Signature Diplomacy, Stalled Implementation: Abiy Ahmed’s Cycle of Unkept Peace Agreements

By David Yeh

Have You Noticed the Pattern? Abiy Ahmed’s Era of Peace Deals Without Peace
When Abiy Ahmed swept into office in 2018, the Potemkin Party’s golden boy signed peace agreement after peace agreement, basked in global applause, charmed Ethiopians hungry for change, and pocketed a Nobel Peace Prize for promises he had barely begun to make—let alone keep. But it took less than two years for the illusion to crack. A stark pattern emerged: Abiy signs peace deals with theatrical flourish, then proceeds to implement none of them. The ‘reformer’ the world celebrated turned out to be a master of performance, not peace.

A glance at the timeline exposes the pattern with embarrassing clarity: grand speeches, dramatic photo-ops, and sweeping promises, followed by stalling, backtracking, or outright betrayal. What remains is not a legacy of peace, but a thick archive of broken commitments and a credibility crisis that now stretches from Addis Ababa to every capital that once believed him..

The Eritrea “Peace Dividend” That Never Arrived
Abiy’s diplomatic ascent began with the Asmara Peace Declaration of July 2018, a moment staged as the end of two decades of hostility between Ethiopia and Eritrea. Borders opened, cameras flashed, hugs were traded, and world leaders applauded as though history itself had turned a page. Two months later, the Jeddah Agreement amplified the spectacle, promising economic cooperation, security coordination, and finally implementing the long-ignored EEBC boundary ruling. But the hope fizzled almost as quickly as it was announced.

The one arena where cooperation truly worked was in stopping the TPLF’s reckless attempt to claw its way back to power—Ethiopia was spared a second round of TPLF domination. But the moment that objective was secured, Abiy reverted to scheming. The world was suddenly forced to face an uncomfortable truth: for Abiy, these accords were never about peace. They were photo-ops, tactical conveniences, and staging grounds for his own delusional ambitions.

What global audiences had hailed as a historic breakthrough quickly soured into suspicion and disappointment. The celebrated glow of 2018 now stands exposed as a carefully choreographed mirage, crafted to elevate a leader whose promises dissolved the instant the cameras stopped rolling.

Peace with OLF/ONLF: A Deal With No Document
That same year, 2018, Abiy staged yet another spectacle—this time in Asmara—unveiling a supposed “peace agreement” with the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF). Fighters were told to come home, politics would replace insurgency, and Oromia—exhausted by decades of conflict—was promised a new dawn. But the deal was an illusion. Its terms were deliberately vague, its mechanisms nonexistent, and its implementation a fiction. Within months, trust collapsed. Splinter groups slipped back into the bush and eventually reorganized into the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA).

The truth is stark: Abiy sabotaged the agreement from day one. He betrayed the very Oromo population whose support had swept him into power. He betrayed his closest ally and mentor, the widely respected Oromia regional president Lemma Megersa. He placed OLF chairman Dawud Ibssa under house arrest. Jawar Mohammed—once a critical force behind Abiy’s rise—publicly declared his life in danger. And he presided over the climate of fear and repression that culminated in the assassination of Hachalu Hundessa, the iconic Oromo artist whose music had become the anthem of a generation.

What was marketed as reconciliation proved to be nothing more than a political trap—an accord engineered to fail and a betrayal etched into Oromo collective memory.

The most destabilizing flashpoint came with the killing of Hachalu Hundessa on June 29, 2020. His politically charged music had made him a symbol of Oromo resistance and pride. His death ignited massive, deadly unrest across Oromia, leaving more than 200 killed. The government rushed to frame the murder as a conspiracy by “internal and external forces”—including the OLA/Shane—to destabilize Ethiopia. This narrative became the pretext for sweeping repression: mass arrests, violent crackdowns, and a nationwide internet shutdown.

A central casualty of this repression was Jawar Mohammed, founder of the Oromia Media Network (OMN) and once a key architect of Abiy’s popularity. Along with OFC leader Bekele Gerba, Jawar was arrested in July 2020 following the unrest sparked by Hachalu’s assassination. The charges—terrorism, incitement, threats to national security—reflected a government desperate to silence dissent, not uphold justice. Although both men were eventually released in 2022 under a political amnesty, the message had been delivered: Oromo political expression would be criminalized whenever it challenged Abiy’s authority.

The broader crackdown extended across Oromia. While the OLF had been welcomed back with promises of peaceful political participation, the refusal of its military wing (OLA) to disarm triggered a new insurgency. The government designated the OLA a terrorist organization and began sweeping operations that, according to numerous reports, included extra-judicial killings, mass detentions, and collective punishment of Oromo civilians. A reformer’s facade had given way to the familiar machinery of repression, forcing activists, intellectuals, and politicians into prison cells or exile.

As the insurgency dragged on, Abiy’s government returned to negotiations with the OLA—but the pattern repeated itself. The 2023 talks collapsed outright. A small faction signed a deal in late 2024, sending roughly 800 fighters to demobilization camps. But the OLA leadership swiftly denounced the signatories as splinter defectors, rendering the agreement meaningless.

On the ground, nothing improved. Violence in Oromia persisted through 2025: kidnappings, ambushes, roadblocks, and pervasive insecurity shaped daily life. Yet another “peace initiative” had melted into exactly what Abiy’s agreements have consistently produced—optics without substance, photo-ops without implementation, and ceremonies whose promises evaporate the moment the ink dries.

The Pretoria Agreement and the Illusion of a “Final” Ending
In November 2022, the federal government and the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) signed the Pretoria Agreement, ostensibly ending one of the bloodiest wars of the 21st century. The accord promised restored services, the safe return of displaced civilians, demobilization of Tigrayan forces, and a pathway toward political normalization. Yet implementation unraveled almost immediately—true to the long-established habits of both the TPLF and the federal government in Addis Ababa. Respecting agreements has never been the political culture of either camp. Reneging, revising, stalling, and inventing excuses is the shared modus operandi; neither side has earned a reputation for keeping its word.

The consequences were swift and predictable. Displaced Tigrayans attempting to return home encountered roadblocks, intimidation, and insecurity. Tigrayan forces did not meaningfully demobilize; many of the weapons surrendered were obsolete relics, more symbolic than substantive. Meanwhile, Ethiopia’s electoral board revoked the TPLF’s legal status altogether, gutting the political heart of the agreement and rendering Pretoria’s promise of normalization hollow from the outset. Reconstruction and reconciliation have advanced at a glacial pace—if they have advanced at all.

Abiy Ahmed’s real objective soon became plain: divide the TPLF, weaken its cohesion, and co-opt its leadership. He succeeded. The Interim President of Tigray and his deputy—Getachew Reda and Tsadqan Gebretensae—two men who once denounced Abiy as an existential enemy, now orbit his power, their former defiance replaced by obsequiousness.

For many observers, Pretoria stands as yet another entry in Ethiopia’s expanding archive of hollow peace deals—a document that ends the shooting on paper while leaving the causes, consequences, and responsibilities of war conspicuously untouched. The battlefield quieted, but nothing fundamental changed.

A Pattern Emerges: Sign First, Deal With Reality Later
Across these agreements Eritrea, OLF, TPLF, Somaliland, and OLA a strikingly consistent pattern comes into focus:

1. Symbolic Politics Over Structural Change: Deals are announced with grandeur and international fanfare, but mechanisms for monitoring, enforcement, and accountability are weak or absent.
2. Agreements Used for Short-Term Political Gains: Many deals seem designed to buy time, ease diplomatic pressure, or reshape political narratives rather than deliver long-term resolution.
3. Fragmented Conflicts and Multiplying Actors: Ethiopia’s internal conflicts are deeply layered, often involving regional, international governments, militias, splinter factions, and foreign actors. Signing a deal with one actor rarely solves the underlying crisis.
4. Shifting Priorities and Contradictory Alliances: A port deal with Somaliland undermines relations with Somalia. A rapprochement with Eritrea complicates reconciliation with Tigray. Internal peace efforts clash with regional ambitions.
5. Implementation Deficits Across the Board: Whether due to political limitations, security obstacles, or absence of will, follow-through consistently lags far behind the promises on paper.
6. The Result: Eroding Credibility and Unfinished Peace: Abiy Ahmed’s tenure has been punctuated by dramatic diplomatic gestures, peace declarations, ceasefires, MoUs, and reconciliations. But the gap between signing and delivering has widened with each passing agreement.

To critics, the pattern is unmistakable: sign first, deal with reality later. Across every major negotiation—from Pretoria to the OLA talks—the diplomatic choreography has repeatedly outpaced facts on the ground. Promises of security, reconstruction, reintegration, or political reform consistently run headlong into Ethiopia’s entrenched political fractures, economic limits, mistrust between actors, and heavy international scrutiny.

In the short term, these agreements offer quick political rewards: international prestige, temporary legitimacy, and fresh leverage over rivals. But the long-term costs are corrosive. Each broken deal weakens stability, erodes public faith, and pushes genuine reconciliation further out of reach.

For many scholars of the Horn, these repeatedly unfulfilled agreements are no longer seen as isolated failures but as symptoms of a deeper structural malaise: the absence of inclusive governance, meaningful accountability, and institutions capable of enforcing political commitments. Without such foundations, peace accords devolve into performative rituals—brief ceremonies of hope followed inevitably by seasons of betrayal.

If Ethiopia’s political culture has long struggled with honoring its commitments, Abiy Ahmed has elevated this pattern to an entirely new level. His rule is marked by volatility, inconsistency, and open contradiction. The problem is no longer merely the inability to abide by treaties; under Abiy, it has become unclear whether he even remembers what he said an hour earlier. Ethiopia has witnessed generations of broken promises, but in Abiy’s era the pace has accelerated—no longer occasional breaches, but a dozen contradictions and reversals in a single day.

For ordinary citizens, the consequences are not rhetorical but lived: broken promises, prolonged displacement, unresolved grievances, and the steady normalization of violence. Communities are left to navigate the wreckage of political agreements that were never designed to be honored.

And here lies the deeper truth—one that spans imperial Ethiopia, the Derg, the EPRDF, and now Abiy Ahmed’s government: Ethiopian rulers have a long, infamous tradition of signing treaties they have no intention of respecting. From international agreements on borders and decolonization, to ceasefires and internal political settlements, the pattern is consistent: agreements are tools of convenience, not commitments of principle. They are signed to buy time, deflect pressure, or secure advantage, and abandoned the moment they become inconvenient.

This perpetual cycle of dishonored treaties is not merely a political flaw—it is a structural pathology. Until Ethiopia confronts this legacy and builds institutions capable of binding leaders to their own signatures, the country will continue to accumulate peace agreements that promise transformation yet deliver only another entry in a growing archive of unkept commitments.