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Author: Web Master

Banks Edge Up Dollar Rates as Central Bank Steers a Quiet Slide in the Birr

Posted on by Web Master

The foreign exchange market marched to a familiar, if deliberate, beat last week, with commercial banks pushing their dollar rates higher almost in lockstep and the Central Bank acting as a compass and conductor.

From November 10 through November 15, 2025, buying prices at most banks crept from about 150.65 Br to the dollar to 151.49 Br, while selling prices climbed from roughly 153.15 Br to 154.06 Br. At first glance, the changes looked trivial, measured in fractions of a Birr, but stacked together over six days, they charted a clear and centrally guided depreciation of the Brewed Buck.

Abyssinia Bank started the week paying 150.6517 Br for a dollar and finished at 151.42 Br, selling at 153.66 Br on Monday and 154.45 Br by Saturday. Amhara Bank tracked the same slope, lifting its buying rate from 150.69 Br to 151.39 Br and its selling price from 153.71 Br to 154.42 Br. Across the board, the daily increments landed between four-tenths and seven-tenths of a Birr, a pace fast enough to keep up with demand yet measured sufficient to preserve the appearance of stability.

Commercial bank treasurers know the signal. A gentle downgrade today will become tomorrow’s floor. However, none of this happens in a vacuum.

The Central Bank’s own cash rates moved more decisively, jumping from 153.14 Br on November 10 to 154.32 Br a day later, easing to 153.10 Br on November 12, then stepping up again to 154.43 Br and, finally, 155.66 Br on the last two trading days of the week. The progression, more pronounced than that of the commercial banks, functioned as a policy marker, a reassurance to the market that the authorities were consciously resetting the official bias rather than letting volatility run loose.

When the Central Bank’s buying and selling rates rise nearly 2.5 Br in five days, even the most cautious banks know which way the wind is blowing.

However, within the tight choreography, there were stray notes.

ZamZam and Zemen banks also broke formation late in the week, posting buying prices a shade above the peer pack. Their modest upticks signalled a stronger appetite for Green Buck, perhaps to meet corporate clients’ demands or to beef up working balances. Oromia Bank, meanwhile, maintained the most expensive selling price across last week, an indication that its forex managers either faced keener buyer interest or preferred to eke out an extra margin rather than chase volume.

Behind the numbers lies a policy strategy shaped by liquidity strains and the federal government’s commitments to the International Monetary Fund (IMF). Officials are pursuing what the market perceives as a managed-float approach where they allow the Birr to drift downward in small and predictable steps, narrow the yawning gap with the parallel market and keep importers and exporters from bolting to the curb-side trade.

By adjusting the official benchmarks daily, the Central Bank pushed commercial banks upward while preserving the fiction of a market-determined rate. The “regulatory corridor” remains wide enough for token competition but narrow enough to prevent one bank from undercutting another. Evidence of the corridor is plain in the clustering of quotes.

On November 15, the Central Bank posted a buying rate of 155.66 Br to the dollar, a full 6.58 Br above the day’s lowest commercial quote from Tsehay Bank at 149.08 Br. The move was a clear signal that the authorities were ready to pay up to drag hard currency into their vaults. In one stroke, the Central Bank leapfrogged Oromia Bank, which had long been the most aggressive bidder, and squeezed private banks’ spreads by offering to buy and sell at the identical price: zero margin, pure policy.

Last week exposed fault lines among the Big Five private banks. Abyssinia Bank’s buying rate outpaced Awash Bank (150.50) and Dashen (150.47). Zemen and Wegagen banks stayed at 150.98 Br and 150.86 BR, respectively. The state-owned Commercial Bank of Ethiopia (CBE), inched up to 150.52 Br, sweetening the pot with a “top-up bonus” of 10 Br a dollar, an off-rate inducement that padded customers’ returns without upsetting the headline tariffs.

The elite league split into two camps. Abyssinia and Zemen banks chased the shifting official rate, while Awash and Dashen held back, wary of balance-sheet exposure and regulatory glare. Tsehay Bank’s conservative position looked almost like defiance, yet it may have reflected simple risk aversion. Smaller banks often subdue their bids to avoid ballooning foreign exchange positions they cannot fund. The week’s spread between the Central Bank at the top and Tsehay Bank at the bottom laid bare the tension between policy ambition and market reality.

Commercial banks clustered, but the Central Bank’s benchmark sat above the rest, underlining its dual role as price-setter and market-maker. Industry analysts expect the gap to shrink further as the authorities encourage private banks to move toward the higher band, an effort directed at remittances and export proceeds into official channels and narrowing the gap with the parallel market, where dollars are exchanged at a steeper premium, exceeding 180 Br.

The Birr weakened, but in inches. Banks moved together, except when liquidity or strategy prompted one ahead. The Central Bank signalled, the market obeyed, and a tentative equilibrium held. In the foreign exchange market, policy is choreography, and every step counts.

Investors abroad might mistake the calm surface for market freedom. However, industry insiders are aware that it is engineered. Yet, engineered does not equal artificial if it mirrors the underlying demand for dollars and the authorities’ willingness to let the currency adjust, albeit on their schedule. The running debate is whether gradualism will close the gap with the parallel market faster than pent-up demand can widen it again.

Ethiopia Partners on One-Billion-Dollar Aluminium Smelter Project

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Ethiopian Investment Holdings (EIH) has inked a Memorandum of Understanding with Russia’s UC RUSAL to develop a 500,000 metric ton aluminium smelter in Ethiopia. The project, the first major RUSAL investment in Africa, is expected to take four years and cost around one billion dollars for its initial phase.

The smelter plans to meet rising domestic demand, cut foreign currency spent on imports, and position Ethiopia as a competitive regional and global aluminium supplier. A joint technical committee has already begun site selection and feasibility studies.

UC RUSAL brings expertise in low-carbon aluminium production, with over 90pc of output powered by renewable hydroelectricity. With operations in 19 countries, its integrated production chain spans bauxite mining to high-value aluminium products. The project is projected to sustain industrial value in Ethiopia for up to 50 years, attracting long-term foreign investment and supporting the country’s industrialisation agenda.

Ministry Places Penality Over Undisclosed Tuition Fees

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The Ministry of Education plans to enforce strict laws on unendorsed tuition fee increments of private schools. The tuition fee increase made by the private sector has been the source of grave concern for parents. A new draft directive proposes fines of up to 500,000 Br on private schools that fail to clearly disclose monthly or term-based tuition fees at the beginning of the school year, after consultation with parents and guardians. The directive also states that schools that do not post tuition information on notice boards and websites will face a 100,000 Br fine, which will increase to 400,000 Br for repeat violators. Schools that raise fees without consulting parents may be fined up to 200,000 Br.

The new directive entitled “Implementation of Free and Compulsory Education” was prepared by the Ministry of Education and released on November 13, 2025, for public comment.

Will AI Democratise Access to Equity Financing?

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Economists around the world are rightly focused on how AI will reshape labour markets. But the next decade’s most consequential shift may unfold in a different market altogether: equity.

By transforming how data is generated and shared, AI could sharply reduce the costs of information, monitoring, compliance, and market-making. In doing so, it could turn equity from an elite privilege into a major source of financing, especially for small and young firms.

Outside a handful of countries like the United States (US), the United Kingdom (UK), Canada, and Singapore, vibrant equity markets are scarce. And even in such cases, the “long tail” of public companies is remarkably thin. Few firms go public at valuations below 10 million dollars, and when they do, liquidity is negligible, and the fixed costs of being public are prohibitive.

In much of the world, including Western Europe, “financial development” has come to mean “banking development.” While banks are indispensable, they sell only one product: debt. A healthy balance sheet, however, depends on a balanced mix of debt and equity. The riskier the venture, the more equity it requires.

And therein lies the rub. While debt markets are robust, equity markets are not. In practice, banks lend in proportion to the equity cushion a firm already has. However, that equity typically comes from two sources: friends and family money or retained earnings. The first is limited and unequally distributed; the second constrains growth.

As a result, firms that rely on self-financing can grow only as fast as their profits allow, rather than as quickly as their opportunities permit. That may suffice for a bakery, but not for a digital platform that relies on network effects or a manufacturer that needs to invest heavily before generating any revenue. Many transformative firms, from e-commerce giants like Amazon to ride-hailing pioneers like Uber, operated at a loss for years. A banking-centric system cannot fund that kind of growth.

The scarcity of equity can be largely attributed to asymmetric information. While lenders can secure collateral, demand fixed payments, and seize assets if things go wrong, equity investors are last in line and get whatever remains after everyone else has been paid.

This makes disclosure, due diligence, and governance critical to the viability of equity markets. Yet for small firms, the costs often exceed the potential gains. Add illiquidity, high listing costs, limited analyst coverage, and weak protections for minority shareholders, and a ladder with no bottom rungs.

AI can help build them, starting with disclosure. Today’s small issuers face compliance systems built for giants, but AI can lower costs by generating machine-readable financials and cross-checking invoices, bank statements, tax filings, and payroll records in real time, and flagging inconsistencies before they become scandals.

Standardised and machine-readable data would enable investors (or their bots) to make instant, apples-to-apples comparisons across thousands of firms, not only the few big names analysts already cover. Over time, AI-powered monitoring could make the traditional annual audit seem as outdated as dial-up internet.

Natural-language models can review contracts, permits, litigation histories, and environmental disclosures, while time-series models can reconcile orders, shipments, and cash flows. Tasks that once required armies of associates can now be completed in minutes, and the output will be cheaper, more consistent, and fully auditable. This shift could give rise to a new business model: the AI underwriter. Instead of collecting hefty fees from a few large clients, such underwriters could take dozens of smaller issuers public each week using standardised disclosures, automated checks, and real-time risk alerts.

Another opportunity involves liquidity. Algorithmic market makers, already standard among large public firms, could be extended responsibly to smaller issuers once disclosures are standardised and monitoring becomes continuous. AI-driven research could help improve pricing and liquidity by increasing information availability and trust, while matching algorithms could align investor mandates and issuer profiles far more precisely than today’s crude groupings.

In many emerging economies, related-party transactions, asset tunnelling, and sudden dilutions have long eroded investor trust. Here, too, AI-enabled monitoring systems can help enforce minority-shareholder protections by tracking transactions, board minutes, procurement records, and trading patterns in real time, alerting regulators and investors to potential abuses.

Meanwhile, programmable governance (charters that automatically enforce preemptive rights, protections, and dividend triggers) can turn legal text into enforceable code, making it far harder for insiders to dilute or disadvantage outside investors.

Lastly, standardised digital disclosures and robo-advisers could help democratise investment in smaller companies, building diversified portfolios of shares in small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) tailored to investors’ risk tolerance, location, and goals. Pension funds and insurers, which are largely absent from this segment, could be allowed to allocate modest portions of their assets to AI-curated indices, thereby eliminating the need for costly in-house teams.

But for this vision to materialise, policymakers will need to establish a small public equity regime built on four pillars: continuous, streamlined reporting, instead of bulky periodic filings; liability protections for issuers that adopt AI-based verification systems; simplified listing requirements; and open-data frameworks that allow third parties to add value by analysing disclosures.

After decades of subsidising credit, public development banks should channel some of their resources into equity investments. For example, they could support firms that meet AI-based disclosure and verification standards, provide first-loss coverage for diversified SME equity funds, and promote shared oversight infrastructure.

To be sure, AI can hallucinate, models can be gamed, and insiders will always know more. But the test is relative advantage, not perfection. If AI cuts transaction costs by 50pc to 90pc, the impact would be transformative. Though some frauds will inevitably slip through, many more legitimate businesses would become viable candidates for outside investment.

To broaden ownership, spur innovation, and accelerate growth, we should direct AI toward the higher-return challenge of making equity abundant. The goal, crucially, is not a casino but a safer, cheaper, and data-rich marketplace where risk is borne by those best able to bear it. After a century spent perfecting the plumbing of credit, AI offers a chance to complete – at last – the financial system’s other half.

What Kind of AI Do We Actually Want?

Posted on by Web Master

For decades, the Turing test was AI researchers’ North Star. Today, it has been quietly surpassed. With reasoning models and agentic capabilities emerging, and with the pace of AI infrastructure build increasing, we have crossed an inflexion point on the journey to superintelligence, the point at which AI exceeds human-level performance at all tasks.

Indeed, the most consequential question for our time is not whether AI will surpass us, because in some ways it already has (try beating an AI at general knowledge), in many other ways, it will, and in some ways, we will always be unique. The real question, then, is whether we can shape AI to advance human flourishing rather than undermine it. That is the most important challenge of our time.

To be sure, everyone is primed by now to roll their eyes at AI hype. I get it. But the stakes could not be higher.

Science and technology have always been humanity’s greatest engine of progress. Over the last 250 years, that engine has doubled life expectancy, lifted billions of people out of poverty, and given us antibiotics, electricity, and instant global communication. AI is the next chapter in this story. It represents our best shot at accelerating scientific discovery, economic growth, and human well-being. This potential is worth keeping in mind.

But harnessing AI’s potential will work out right only if we build AI the right way. The costs of getting it wrong are immense. No one yet has reassuring answers about how we contain or align these systems. We are caught at an odd moment, faced with history’s most powerful technologies and unsure how they can be controlled or whether they will remain beneficial.

I think we can cut through the noise and understand it in this way. AI, like all technology, can be judged by a simple test.

Does it improve human life? Is it clearly working in the service of people?

As we embark on the next phase of AI, the answer to these questions lies in what I call Humanist Superintelligence (HSI). It is an advanced AI designed to remain controllable, aligned, and firmly in service to humanity. This project is explicitly about avoiding, at all costs, an unbounded entity with total autonomy.

Instead, we should focus on domain-specific superintelligence. Rather than simply making a system that can endlessly improve and run away with itself for whatever purpose it might eventually arrive at, the core purpose is to deliver practical and real-world benefits to billions of people. It should forever remain unequivocally subordinate to humanity. This is the vision of our Superintelligence Team at Microsoft, where our core mission is to keep humanity secure and firmly in control.

Why humanism?

Because history has demonstrated the humanist tradition’s enduring power to preserve human dignity. AI built in that spirit can unlock extraordinary benefits while avoiding catastrophic risks. We need a vision of AI that supports humanity, amplifies creativity, and protects our fragile environment, not one that sidelines us.

The prize for humanity is enormous. It is a world of rapid advances in living standards and science, and a time of new art forms, culture, and growth. It is a truly inspiring mission that has motivated me for decades. We should celebrate and accelerate technology as the greatest engine of progress that humanity has ever known. That is why we need much, much more of it.

HSI offers a safer path forward. Remaining grounded in domain-specific breakthroughs with profound societal impact is an example of this. Imagine AI companions that ease the mental load of daily life, enhance productivity, and transform education through adaptive and individualised learning. Imagine medical superintelligence delivering accurate and affordable expert-level diagnostics that could revolutionise global healthcare, capabilities already previewed by our health team at Microsoft AI.

Consider the potential for AI-driven advances in clean energy that will enable abundant, low-cost power generation, storage, and carbon removal, meeting soaring demand while protecting the planet.

With HSI, these are not speculative dreams. They are achievable goals that can benefit people around the world, providing concrete improvements to everyday life.

To state the obvious, humans matter more than tech or AI. Superintelligence could be the best invention ever, but only if it sticks to this maxim. That means ensuring accountability and transparency, and a willingness to make safety a top priority. Our goal is not to build a superintelligence at any cost, but to follow a careful path toward one that is contained, value-aligned, and always focused on human well-being.

Everybody needs to ask themselves this.

What kind of AI do we actually want?

The answer will shape the future of civilisation. For me, that answer is Humanist Superintelligence.

Digital Push Raises Hopes in Policy Circles But Anxiety on the Factory Floor

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This year, the federal government launched its “Digital Ethiopia 2025” strategy, pledging to harness technology to boost employment, productivity, and public services. The initiative promises a tech-driven transformation capable of lifting millions out of poverty.

For the growing youth population, approximately two million enter the labour force each year, and the digital economy holds promise for new possibilities. Yet, for industrial workers, particularly in the garment industry, the promised future feels distant. On factory floors, the mood is marked more by uncertainty than optimism.

The worldwide march of artificial intelligence (AI), automation, and data-driven manufacturing, often referred to as the Fourth Industrial Revolution, continues to reshape the nature of work itself. While some believe that technology will open doors to new employment opportunities, others warn of widespread job losses. This debate is especially acute for countries like Ethiopia, which have sought to accelerate economic growth and industrialisation through labour-intensive manufacturing. The coming revolution offers opportunities but also exposes vulnerabilities.

Drawing participants from government officials, experts, and business leaders, the Ministry of Labour & Skills convened the “Future of Work Summit 2025” in Addis Abeba on October 17-18, exploring how Ethiopia can keep pace with a global labour market in flux. The summit reinforced a well-known national ambition of deploying technology and industrialisation as key engines for economic progress. While the conversation around digital innovation has gained momentum among policymakers and startups, the manufacturing sector, which has long been a pillar of national growth plans, finds itself on the sidelines of this new technological wave.

Central to the discussion was a dilemma familiar to many developing countries. Ethiopia has built its industrial strategy on the back of low-cost labour, but new technologies threaten to undercut that edge. Automation and AI, celebrated as tools of progress, now cast a long shadow over the manufacturing sector, raising urgent questions about job security and the future shape of work.

Research published this year by the University of Bristol captures this tension on the ground.

The study, which examines workers’ perspectives at Hawassa Industrial Park, recently renamed Hawassa Special Economic Zone, offers a rare window into how technological change lands with those on the factory floor. Their experiences and anxieties reveal a side of economic transformation that policy documents rarely capture.

How do workers and their families weather the pressures of automation and shifting global demand?

Thousands of young Ethiopians, mostly women from rural regions, migrate each year to Hawassa in search of factory jobs and city life. Today, more than 22,000 people are employed in factories located within the Park, many of whom sew garments for major global brands. These jobs offer income and a measure of skill development, but they also come with low pay, long shifts, and limited opportunities to advance.

Since 2020, several shocks have roiled the sector. Productivity challenges, the COVID-19 pandemic, and the suspension of Ethiopia’s participation in the African Growth & Opportunity Act (AGOA) are some of these. In response, some factories have looked to automation and efficiency technologies to survive. But such changes have generated as much fear as hope among workers, who worry about deepening inequality and the risk of being left behind.

Women make up the majority of operators in Hawassa’s garment factories, and for many, industrial work was supposed to open doors to independence. Yet, the reality on the ground is marked by strict discipline, constant surveillance, and a pervasive fear of losing one’s job.

“We came to the city to change our lives, but the work consumes all of it,” one worker told researcher.

The pressure to hit production targets leaves little time for rest, family, or personal well-being.

When these workers consider the future, they are less concerned about robots replacing them overnight and more worried about the ways new technologies could mean even fewer jobs, tighter controls, and more demanding work, without better pay or improved working conditions. In their eyes, digitalisation has yet to deliver genuine transformation. Instead, it often means an intensification of the daily grind.

This reality complicates the dominant narrative that industrialisation inevitably leads to modernisation and upward mobility. While industrial parks like Hawassa are often touted as symbols of progress, they are frequently criticised for offering low wages and limited transfer of technical expertise. For many investors, Ethiopia’s main draw remains its cheap labour rather than its technological advancements. The development model that results may deepen dependency on outside capital and reinforce the very inequalities industrialisation was meant to resolve.

A lasting solution lies in redefining the terms of competitiveness. Ethiopia’s digital strategy should extend beyond ambitions for a “smart” economy and also focus on fairness. Investing in local skills, promoting gender equity in training and promotion, and shielding workers from the social costs of economic transition are all critical steps. Furthermore, the voices of workers, especially women, deserve a place at the table when shaping policy. All too often, discussions about technology and the future of work are held at a remove from those most affected.

If policymakers hope to translate their digital aspirations into tangible and sustainable progress, they should see labour not as a disposable input but as the foundation of development. Placing workers’ welfare at the centre of digital transformation can help the country deliver a future that is productive, humane, and broadly shared.

Digital Gold Rush Slips Through the Taxman’s Fingers

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As Ethiopia’s leaders push ahead with state-led modernisation, a quieter race is unfolding far from the headlines. In industrial parks, rural substations, and highland data centres, foreign cryptocurrency miners are establishing large-scale operations, drawn by abundant hydropower and some of the continent’s lowest electricity tariffs.

A country still struggling to industrialise has suddenly become a hub for digital asset extraction. However, the sector’s growth has outpaced the institutions meant to govern it. A multi-million-dollar industry has emerged without a regulatory, fiscal, or supervisory framework to anchor it. Ethiopia finds itself hosting an energetic yet opaque digital economy, in which the value generated abroad largely escapes the local tax net.

This is not an Ethiopian peculiarity. Governments worldwide are scrambling to regulate and tax crypto mining, balancing revenue mobilisation against innovation risks. Among emerging economies, Kazakhstan’s recent shift from a digital laissez-faire approach to a more structured governance model offers a compelling lesson.

Once a digital Wild West, the Central Asian country has evolved into one of the more pragmatic examples of managing the crypto economy, aligning taxation with energy use and enforcing transparency. For Ethiopia, the lessons are timely, guiding a way to transform crypto mining from a shadowy industry into a structured contributor to national revenue.

The rise of the domestic crypto mining industry has been quiet but steady. Ethiopia has become a destination for foreign investors seeking low-cost and reliable energy to mine digital assets. Many of these operators set up shop in industrial parks and remote areas, sometimes under licenses meant for electricity export or “data processing” activities.

However, while the physical infrastructure expands, the legal and tax frameworks lag behind. The Ethiopian Revenues & Customs Authority (ERCA) has yet to create a clear tax category for income or business activities tied to cryptocurrencies. The National Bank of Ethiopia (NBE) has not issued any regulations on how to handle cryptocurrency revenues, particularly concerning taxation or foreign exchange.

This leaves the country in a precarious position, where large digital operations consume substantial amounts of electricity and generate income abroad, but very little of this value is captured by the tax system. Crypto miners are operating in what amounts to a fiscal grey zone. The government collects some fees for electricity and licensing, but the real income, the mined digital coins and their eventual sales on international markets, mostly slips through the cracks.

For a developing economy like Ethiopia that needs to raise more revenue at home, this represents a silent but considerable loss.

Kazakhstan faced a similar situation not long ago. After China cracked down on cryptocurrency mining in 2021, thousands of Chinese mining companies relocated to Kazakhstan, drawn by its low-cost, coal-fired power and a regulatory environment that seemed wide open. The sudden influx created problems for Kazakhstan’s power grid, resulting in electricity shortages and instability. It became clear to officials that they were hosting a booming digital economy without a plan for how to benefit from it.

By 2022, Kazakhstan had made a sharp turn. The government introduced a special taxation system for crypto miners, tying the tax rate to energy consumption and, later, to the price of Bitcoin itself. Under this scheme, miners pay taxes ranging from one to 10 Kazakhstani tenge per kilowatt-hour (approximately 0.002 to 0.02 dollars), depending on the amount of power they use and the type of energy they draw from. The more polluting or subsidised the source, the higher the tax.

In 2023, Kazakhstan took another step, starting to tax the income earned by crypto mining companies and requiring all miners to register and report their digital asset holdings. A new legal category, digital asset mining companies, was created, bringing these firms into the official tax net. The shift paid off. The government collected more than seven million dollars in new taxes from crypto miners within the first year. That figure may seem modest on a global scale, but for a middle-income country, it is a meaningful gain.

More importantly, the move signalled that the digital economy would not exist outside the reach of fiscal policy. Kazakhstan’s mix of regulation, taxation, and transparency has transformed the country from a digital free-for-all into a structured player in the global cryptocurrency ecosystem.

While Ethiopian officials have recently shown interest in blockchain technology, including striking deals with foreign companies for data hosting and infrastructure, the question of taxation is often left for later consideration. The biggest hurdle is deciding how to classify crypto mining.

Does it count as industrial activity, a digital service, or an export business that uses lots of energy?

Each classification has different tax implications, whether for value-added tax (VAT), corporate income tax, or customs duties. Most crypto miners currently register as ICT or data-processing businesses, which places them in low- or zero-tax categories.

There is also no system in place for tracking the income generated by cryptocurrency mining. When miners sell digital assets on foreign exchanges, the money rarely returns to the local financial system. Without rules requiring miners to report or repatriate their crypto income, the country loses out on foreign exchange inflows and tax revenue.

Energy taxation is another missing piece, as large mining operations use vast amounts of subsidised power at rates often below those paid by households. A progressive energy tax, following Kazakhstan’s lead, could ensure that crypto miners pay a fair share for their consumption and the strain they place on the power grid. After all, the hydroelectric power is a national resource, built up through public investment over decades.

Kazakhstan’s strength has been tying tax obligations directly to energy use, a variable that is easy to measure and hard to hide. By taxing miners based on the amount of electricity they use, the government sidestepped the difficulty of tracking earnings in volatile digital currencies. This approach could be well-suited for Ethiopia, as the state-owned Ethiopian Electric Power (EEP) already closely tracks industrial electricity use. An electricity tax for mining could be automatically collected as part of the monthly power bill, creating a steady revenue stream for the government.

Kazakhstan also employed its tax policy to encourage the industry to adopt greener energy sources. Miners who used renewable sources, such as wind or solar, paid less. This policy encouraged companies to invest in cleaner energy, aligning tax incentives with environmental goals. Ethiopia, with its hydro power and growing solar sector, could take a similar approach, offering tax breaks to miners who invest in green energy.

When foreign companies operate giant data centres, utilise public energy, and send profits overseas without paying their fair share, Ethiopia risks becoming a digital colony in its own backyard. Kazakhstan has shown that taking fiscal control does not mean turning away innovation. It means treating digital wealth as part of the national economy, with all the obligations and benefits that come with it.

The International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank are now urging developing countries to incorporate cryptocurrency taxation into their digital economy policies. Nigeria and South Africa have begun to issue guidance on crypto asset taxation. Ethiopia cannot afford to fall behind.

To transition from potential to actual policy, a comprehensive framework is needed. The first step is to legally define crypto mining as a distinct taxable activity, separate from generic data processing. This should include both domestic and foreign companies operating in the country. Registration and licensing should follow, with all miners required to sign up with the revenue authority and the central bank, declaring their energy usage, locations, and wallet addresses. Next, a tiered tax on electricity consumption, modelled on Kazakhstan’s system, could start at 0.01 dollars a kilowatt-hour for miners using renewable energy and increase for those using non-renewable sources or consuming large amounts.

Tax rules for profit and VAT should be established to ensure that mined coins are taxed when sold for cash or used in business transactions. Finally, a digital reporting system could help track mining production and guarantee that foreign exchange earnings are brought into the country and appropriately taxed.

Such policies would not only close loopholes but also bring legitimacy to the industry. Most miners would rather have clear rules than live with constant uncertainty. A well-defined tax system can attract serious investors and deter those looking to exploit a legal vacuum.

Some worry that heavy taxes could drive miners away. This is a valid concern, but Kazakhstan’s experience revealed the opposite. Smart tax rates, paired with incentives for green investment and local development, can make a country attractive. Ethiopia could also consider adopting similar measures, such as offering lower rates to companies that reinvest their profits locally or contribute to the development of digital infrastructure.

The long-term success of the economy will depend on how effectively it can harness its natural resources, especially electricity, to create lasting digital value. The crypto mining boom presents an opportunity, but one that will slip away unless it is managed wisely.

The World Watches as Africa’s Forests Vanish

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The international community is quick to highlight Africa’s development challenges and failures, often citing the continent’s limited progress on poverty reduction and climate action.

Consider the persistent focus on Africa’s massive climate finance gap, estimated at around 2.8 trillion dollars between 2020 and 2030, and its unsustainable debt burden, with sub-Saharan Africa (SSA) now spending more on debt service than it receives in climate finance. Much attention has also been devoted to the disappointing progress of African countries toward the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). The continent is on track to achieve only six percent of the 32 measurable SDG targets by 2030.

But, these challenges are compounded by the lack of international development support. Nowhere is the gap between rhetoric and action more evident than in efforts to achieve SDG 15, which aims to protect, restore, and promote the sustainable use of terrestrial ecosystems, including by combating deforestation. Between 2010 and 2020, Africa experienced the world’s largest annual rate of net forest loss, averaging 3.9 million hectares.

Given the scale of the problem, the UN Climate Change Conference (COP30) in Belém should adopt a more proactive and comprehensive strategy to prevent deforestation and curb related environmental risks.

A wide array of proven interventions, many seen as beyond the realm of climate policy, could protect millions of hectares of forest in Africa each year, especially in the Congo Basin, one of the most essential global commons. Home to the world’s second-largest tropical rainforest, the Congo Basin absorbs nearly 1.5 billion tons of carbon dioxide annually and is a biodiversity hotspot, with roughly 10,000 species of tropical plants, 30pc of which are unique to the region.

Preserving the Congo Basin is especially important because the insatiable global demand for Africa’s natural resources has decimated the continent’s forests. This process began in the 19th and early 20th centuries, as European imperial powers exported timber and cleared vast swaths of old-growth forest for cash crops such as cocoa, coffee, palm oil, tea, and rubber. It has continued and even intensified in recent years, driven by demographic pressures and rising Asian-demand for raw materials.

As a result, tropical Africa has lost around 22pc of its forested area since 1900, comparable to the more widely publicised losses in the Amazon.

Deforestation is fast approaching a tipping point in the Congo Basin. Between 2002 and 2024, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, which contains about 60pc of the Congo Basin rainforest, lost 7.4 million hectares of humid primary forest, which accounted for 36pc of its total tree cover loss. If current deforestation rates persist, large portions of the Congo Basin could disappear by 2050, with dire consequences for global climate stability.

Importantly, the world’s insatiable appetite for Africa’s natural resources is not the only driver of deforestation. Subsistence farming and increased housing demand, especially in rapidly growing urban areas, have also led to large-scale land clearing, owing mainly to low agricultural productivity and poor territorial planning.

In many African countries, crop yields reach only 20pc to 30pc of their potential because of the lack of irrigation (currently, less than five percent of cultivated land in SSA is irrigated), sparse use of fertilisers and high-quality seed varieties, and inadequate access to technology. To meet the nutrition needs of a fast-growing population that is expected to reach 2.5 billion by 2050, farmers often compensate for low crop yields by clearing more land and resorting to reduced fallow periods.

Unplanned urbanisation is equally harmful. Poor housing standards and the proliferation of low-quality single-family homes that lack basic amenities have triggered urban sprawl. Many African cities, from Lagos and Douala to Kinshasa and Kibera, are growing out, not up, with millions of hectares of forest cleared to make room for such dwellings. Compounding these pressures is the fact that more than 70pc of households in sub-Saharan Africa still use wood for cooking and heating, leading to even more environmental degradation.

This amplifies the negative long-term effects that poor urban planning has on the climate.

Although world leaders declared their commitment to halting and reversing forest loss and land degradation at previous COPs, deforestation in Africa continues to outpace restoration efforts, including those by the African Forest Landscape Restoration Initiative and the Great Green Wall Initiative. And the European Union’s regulation on deforestation-free products, while a worthy endeavour, is unlikely to fix the imbalance.

That is because focusing solely on the rainforest is not sufficient to save it. Investments that boost agricultural productivity, raise housing standards, and improve territorial planning, with an emphasis on compact, upward growth rather than urban sprawl, are essential to preserve the Congo Basin rainforest and prevent ecosystem collapse.

Increasing crop yields and building better cities are not only among the most cost-effective strategies for climate-change adaptation. They also bring meaningful economic and social benefits. By striking the right balance between immediate needs and long-term sustainability, investments in these areas can help Africa manage its demographic pressures without risking the planet’s future.

For decades, African governments relied on cash crops and timber exports to build their foreign-exchange reserves, valuing growth and macroeconomic stability over sustainable development. African households are increasingly taking a similar approach, prioritising basic needs over climate and environmental considerations. But in an era defined by the global climate crisis, Africans should not be forced into such a Cornelian dilemma.

As the continent faces rapid population growth, continuing down this path would be destructive for the planet and everyone on it. To reduce the risk of crossing climate tipping points, the world should improve living standards in Africa. It is a price that must be paid to avert a climate disaster.

The Key to Unlocking Climate Progress

Posted on by Web Master

Bill Gates’ call for the United Nations to shift its focus from climate action centred on temperature goals to vaccines has misread the challenge we face. Investments in climate mitigation and development are not competing priorities.

On the contrary, with the World Health Organisation (WHO) projecting that climate change will cause approximately 250,000 additional deaths per year between 2030 and 2050, climate action is also health action.

All those who attended the UN Climate Change Conference (COP30) in Belém, Brazil, last week should keep this insight in mind. But Gates is right that we should deliver real solutions, and, as the Brazilian government has made clear, the goal for this “Solutions COP” is to bridge the gap between declarations and delivery, which will require allocating scarce resources effectively. This is not about trade-offs between climate and health. It is about taking our goals seriously.

Progress at COP30 was far from assured. The United Kingdom has withdrawn its funding for the proposed Tropical Forest Forever Facility, which is supposed to be formally adopted this month. Making matters worse, the European Union (EU) has weakened its 2040 decarbonisation target by allowing countries to buy foreign carbon credits rather than cutting domestic emissions. Meanwhile, 3.3 billion people live in countries that are spending more on interest payments than on health, implying that they are foregoing investments in climate resilience.

Ten years after COP21 in Paris, the world is not short of targets or stated commitments. Rather, what is missing is the ability to deliver fast, fair, and durable progress. From debt sustainability and climate change to the pursuit of inclusive growth, the common thread running through all our biggest challenges is public institutions’ inability to turn commitments into tangible outcomes.

As a result, we are left treading water. Cutting debt while undermining investment-led growth will not bring about debt sustainability, but it will exacerbate the climate crisis. After all, the debt crisis is also an investment crisis. Without investment, a country’s productive capacity does not increase, making it more dependent on foreign aid precisely when that aid is waning.

To find our way back to shore, we urgently need a new financial architecture that can provide the policy and fiscal space to support implementation and build state capacity. While the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank are attempting to reimagine themselves for the 21st century, they should move faster to accommodate carbon-related constraints and persistent development deficits. Here, too, ambition has outpaced execution. Pledges abound, but governance and public-purpose finance are still bottlenecks.

Countries should commit to investing in their ability to administer and implement the much-needed industrial and financial strategies that can put the Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs) at the centre of economic development, such as by embedding climate goals in green industrial strategies and green financial policies. More than a tool for derisking the private sector, country platforms should be used in a way that makes government climate policy greater than the sum of its parts.

As I argue in a new report, “State Capacity & Capabilities for a Just Green World,” with Esther Dweck, Brazil’s minister of management and innovation in public services, governments should invest in their own capacity. This means ensuring all tools, including procurement policy, digital public infrastructure, and the design of state-owned enterprises, are fit for purpose. Building dynamic state capabilities means investing in policy labs, learning by doing, and becoming less reliant on outside consultants.

Brazil’s Pix payment system and Rural Environmental Registry show what becomes possible when governments invest in the data collection, systems, and skills needed to turn plans into results.

Most developing countries need additional support to build these capabilities and fulfil their NDCs, and a new financial architecture should be supportive of that objective. Investments in state capacity should be understood as among the most effective forms of climate policy. When designed as mission-oriented implementation hubs, country platforms can align public instruments behind clear goals, with state-owned enterprises, public development banks, and strategic procurement agencies working in concert.

Gates is right that temperature goals alone are not the best measure of human welfare. But he is wrong to turn away from bold climate action that emphasises ambitious mitigation rather than passive adaptation. In the spirit of Brazil’s call for this to be a Solutions COP, climate finance should be spent on the right things. Building the state capacity needed to implement green industrial strategies that align with decarbonisation, development, health, jobs, and resilience.

The Future Wears Little Shoes

Posted on by Web Master

A couple of weeks ago, a team of government civil servants knocked on my door, saying they were collecting economic data from households. My helper answered the gate and spoke to them. When she returned, I asked who it was, and she told me, “People from the government wanted to know how many people live here and what everyone does for a living.” She seemed unbothered, but I was curious about what she had said.

When I realised she had given them incorrect information. I went out to meet the surveyors myself to provide the right details.

Out of all the mistakes my helper made, one in particular shocked me; she hadn’t counted my daughter, Gabriella. I smiled a little and teased her, asking how she could forget my child, the sweetest person in the house.

Her answer froze my smile. “Since when are children counted?” she boldly said. I was taken aback. I looked at her, a young woman who had finished high school, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

When I asked her what she meant, she explained that where she came from, children weren’t really considered part of the family in that way. “Children don’t talk,” she said. “They wait until adults finish eating to eat what’s left. Even in weddings, or on holidays, they wait until everyone is done.”

She wasn’t bitter or resentful when she said it; she spoke as though she were describing a rule of nature, something that made sense to her. She told me that she believed it taught children discipline and gratitude.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said. She was right about one thing: many children in Ethiopia grow up in similar circumstances. During my travels for work, charity, and leisure, I’ve witnessed the same pattern repeatedly around the country.

In the cold mountains of the north, where the wind cuts even through thick blankets, I saw adults wrapped in full clothing and layers of shawls, while children wore only shorts. Their skin had turned pale and dry from the cold. No one seemed to think that there was something wrong.

Children often stand at the very end of the hierarchy. Many of them, like my helper, are raised to believe that this is normal, even proper. That respect means invisibility.

The way children are treated, especially in their formative years, leaves permanent marks on their confidence, mental health, and ability to see themselves as worthy human beings.

When children are told their voices don’t matter, they grow into adults who question their own worth. When they’re made to eat last, they learn they deserve less. When they’re silenced, they’re conditioned to accept injustice as normal. These lessons shape not only individual lives but the moral fabric of entire societies.

What if discipline looked different? What if gratitude wasn’t taught through hunger but through kindness? What if we raised children to speak respectfully, not fearfully; to listen and also be listened to?

Respecting children doesn’t mean spoiling them. It means recognising their humanity. It means clothing them properly. It means giving them a full plate, not scraps. It means allowing them to ask questions, to laugh, to make mistakes without shame.

We cannot discuss poverty, development, or progress without considering how we treat our children. They are the ones who go barefoot, miss school or are malnourished.

Neglect is not always violent. Sometimes it comes disguised as tradition, as discipline, as “the way things are.” Sometimes passed down through generations as a form of love, but if love leaves a child cold, hungry, and unseen, then what kind of love is it?

The problem is a cultural blind spot that has persisted for centuries. In many Ethiopian homes, children are taught to be subservient. They grow up learning that adults are unquestionable, that authority is sacred, and that obedience is the highest virtue. While respect for elders is important, it should not overshadow a child’s humanity. Respect should be mutual; it should nurture confidence, not fear.

In several regions I visited, girls bear an even heavier burden. They wake up earlier, sleep later, and shoulder endless chores. They grow up believing their dreams must fit into the small space that remains after everyone else’s needs are met. This early conditioning keeps many women from recognising their own worth even as adults.

When I think back to my helper’s words, I realised that she didn’t mean harm. She was simply repeating what she had lived through. She believed she was defending a tradition of humility and respect. But what she called discipline is, in truth, deprivation. What she called gratitude is resignation.

If we want to raise children who will lead the country to a better future, we must first address the notion that they should be invisible from their minds. We must count them in surveys, in decisions, in conversations, in love.

Ethiopia has signed international conventions protecting children’s rights. The supreme law of the land promises them education, protection, and dignity, but laws don’t raise children; people do. Policies mean little if families still believe children should stay silent and wait for leftovers.

When we stop saying “they don’t understand” to our children and start asking “what do they think?” then we are valuing them.

To break the cycles of poverty and inequality, we must start at the beginning, with the smallest hands and the quietest voices. We must teach our children that they are seen, that they belong and that their thoughts matter. When we recognise that every child matters, we honour their potential, their rights, and their role in shaping the future.

Dreams of Med School

Posted on by Web Master

I never stopped being the student my parents and teachers expected me to be. Even now, years into building a life, a career, and a family, I find myself entertaining the audacious thought of pursuing a career in medicine. It’s an idea that flickers to life, often sparked by nothing more than a dramatic scene in a medical show, or maybe just a deep, subterranean wish to finally cash in on the promise of my past potential. But let’s be honest: the primary fuel for this fantasy is the unshakeable desire to make my parents proud. They always pictured me as a doctor, and for a long time, I pictured it too. Growing up, I was the typical “top student,” and seeing my friends from those years, the ones who seamlessly transitioned into scrubs and residency programs, reopened an old, half-healed wound. Reconnecting with their achievements made me feel, quite simply, like I could have done more. It was a quiet, insidious voice whispering that maybe if I got that MD, I’d finally feel like I was enough.

The truth, the unforgiving truth, is that I don’t think I would enjoy my life as a doctor. Sure, the concept of saving lives to have a Godly power is deeply compelling. There is a profound, automatic respect given to health professionals that few other fields can command. Medical school is brutal, and for someone like me, juggling work and children, the commitment level would be insanely gruelling. I want a laid-back life. I want to enjoy my time with my family, not just squeezing them in between 36-hour shifts. I don’t want to live to work; I want to work just enough so I can afford a good life, a spacious existence outside the hospital walls. A doctor’s life, as I envision it, is one of constant presence amidst pain, injury, and suffering. I don’t doubt my ability to cope with the rigorous demands of the curriculum, but living in an environment where I am constantly faced with profound human misery is not an existence I care to experience in my everyday life.

It’s an odd calculus and a sad one, too, that in the modern world, a successful TikToker earns more than a Medical Doctor. Even at my age, well past the point of needing permission to live my life, I still worry about making my parents proud. I guess it’s an Ethiopian thing, or a culturally ingrained mentality that we have. We are often driven by what brings happiness and validation to our parents and our community. While that drive builds strong families and resilient communities, it sometimes acts as an anchor, holding us back from fully exploring our calling.

In a way, taking on medicine would be my ultimate performance, a grand gesture to prove not just to them, but to my younger, ambitious self. I kept imagining the seven-plus years: the energy, time, sleep and financial resources I would invest. It is literally a decline from my existing life. I initially thought now would be a good time to pick up where I left off my education. My children are now in school and are somewhat independent. It felt like I finally had a window of opportunity to work on myself. Yet, this feeling is immediately shadowed by a deep sense of guilt.

Every hour spent studying for an exam is an hour taken from reading to my children, helping with their homework, or simply being present. I start to feel selfish because I would be taking an immense amount of time away from my family for a qualification I might not even practice. And what if I regret the decision five years in? I even figured that if I am going to do it, I might as well go all the way and specialise, becoming a surgeon. But that is a guaranteed ticket to living in a hospital. I find myself wondering if I should focus less on chasing this degree and more on educating my children to become intelligent, critical-thinking adults in their own right.

I am stuck in this loop. But the core lesson in all this is a powerful reminder that sometimes we pursue things because of how they make others feel, or purely out of sheer curiosity, to check our potential. I swore once that I would never study again, and yet here I am, already plotting the next academic leap. In a way, it is like having a baby. When you think of the pain of labour and the relentless exhaustion that follows, you can not imagine going through it again. But then you look at the beautiful result, and in your mind, you are ready to embark on that journey one more time if it means the end result is something beautiful, something that makes your life worth living. Perhaps medicine is that kind of beautiful and yet painful process. And maybe, just maybe, I am curious enough to find out.

Ultimately, this contemplation isn’t just about a career change; it is a conflict between two valid versions of my future self: the one who fulfils a lifetime of external expectations and the one who protects the quiet happiness of the present. The challenge lies in untangling the genuine spark of capability and curiosity —the feeling of ‘I can do it’-from the social obligation of ‘I should do it.’ The real victory might not be getting to medical school, but rather the hard-won clarity to decide which pursuit will truly enrich my life and the lives of my children.