strong enough to protect citizens equally, or continue the cycle of violent retaliation? Will we give victims the dignity they deserve, or force them into silence?
Transitional justice will not solve everything. It will not satisfy everyone. But without it, Ethiopia will remain trapped in its old patterns. Without it, sustainable peace will remain a distant dream. Without it, the promise of a rule-of-law state will never be realized.
Transitional justice may be imperfect. But it is indispensable. And this is the moment—not tomorrow—for Ethiopians to embrace it, demand it, and help shape it.
(Tessema Mebratu is a legal scholar and practitioner specializing in human rights, rule of law, and transitional justice. He holds a PhD in Law and has over 15 years of experience managing civil society, democracy, and justice sector programs in Ethiopia. He has worked extensively on accountability, institutional reform, and conflict prevention, and is committed to promoting evidence-based dialogue and justice for victims of mass atrocities in Ethiopia.)
Contributed byTessema Mebratu (PhD)
