I found myself deeply engrossed in an interview on local media. The guest was Seble Hailu (PhD), a psychologist known for her efforts in addressing trauma. The host set a sombre tone from the outset, preparing viewers for a thoughtful discussion on post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), particularly focusing on victims and firsthand witnesses of violent conflicts and crimes such as rape and homicide.

The recent conflicts, which have left many deeply scarred, served as a key case study.

I watched the interview intently, struck by how trauma—both personal and collective—is rarely discussed or addressed in Ethiopia. The interview was so compelling that I watched it again on YouTube. Growing up in Addis Abeba, I was fortunate to avoid direct exposure to conflict, yet the shadows of war were never far. In the early 1980s, Ethiopian TV was flooded with footage of battles, especially in the east. Helmeted soldiers in trenches, convoys of military vehicles, and the annual parade of military hardware at Meskel Square became familiar sights. One radio broadcast I recall vividly was of Tamra Tor, narrated by the legendary actor Wogayehu Nigatu. The chilling storytelling left an indelible mark on my young mind.

By the mid-1980s, the situation worsened as the conflict in the north escalated, dragging on until the early 1990s. I remember watching injured soldiers on city buses, their bodies severed by war. As their numbers grew, it was impossible not to wonder about the trauma they carried. For children in conflict zones, the normalisation of violence might create a numbing effect, perpetuating cycles of trauma.

A brief period of relative calm followed, only to be shattered by the cross-border war at the end of the 1990s, which once again left communities devastated. The 2020 conflict, however, reached an unprecedented scale, with record casualties and mass displacement. Psychologically, the toll has been brutal. In the four decades of my life, it is hard to recall a time when the spectre of war did not haunt the region. And yet, little to nothing has been done to address the long-lasting psychological wounds left in its wake.

PTSD can emerge after experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event, with symptoms including flashbacks, distressing dreams, and heightened anxiety. It is commonly seen in victims of war, violent crime, and physical assault. However, the psychological damage that lingers long after the dust settles is rarely accounted for in restorative efforts. The emphasis is often placed on providing aid, resettlement, and other tangible forms of recovery, with little regard for the mental well-being of those who have endured life-shattering experiences.

The untreated psychological scars can perpetuate cycles of violence, passing trauma from one generation to the next. The need for comprehensive psychological recovery at both the individual and societal levels cannot be overstated, especially if we are to build a stable future for the next generation. Unfortunately, Ethiopia's psychological services are woefully inadequate, with a handful of professionals stretched far beyond their capacity. Even in more developed countries, dealing with PTSD is a challenge. A striking example comes from the U.S., where a report from Brown University’s Costs of War project reveals that deaths by suicide among post-9/11 U.S. service members exceed combat fatalities fourfold. This highlights the invisible yet devastating consequences of psychological trauma.

In countries like Ethiopia, Iraq, and Afghanistan, where cycles of conflict are commonplace, the scale of unaddressed PTSD is unimaginable. Films like "Heaven & Earth" offer a glimpse into the mental torment faced by soldiers returning from war. In the movie, Tommy Lee Jones portrays a veteran haunted by his wartime experiences, unable to find peace even after returning home. The film ends tragically, underscoring how deeply trauma can affect those who endure violence, whether as victims or perpetrators.