Addis Ababa is buzzing with a cautious kind of triumph. Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s Prosperity Party has secured a sweeping electoral victory, taking 410 of the 436 parliamentary seats up for grabs. On paper, it is a stunning endorsement. On the street, the mood is more complicated. The election was delayed twice, marred by logistical chaos and boycotted by major opposition parties. In Tigray, where a brutal civil war raged for two years, there was no vote at all. This is a landslide built on a foundation of broken trust.
The numbers tell one story. The human cost tells another. In the months leading up to the poll, reports emerged of voter intimidation, censorship and targeted arrests of journalists. The opposition claims the playing field was never level. Abiy’s supporters argue that stability is the priority after years of ethnic bloodshed. But stability purchased through the silencing of dissent is a fragile commodity.
What does this mean for the average Ethiopian? In the capital, young people scroll through their phones, warily watching the news. They remember the promises of reform that followed Abiy’s rise in 2018. They remember the Nobel Peace Prize. They also remember the war in Tigray, the famine in the north, and the thousands of displaced families still living in makeshift camps. The election result feels less like a celebration and more like a held breath.
Cultural shift is already underway. The old ethnic federalism that defined Ethiopian politics for decades is being dismantled in favour of a more centralised state. For some, this is a necessary corrective. For others, it is a recipe for renewed conflict. In the regions, local leaders are watching closely. The Oromo Liberation Army, still armed and active, has rejected the vote entirely. The Tigray People’s Liberation Front, battered but not broken, waits in the wings. The landslide may have given Abiy power, but it has not given him peace.
The social psychology here is one of exhaustion tinged with hope. People want to move on. They want to believe that the ballot box can heal what bullets have torn apart. But the scars run deep. On the streets of Addis, the talk is of jobs, inflation and the price of bread. Politics feels distant until it comes knocking. And with 20 million Ethiopians still in need of humanitarian aid, the new government faces a test that elections alone cannot answer.
This is a moment of reckoning. Abiy has his mandate. Now he must decide whether to use it to build bridges or to consolidate power. The world is watching, but it is the Ethiopian people who will live with the consequences. The landslide is a fact. What it means is still being written.
