By: Ahmed Mohammed
This is how we Ethiopians narrowly survived grave chaos. It was a couple of days before, a young woman named Birtukan sat in front of a camera, tears streaming down her face. Her voice trembled as she spoke into the microphone, telling a story that would soon shake the entire nation, particularly social media—which was fortunately proven false two days later.
"I was raped by five men, one after the other, and now I’m carrying a child with no father," she burst into tears. At one point, the hosts comforted her. She told them her head was fractured, her face scarred.
The media outlet that recorded her story sadly did not wait to verify her words. It failed to cross-check with the relevant authorities. It did not consider the consequences. Within hours, her interview was broadcasted nationwide, attracting millions to react, some of whom greedily took advantage of the situation to incite chaos, civil war if possible.
Social media exploded. Hashtags trended. Anger spread like wildfire. Some Ethiopians consumed almost the entire story, taking no time to cross-check. For the victim, who later confessed she was tricked into playing the drama and the script she played, what she did was seemingly an act. Others, with hidden motives, fueled the flames—whispering lies, twisting facts.
Days later, she sat before the cameras again—this time, her face filled with shame and regret. “I have been picked to play their script,” she told the nation in a televised documentary.
"I lied, I lied to the nation," she whispered. "I was tricked into making false accusations. There was no attack. No one raped me, and I am now a happily married woman with a baby boy. I wanted sympathy. I never thought it would go this far."
Silence fell over the nation. The same people who had been shouting for justice now stood in stunned disbelief. The media, which had rushed to air the story without question, now faced a storm of criticism, perhaps legal actions in process. From the start, I was confused by the way the media outlet she appeared on handled her story. I wonder what blinded the editors and camera operators, failing to foresee the consequences it would soon cause. It wasn’t just reporting; it was fueling the fire.
As a journalist, I had studied the Rwandan genocide in a university. I over heard stories later composed by survivors. Worst of all, I remembered how radio stations like RTLM had dehumanized the Tutsi minority, turning neighbor against neighbor with hate speech and twisted stories. Back then, the international community had stood by, paralyzed, until it was too late. Now, as I watch one of our news channels repeating the same dangerous patterns—sensationalism, bias, unchecked rumors—I felt a chill crawl down my spine, but fortunately, the conspiracy has been foiled, teaching us all to be extra alert.
To me, the media is not just a mirror reflecting society—it is a hammer that shapes it. Every headline, every image, every word we broadcast has consequences. When we amplify division, we become architects of chaos. When we prioritize ratings over truth, we trade lives for profit.
I think the government needs regulations, strict roadmaps to be governed by. We journalists as well need to follow journalistic ethics and, most of all, national values and interests. I don’t mean we should be harshly censored, our professional rights turned down. You see, Rwanda didn’t fall in a day—it was a slow erosion of ethics, a normalization of hate. Despite Ethiopians being highly bound by blood, history, and values which cannot be easily swept away, it doesn’t mean we are not free of hovering dangers. The state must enforce laws against hate speech and dangerous misinformation, disinformation—worst of all, reports twisted for hidden political gains. Mind you, Rwanda’s tragedy was not just the failure of its people, but of its institutions. Ethiopia still has a choice—wake up!