In a move that has shocked precisely no one with a working knowledge of electoral history, Ethiopia has suspended voting in several regions due to ‘security concerns.’ The decision, announced with all the gravitas of a man discovering a spider in his salad, means that millions of Ethiopians will now have to wait even longer to exercise a right that most of us in the West treat as a peremptory inconvenience. Meanwhile, the UK Embassy, never one to miss an opportunity for a good evacuation, has issued a travel warning advising British citizens to ‘reconsider all travel’ to the affected areas. Which, let’s be honest, is the diplomatic equivalent of a pub landlord shouting ‘All right, lads, time to go home’ after a particularly raucous game of darts.
Let’s unpack this farce with the surgical precision of a drunken butcher. Ethiopia, a nation that has more ethnic groups than a London comprehensive school has excuses for lost homework, is currently embroiled in a conflict that makes the Hundred Years’ War look like a minor disagreement over a parking space. The government, led by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, a man who won the Nobel Peace Prize faster than a contestant on a game show, is now facing the unenviable task of holding elections while parts of the country are effectively on fire. The answer, as any sensible bureaucrat would tell you, is to postpose the electoral charade until the fires are out. Or, failing that, until everyone has calmed down enough to pretend that the outcome isn’t already predetermined.
But wait, there’s more. The UK Embassy, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that the best course of action is to tell British citizens to stay away. This is the same UK that, just last week, was urging its citizens to consider ‘essential travel’ to areas where the only essential commodity is a bulletproof vest. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a scone. I imagine the embassy staff now spend their days huddled around a shortwave radio, listening to the BBC World Service while practicing their evacuation drills. ‘Right, Jenkins, when the first rocket lands, we grab the gin and the union jack and head for the hills.’
The suspending of voting is, of course, a masterpiece of political theatre. It allows the government to claim it is acting in the interest of public safety, while simultaneously ensuring that opposition voters are disenfranchised. It’s the electoral equivalent of a goalkeeper pulling a hamstring just before a penalty shootout. Convenient, cynical, and entirely predictable. And the UK travel warning? That’s just the finishing touch, the maraschino cherry on this particular sundae of state-sanctioned absurdity.
Let’s not forget the context. Ethiopia is a country of 110 million people, more than half of whom are under the age of 25. They have a median age of 19. Nineteen. That’s younger than most of the gin in my cupboard. And yet, here we are, talking about security concerns and travel advisories, as if the entire nation were a particularly unruly stag do in Prague. The problems are deep, structural, and historical. They involve land rights, ethnic tensions, and a government that is trying to hold together a federation that looks increasingly like a jigsaw puzzle that someone has shaken in a box.
But never mind that. Let’s focus on the real story: the UK Embassy has told British citizens to reconsider their travel plans. That’s right, folks. You can’t go to Ethiopia. But you can go to any number of other conflict zones, as long as they haven’t yet had the decency to issue a travel warning. I suggest Yemen. It’s lovely this time of year, provided you don’t mind the occasional drone strike.
In conclusion, Ethiopia’s suspending of voting is a tragedy for democracy, but a comedy for those of us watching from afar. The UK travel warning is the equivalent of a lifeboat drill on the Titanic. And the whole affair is yet another reminder that, when it comes to international politics, the only thing more resilient than hope is cynicism. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of gin and a map of the world. I’m going to find a country that hasn’t disappointed me yet. It’s a small map.
