Recent accusations of offensives traded between Ethiopia's federal government and the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) have reignited fears of a new war. Each side blames the other for starting fresh fighting. But the loudest voices in this dispute belong to military commanders and politicians. The quietest belong to civilians who are once again paying the price for a peace deal that never held. The 2022 Pretoria Agreement was supposed to end two years of civil war. Instead, it has become a fragile document that both sides interpret differently, leaving millions in limbo.
The Security vs. Survival Paradox
While leaders in Addis Ababa and Mekelle debate territorial control and the sovereignty of airports, the basic survival of millions hangs in the balance. Public services in Tigray have collapsed. Banks cannot operate. Hospitals run out of medicine. Aid convoys, including vehicles belonging to Catholic Relief Services, have been attacked or blocked at checkpoints. The deliberate disruption of food and medical supplies turns starvation into a weapon of war. This is not a side effect of fighting. It is a tactic.
The security vs. survival paradox is simple: both sides claim they are fighting for security. Yet their actions produce only greater insecurity for civilians. A farmer in rural Tigray cannot plant crops because drones patrol the skies. A nurse cannot treat patients because fuel is unavailable. A mother cannot feed her children because aid trucks are turned back. Security for the state has become survival for the individual, and the two goals are now in direct conflict.
In Alamata, a town in southern Tigray, drone strikes have become a daily threat. These attacks often hit populated areas. The line between a military target and civilian infrastructure blurs when drones destroy water pumps, markets, and clinics. Farmers cannot tend their fields. Children cannot go to school. The fear of sudden death from the sky reshapes every routine. Residents report that the buzzing sound of a drone sends entire neighborhoods running for cover. No one knows what the next target will be.
The Unraveling of the Pretoria Agreement
The 2022 Pretoria Agreement was meant to end two years of brutal civil war. It promised the withdrawal of Eritrean forces, the disarmament of Tigrayan fighters, and the restoration of federal authority. None of that happened fully. Instead, the deal has been eroded by political maneuvering. The restoration of the pre-war administration in Tigray, alongside the formation of new armed alliances, has created a vacuum of stability. Civilians are forced into impossible choices: flee again, join a militia, or starve.
In 2023, the federal government reinstated a Tigray interim administration that excluded key TPLF figures. The TPLF rejected its legitimacy. Meanwhile, new armed groups emerged, including alliances with Fano militias from the neighboring Amhara region. These groups have different agendas, but they share a willingness to use force. The result is a patchwork of control where no single authority can guarantee safety. Aid agencies cannot negotiate access. Displaced families cannot return to homes that are now behind shifting front lines.
In Addis Ababa, the federal government insists it is defending national sovereignty. In Mekelle, the TPLF says it is resisting an open invasion. Both labels—'defensive war' and 'open invasion'—serve to justify military actions. They do not explain why aid convoys are turned back or why drone operators target grain silos. The terminology of combatants obscures the reality that fragile peace has already broken. When a government calls its actions 'defensive,' it implies the other side is aggressive. When a rebel group calls its actions 'resistance,' it implies moral clarity. Neither label feeds a hungry child.
The Underrepresented Perspective
Local populations live with a condition that aid workers call 'imminent war syndrome.' This is not a clinical diagnosis. It is a constant psychological state of alert. People cannot sleep. They flinch at the sound of aircraft. They hoard what little food they have. Displaced persons who fled to camps during the previous war cannot return home. Their villages are now front lines or occupied by new armed groups. Many have been displaced twice or three times. Each move strips away belongings, community ties, and any sense of normalcy.
Women and children face specific vulnerabilities. Forced recruitment by various militias targets teenage boys and girls. Humanitarian corridors that once brought food and medicine have collapsed. Pregnant women die from preventable complications because there are no vehicles to reach a clinic. A mother in a displacement camp near Shire told researchers that she has not seen a doctor in eight months. Her story is not unique. Children show signs of severe malnutrition. Schools have become shelters for the displaced. The psychological trauma of growing up amid drone strikes and gunfire will last for decades.
Mental health services are almost nonexistent. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) goes untreated. Community support networks, which once helped families cope, have been shattered by repeated displacement. Women who head households face added risks of sexual violence when they leave camps to collect firewood or water. International aid groups have documented these abuses but cannot reach many areas. The hidden victims are not hidden because they are invisible. They are hidden because the world chooses not to look.
A Fragile Peace and a Failing International Response
The political deadlock between Addis Ababa and Mekelle directly translates into a cycle of humanitarian catastrophe. Neither side will compromise on control of key towns or roads. Neither side will allow unfettered access for aid agencies. The international community, meanwhile, issues statements of concern. It does not enforce the Pretoria Agreement. It does not protect aid convoys. It does not stop drone sales to the region. The United Nations and the African Union have both been criticized for prioritizing diplomatic relationships over civilian protection.
This failure of the international community is not accidental. Major powers have strategic interests in the Horn of Africa. They treat Ethiopia as a counterweight to influence from other countries. They treat Tigray as a pressure point. Civilians become statistics in a proxy conflict. The fragile peace that was supposed to hold is now a memory. The hidden victims—the displaced, the malnourished, the traumatized—remain invisible to the negotiators. Every new offensive pushes reconciliation further away.
Without a renewed and enforced commitment to protect civilians, the cycle will continue. Each offensive, each drone strike, each blocked convoy pushes the region further from stability. The Pretoria Agreement did not fail because of one side's intransigence. It failed because the international community allowed it to become a piece of paper rather than a living guarantee of safety. Until that changes, the hidden victims will keep multiplying. Their suffering is not a footnote to the political blame game. It is the main story.
