Information Pollution Undermines Climate Progres

The devastation caused by the 2024 flash floods in Valencia, Spain, was so surreal that some images sparked a global debate over their authenticity. In an era when AI technology can produce hyper-realistic fakes, photos showing cars piled haphazardly atop one another in narrow, mud-filled streets seemed almost too shocking to be true. Tragically, these images were all too real.

For years, climate activists believed that once the direct impact of climate change became undeniable, not only in the Global South, but everywhere, popular pressure for political and corporate action would surge. And, indeed, polls show overwhelming public support for bold climate measures. But now that this long-anticipated moment has arrived, an equally urgent challenge has emerged.

The information ecosystem we rely on to understand the world has become dangerously polluted. The pollution metaphor is apt because it captures the chaotic and toxic nature of today’s information landscape, which is controlled by a handful of powerful companies that commodify attention and inundate our feeds with “AI slop,” low-quality, machine-generated content designed to mislead, distract, and distort. Nowhere is this more evident than in the climate change debate.

While climate misinformation has long been a concern, often mutating into full-blown conspiracy theories, the situation has deteriorated to such an extent that the term “misinformation” no longer reflects the scale, complexity, or urgency of the threat, much less points to potential solutions.

It is often said that the technologies needed to combat climate change already exist, and that what is missing is the political will to deploy them. But, while technology may be sold as the key to solving the crisis, it is also being used to slow the momentum needed to address it. Tech oligarchs with deep government ties and vested financial interests control the platforms that shape public opinion, from Elon Musk’s X (formerly Twitter) to Jeff Bezos’s Washington Post, enabling them to influence not only environmental policy, but also the conversation about it. As AI accelerates the global information crisis, climate issues are increasingly swept up in culture wars.

This is further fueled by data brokers that treat users’ views about climate change as proxies for political identity, thereby reinforcing echo chambers and deepening polarisation in the service of selling targeted ads.

During the 2024 Atlantic hurricane season, user-generated content on Instagram and TikTok shifted from documenting the destruction to amplifying conspiracy theories about weather manipulation and secret geoengineering projects, stoking fear and destabilising an already fragile information environment. A similar dynamic played out during the recent power outages in Spain and Portugal, where misleading narratives blaming renewable-energy sources spread rapidly before any official investigation could determine the cause. Such rumours often lead to threats and harassment of scientists and activists, creating a chilling effect on research and advocacy, even as public support for climate action remains strong.

To be sure, rhetoric opposing climate action comes mostly from a loud minority. But it is being amplified by a media environment that thrives on outrage. Worse, the convergence of interests among far-right ideologues, Big Tech, and Big Oil, all of which profit from climate chaos, information pollution, and political instability, is contributing to the rise of “dirty tech” and accelerating the erosion of democracy and the rule of law.

In the United States, the tech sector’s growing proximity to far-right politics has highlighted the role of platforms in shaping public discourse and, by extension, the future of climate action. Civil-society groups that focus on digital rights and democratic advocacy have been grappling with these issues for years. Yet, much like microplastics, the problem has fragmented into countless smaller pieces, making it far more difficult to contain.

With power concentrated in the hands of those profiting from information pollution, it can feel as though we are at a dead end. But as disorienting as today’s social-media ecosystem may be, the sources, much like those of environmental pollution, can be identified, enabling accountability. Europe’s new digital rule book, which includes recent legislation on digital services, competition, data protection, and AI, as well as the recent proposal of a “European Democracy Shield” to counter foreign information interreference, are vital first steps toward addressing the systemic effects of misinformation and the impact of Big Tech’s business models on public debate.

Still, the effectiveness of these regulations remains to be seen, and since enforcement currently stops at Europe’s borders, further action is needed. Demonetising climate disinformation and applying the “polluter pays” principle to the digital realm could help hold tech companies and advertisers accountable for the harm they inflict on the climate information ecosystem. Protecting freedom of expression means defending both the right to speak freely and the right to receive accurate, undistorted information. If we fail to confront information pollution head-on, we risk not only stalling climate progress but reversing it altogether.

That said, good information does not rise to the top on its own. Those working to combat climate change and resist speculative technofixes, such as geoengineering, can no longer rely solely on reaching wider audiences or refining their message. Instead, climate activists should join forces with digital democracy advocates to challenge the algorithm-driven business models fueling the twin crises of climate breakdown and information pollution.

The full consequences of these converging crises are only beginning to emerge, but in the absence of concerted action, the writing is on the wall.

Half a Century of Impact

On a cold Saturday afternoon last week, we gathered to honour a couple who have profoundly shaped both my life and my husband’s, not just spiritually or emotionally, but in how we understand marriage, resilience, and purpose. They were celebrating 50 years of marriage.

For five decades, they have lived out a love story rooted not in ease or perfection, but in unshakable commitment, service, and faith. What made this celebration unforgettable was not merely the longevity of their union, but the depth of their influence.

The stories shared by those they touched, and the simple yet powerful truths they live by, revealed how private consistency can quietly shape many lives. They are not just a couple; they are a compass. When they speak of their journey, they avoid romanticising it. They openly share that their marriage has weathered storms, including deep financial hardship.

There were seasons when money was scarce and uncertainty loomed like a shadow. But they never allowed external pressures to weaken their bond. They chose love every single day, not the feeling, but the action. That gritty, deliberate love is what sustained them.

In a world obsessed with emotional highs, their consistency is quietly radical. Their love is rooted in decision, not impulse, and that choice has built something enduring. Equally essential to their longevity is the deep respect they hold for one another. In both speech and action, they practise honour.

Even in moments of frustration, they never speak ill of each other. Public words are never used as weapons, and they always preserve one another’s dignity. That choice, to protect each other with language, has built a fortress around their union. Their marriage is strong, sacred, and stable.

It is a kind of strength that invites others to lean in and learn. It is a quiet strength, the kind that does not boast but cannot be ignored. Perhaps most striking is how different they are. Their personalities, decision-making styles, and approaches to life often diverge.

Yet instead of trying to change one another, they have embraced those differences. They have discovered that harmony does not require similarity. Many people believe compatibility means being alike. However, our mentors have demonstrated that true compatibility is founded on a unity of purpose.

Their shared commitment to serve others, raise children with wisdom, and remain anchored in faith is what makes their relationship work. That common foundation keeps them aligned, even in disagreement. One of the most powerful lessons they have passed on is how to handle conflict. In their home, disagreements are never spectacles.

They do not involve outsiders, nor do they use public platforms to vent. They have cultivated the discipline of private resolution, built on humility and patience. This does not mean they ignore problems, it means they confront them head-on, with grace. Their sacred sense of privacy is rare and refreshing.

In an age of oversharing, they remind us that marriage is between two people, not two people and the world. Their unity extended into parenting. Far from their Canadian roots, they spent thirty-three years raising children in Ethiopia. They embraced everything about the country they came to love.

Ethiopia was not just a posting, it became home. Their children were raised with a blend of spiritual discipline, cultural appreciation, and a deep commitment to service. During the celebration, their children shared how their parents’ unity and consistency gave them a strong sense of security. Now adults and parents themselves, they carry forward the same strength and clarity of purpose.

One daughter adopted Ethiopian twins, a testament to the family’s enduring love for the country. Their identity has grown beyond national borders. It is not where they came from, but where they gave the most, that defines them. Their roots are planted in Ethiopian soil, and in Ethiopian hearts.

I have felt their legacy in my own life. When I lost my father, they visited not with rushed condolences, but with presence. They sat with me in silence, in comfort, and in wisdom. Their quiet companionship spoke volumes.

Later, they walked with my husband and me through our engagement. Along with their daughter and her husband, they offered premarital counselling rich in lived wisdom. What they taught us was not theoretical but forged in decades of grace-soaked experience. Their voices still echo in how we navigate marriage and family today.

Their influence stretches far beyond us. They have comforted the grieving, guided the confused, and mentored couples across generations. Their marriage is not only long, but also layered with intention, sacrifice, and meaning. It is lifted by love that endures.

During the anniversary celebration, one by one, people stood to share how the couple had shaped their lives. Some had once been lost; others were unsure of their path. Many found purpose and clarity through their guidance. Their legacy lives on in the lives they’ve helped reshape.

They carry a well of life-giving stories, not of perfection, but of real love, tested faith, and miraculous endurance. These are not tales for applause, but lessons for life. What makes them unforgettable is not their eloquence, but their truth. In a world where marriages are often reduced to fleeting emotions, theirs is built on something deeper.

Not on chemistry, but on covenant. Not on convenience, but on conviction. It is a marriage that stands as a beacon. Their story reminds us that commitment still matters.

That grace builds bridges. That strong marriages are no accident, but the fruit of daily intention. And when two people share a purpose, they can outlast any storm.

They did not just survive five decades, they thrived. They raised children who are change-makers in their communities. They lived not just in Ethiopia but became part of its heartbeat. Their mentorship is more than advice, it is transformation.

Fifty years is more than a milestone. It is a legacy of unwavering faith, enduring love, and purpose that continues to echo. As we honoured them that Saturday, we celebrated more than time, we celebrated a life well given. Their story calls us all higher.

It teaches us to love intentionally, to speak with honour, to build patiently, and to stay united in purpose. Because when we do, fifty years is not the end, it is only the beginning of a legacy that lasts.

Legal, Policy Volatility Turns Promises into Headwinds

Political leaders and their policy advisors often promise great leaps forward, yet they frequently fall short, landing with a thud.

In July 2024, Mamo Mehiretu, governor of the Central Bank, declared that the five-decade-old straitjacket on the foreign-exchange market had been cut away in favour of a liberalised forex regime. On the same day, Ahmed Shide, the finance minister, authorised importers to pay suppliers directly in hard currency under a franco-valuta scheme.

The pair was hailed for nudging the economy towards openness. Importers rushed to place orders; shipping companies hurried to load containers. Within months, however, the cheer turned to groans. Officials slammed the window shut, possibly under unspecified “pressures” to make a U-turn on franco valuta policy.

Vessels already at sea drifted in limbo, and businesses scrambled for cover. Investors have a name for this habit of abrupt policy shift: legislative unpredictability.

What should be alarming is that the franco-valuta fiasco was no aberration. Over the past two decades, policymakers have dangled incentives before carmakers. At least six large assembly plants ultimately adopted the mantra, employing thousands and fueling dreams of industrial progress.

Then, abruptly, Melaku Alebel’s Industry Ministry ordered all factories to switch to fully electric vehicles, even though the national grid often fails to keep the lights on. Alemu Sime’s (PhD) officials at the Ministry of Transport & Logistics added to the wound, banning imports of anything that burned petrol or diesel. Tractors and combiners carrying farm inputs stalled at Djibouti’s ports, threatening to impact harvests.

Such zigzags betray deeper institutional malaise.

Ethiopia once astonished global development economists, posting an average annual growth rate of around 10pc between 2004 and 2019. Now the engine stutters. Researchers using autoregressive distributed-lag models on data from 1996 to 2020 found a link between political instability and capricious rules, as well as declines in investment, labour-force growth, human capital formation, and exports.

The World Bank’s “Doing Business” surveys have ranked Ethiopia below 159th out of 190 countries for five straight years. In one recent poll, 55pc of firms called opaque and unpredictable tax administration their biggest headache; 49pc blamed lapses in governance and transparency; 35pc bemoaned the shortage of foreign exchange.

A bizarre episode from the tax office illustrates the chaos. After lying dormant for 48 years, the long-forgotten “Wall & Roof” levy suddenly re-emerged. Businesses had no inkling until inspectors arrived, waving assessment sheets in their faces. Beverage producers fared little better when bottle taxes were raised tenfold overnight, disrupting cost projections and wiping out profits.

Agriculture, which still provides nearly 40pc of output and 80pc of export earnings, is similarly exposed. Conflicts in Tigray, Oromia and Amhara regional states have already hindered planting and trade. The ban on diesel vehicles then immobilised combine harvesters and fertiliser trucks. Investors in agriculture suddenly found themselves with no machinery, until the authorities were compelled to reverse course.

Manufacturers, once touted as a new growth pole, are nursing bruises. In 2020, foreign direct investment (FDI) inflows fell by 9.7pc in the first quarter and 12.4pc in the second. The count of new projects shrank by a staggering 96pc; pledged capital dropped by nearly 56pc. The sector’s contribution to GDP slipped by 1.5pc, well adrift of the federal government’s target of 10pc annual growth.

The IMF recently disclosed that FDI to Ethiopia flattened over the past three years.

Capacity utilisation languishes because managers are hesitant to invest in upgrades most blamed unpredictable rule-making.

Why do rules change so abruptly?

Part of the answer could lie in a muddled practice of federalism. The Constitution devolves powers to regional states, creating overlapping jurisdictions and turf wars. Ministries in Addis Abeba may issue directives that regional bureaus ignore or contradict. Courts, meanwhile, are proven to be limited in their enforcement power of verdicts.

The Supreme Court cannot strike down unconstitutional acts; that prerogative belongs to the House of Federation, a political chamber whose members owe allegiance to the incumbent political party. Investors thus have little legal recourse when officials rip up agreements.

One recent fiasco shows how governance can go awry.

A bill on money laundering and terrorist financing sailed through Parliament with little fuss. Only later did watchdogs spot a clause granting undercover agents immunity for acts committed in the line of duty, including, critics warned, torture. The uproar forced lawmakers to delete the passage within three weeks. The volte-face spared the state from further embarrassment but deepened doubts about the legislative process.

Uncertainty breeds a vicious cycle. When rules shift without warning, businesses shelve expansion plans, banks tighten lending, and foreign capital flees. Slower growth shrinks the tax base, prompting officials to hunt for quick fixes such as arbitrary levies or import bans, which in turn sow more confusion.

The toll is visible in the gulf between foreign and local investors. Around 60pc of foreign-owned ventures advance from licensing to operation; only five percent of domestic projects clear the same hurdle. Citizens appear less able than outsiders to manoeuvre their own country’s regulatory maze.

Ironically, there is no shortage of prescriptions. International best practice calls for regulatory-impact assessments, sunset clauses, extensive public consultations, and independent oversight.

The authorities could start by empowering courts to review executive actions, clarifying the division of labour between federal and regional authorities. Capacity-building within ministries would narrow the gap between proclamation and implementation. Transparency portals could cut information asymmetries and curb the rumour mill.

Constitutional reform is the hardest nut. Yet, without a clear arbiter to resolve disputes between layers of government, Ethiopia will continue to speak in contradictory voices. The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), to which Ethiopia has signed on, may offer a lever as membership requires conformity with broadly accepted norms. Aligning domestic rules with regional standards could lend discipline and predictability to the system.

Nonetheless, all these efforts rest on a more basic need for political stability. Militarised conflicts and armed clashes sap attention and resources, while encouraging officials to employ economic tools for political ends. Private initiative wilts in such an atmosphere.

Ironically, businesses face a legal, policy, and regulatory environment where yesterday’s incentives can become today’s bans and tomorrow’s fines. Billions of dollars in prospective investment can be on the balance. Thousands of jobs could remain on hold. Investors can live with risk; what they cannot abide is caprice.

Unless lawmakers and policymakers tame their penchant for sudden U-turns, they may find that the most valuable export is uncertainty itself.

The City That Refuses to Hear Itself

Every morning in the Jemo neighbourhood, in the western outskirts of Addis Abeba, starts with music, not the song a passer-by chooses, but the one that chooses her. Cafés line the dusty road and hang horn-loaded speakers above the doorway, each tuned to a different station or streaming list. Ethio-pop spills into Afrobeats, colliding with yesterday’s ballad, all of it amplified in a contest of sheer decibels.

The owners believe rhythm sells more coffee than aroma. They reach for the volume knob and twist.

Add the rev of minibuses jockeying for the curb, the bleat of horns from drivers whose patience evaporated two lanes back, and the clatter of scaffolding on rising condos. The everyday soundtrack of Addis Abeba is a mixtape, both chaotic and strangely instructive. Listen, and the noise reads like a barometer of how fast the city is growing and how slowly it is managed.

Each layer of sound marks a gap in the civic machinery. The steady roar of diesel generators betrays a power grid that cannot keep up. Honking is a chorus of frustration with traffic signals that do not work and a transport system that leaves commuters stranded. Loudspeakers outside shops and market stalls form the anthem of an informal economy where being heard too often means being louder than the neighbour.

The city has had a noise pollution problem for years, but the gravity of the issue becomes clear in the numbers. A 2014 study in Mercato, the sprawling open-air market, found average daytime noise between 62 and 84 decibels, with Saturday peaks topping 100, on par with a rock concert. The limit for commercial zones is 65 decibels. Nineteen of the 20 sites examined broke that rule. Neighbourhoods around Bole Michael frequently logged readings above 90, the level at which hearing damage starts.

Shopkeepers insist that music sets high draws in customers, though no one has shown proof. What researchers have demonstrated is the price paid by the human body. Chronic exposure is linked to insomnia, elevated stress hormones, cardiovascular disease and lower productivity. A city cannot plausibly aim for middle-income status while bombarding its residents with the soundtrack of a factory floor.

Urbanists sometimes call Addis Abeba a “time machine” calibrated by sound. Move from the fringes toward Meskel Square, and the decibels fall. Traffic noise remains stubborn, yet the café speakers mellow and street vendors shift from amplifiers to conversation. The gradient echoes a broader pattern. Sprawled peripheries built faster than they can be serviced, side by side with planned downtown blocks that still remember zoning.

Indeed, the noise map shadows the land-use map. Commercial clusters bleed into residential alleys, and the city’s patchwork of kebeles leaves few buffers. Zoning codes exist mostly on paper. The Addis Abeba Environmental Protection Authority has posted World Health Organisation-based limits and even published a colour-coded chart for each district. Parliament went further, inserting a clause in the Advertisement Proclamation that outlaws amplified promotions “causing sound pollution.”

On the street, enforcement whispers. In 2024, the Authority flagged 924 businesses for violations and penalised only 13pc, roughly one in eight. Fines are small enough to be absorbed as a cost of doing business, and the inspection team is too thin to canvass 14 districts with regularity. Nothing captures the absurdity like a Woreda Peace & Security Administration pickup rolling through Jemo, a speaker strapped to its roof, exhorting residents to “turn down the noise” while a pop track pounds behind the announcement, volume wins again.

Sound, planners argue, is a species of soft infrastructure as important as light, air or water pressure. When it is unmanaged, it frays public trust and signals misplaced priorities. Residents should not have to fight for the right to quiet, nor should musicians and merchants be silenced. Good cities choreograph their sound so that work, leisure and sleep get a share of the airwaves.

Addis Abeba, a metropolis that prides itself on speaking many languages, should now prove it can listen. It will take zoning lines, monitoring, and compliance enforcement that sting more than ears. Yet, the fix starts with something simpler. An agreement that volume is not the same as vitality. Until then, the capital will keep shouting over itself, and the morning soundtrack will remain less a welcome than a warning.

 

 

Expanding Federal Budget Tests Limits of Fiscal Discipline

A well-worn adage says, “Budget is not destiny, but it is direction.” Examining the budget bill for 2025/26 now before Parliament, the federal government’s compass appears to be drifting.

The budget bill reads more like a political document than an account book. It sets spending at 1.93 trillion Br, more than triple the 561.7 billion splashed out in 2022/23.

At face value, the figures may inspire awe. However, without matching gains in revenue, productivity, or administrative capacity, they could risk turning from promise into burden. The burden may prove heavy indeed.

The spectacular rise is matched by an awkward reshuffle. Recurrent spending, the cash that keeps the civil service paid and lights on, has been set at 1.18 trillion Br, pushing its share of the budget from 28.9pc five years ago to 61.4pc now. The share of capital outlays, which was once 32.7pc, slid to 21.5pc.

A country with successive governments famous for roads and dams now mostly settles wages and consumption. It could be seen as a swing, as eating tomorrow’s seed corn to feed today’s hunger.

Regional governments feel the squeeze most keenly. Federal transfers, representing 36.3pc of the budget five years ago, slide to 16.3pc in the budget bill. On paper, this might signal new faith in local tax collection. More likely, it mirrors a drift towards centralisation and a widening vertical fiscal gap.

The Constitution promises fiscal federalism; its ledgers now whisper something different. Under-funded, regional states would be compelled to cut corners on schools, clinics, and roads, stoking disparities that may risk national cohesion.

Commitment to the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) has also stalled. Allocations aimed at achieving SDG targets have been stuck at 14 billion Br for five consecutive years. Back in 2022/23, it was 2.14pc of the budget; it is now a meagre 0.73pc.

Economists class such spending as a positive externality. Money that nudges the economy’s productive frontier outwards through healthier, better-educated citizens. Finance Minister Ahmed Shidie’s decision to freeze it chills more than the development lobby.

Nonetheless, execution, not allocation, could tell the grimmer tale of the budget before the legislative house. In the outgoing fiscal year, federal executive agencies have shown dismal implementation rates. For instance, the Ministry of Finance, the author of the budget bills, executed only 55.7pc of a budget that was 87.6pc capital heavy.

The pattern shows clogged procurement pipelines and frail project management. The timing of the fiscal impulse is misaligned, dulling its macroeconomic punch.

Regulators make better use of pennies than ministries do of the budget. The Federal Auditor-General and the Ethiopian Capital Market Authority spent 77.6pc of their allocations. Defence gulped 91.5pc of its 88.5 billion Br budget. Economic affairs officials received 24.2 billion Birr, mostly for capital expenditure, yet executed only 57.9pc. Justice agencies hit 66.4pc, police and prisons 87.3pc, proving that efficiency is fickle.

Behind every line item ticks a debt clock. If expenditure grows by nine percent a year and revenues do not, the debt-to-GDP ratio will breach 60pc by 2035, above the 55pc limit the IMF and World Bank deem sustainable for low-income countries.

Even a rosier scenario where the GDP grows by eight percent with flat revenues, merely stabilises the ratio near 35pc, too high for comfort. Faster growth on its own will not rescue the fiscal situation; only a surge in tax and non-tax revenue can. It seems that federal authorities have taken note of this, judging by their relentless pursuit to boost domestic revenues, with the tax-to-GDP ratio planned to reach double digits in a few years.

The foreign exchange realities may add another wrinkle. In dollars, the budget bill is worth about 14.3 billion, below the 16.8 billion dollars figure a year earlier and even the 14.5 billion dollars of 2023/24. Depreciation and inflation erode the government’s ability to import fuel, fertilisers, medicines, and machinery. Although the budget swells in Birr; the dollar value shrinks.

Taken together, the trends make for uncomfortable reading. The state spends more, invests less, recentralises funds, under-shoots the SDGs and underspends even the money it allocates. Inflation sits high, reserves sit low, and politics remains fraught. The risk may not be an immediate default, but it could spiral into a slow-burn stagnation that wastes the country’s youthful demographics.

However, budget planners cannot be left without options.

Expenditure should be yoked to productivity again, channelling more cash into public infrastructure that can generate business and employment, and social services in education and health. The tax net needs widening, VAT compliance needs to be tightened, and state-owned firms should be pressed to pay dividends that forecasts blithely assume will materialise.

The budget bill is expansionary yet under-executed, centralising yet federal in spirit, developmental in rhetoric but consumption-heavy in fact.

Persistent inflation, a liquidity crunch on the domestic front, and foreign exchange limitations, albeit improved marginally in recent months, compound the dangers. Paying salaries may soothe short-term unrest, but starving capital projects of funds chips away at future earnings. The dams, railways, and industrial parks that once dazzled the public are being eclipsed by payrolls and per diems. Capital expenditure share of the budget has slipped from nearly a third to barely a fifth, when compound growth from earlier years should be reinforced, not relaxed.

None of this should warrant panic, but it does demand a serious response. Federal lawmakers can establish a medium-term fiscal framework and advocate for codified rules, such as limits on recurring spending and debt ratios, to restore a measure of credibility. They could accelerate stalled tax administration reforms that promise quicker wins than broad new levies. They might also rekindle public confidence by devoting clearer shares of the budget to health, education, and infrastructure, areas that unlock concessional finance.

They can also press for transfers to regional states to be stabilised if federalism is to have any chance of functioning. No less important is that the SDG budgets need to grow if the development narrative is to hold water.

International partners continue to view Ethiopia as vital to the stability of the Horn of Africa. They can sweeten the adjustment with technical help and cheap loans, but only if Addis Abeba shows a credible plan for solvency. High inflation, rapid currency depreciation, and rising default premia already hint at tightening external financing conditions.

Ultimately, the gamble at the heart of the 2025/26 budget is clear. Spending big on recurrent items will buy social calm long enough for growth to return and debts to diminish in relative terms. It may. But if growth falters or the taxman comes up short, today’s calm will prove dear. The budget authors would then face harsh choices: slash spending, raise taxes, or plead anew with creditors.

The country has a young population, its infrastructure base, though fraying, is broader than a decade ago, and its geography offers trade corridors waiting to be developed. Fiscal overreach need not become fiscal collapse. But recovery starts with numbers, not aspirations.

Until the ledger balances growth against affordability, the nearly two-trillion-Birr budget will read less like a manifesto of renewal and more like a warning label.

As the Capital Rises, the Regions Wait for a Turn

It is stating the obvious to claim Addis Abeba is placed foremost in the economy, playing the protagonist, director and banker of national growth. The data affirms this louder than any.

Though the capital houses only three percent of the population, it produces 29pc of urban GDP and nearly a quarter of national output. Glass towers line Africa Avenue (Bole Road), fountains spray at Meskel Square, and highways speed commuters across the city, while coffee growers in Kaffa still pull timber and beans over dirt tracks to markets they barely reach.

That gap is no accident. Ethiopia’s development model follows a core-periphery script. The centre collects infrastructure, talent, and power, while the regional states supply raw materials, labour, and land without proportionate investment. Unequal-exchange theory calls it a one-way flow of surplus. Even the World Bank, not known for flattery, said the “rising tide” of growth “failed to lift all boats.” From 2005 to 2016, the bottom 40pc of rural Ethiopia saw no gain in per-capita consumption.

Concentrating growth in a single city makes the economy brittle. The Ethiopian Economics Association (EEA) reports widening regional gaps, with the capital and a few favoured zones absorbing the majority of the federal government’s capital spending. Vast areas remain untapped because they lack roads, clinics and electricity. Ironically, the federated states fund progress that they do not use.

The city’s dynamism also drains talent. Students, engineers, doctors and civil servants stream into Addis Abeba, turning regional towns into feeder hubs. The private sector vacuum also siphons ambition from secondary cities. Youth from Gondar, Dire Dawa, and beyond are drawn to the city, while teachers and civil servants from regional states seek transfers here. The periphery bleeds talent, ironically reinforcing the elite narrative that Addis Abeba must centralise resources because “the rest of the country has no skilled labour.” It sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

For many migrants, the switch is bittersweet. Escaping rural poverty often means replacing it with crowded housing and informal work. A recent demolition drive on the city’s edge displaced more than 100,000 low-income residents, showing how projects that beautify boulevards can uproot the workers who built them.

Capital follows pavement. Investment flows “as smoothly as a Sheger boulevard,” while infrastructure-poor but resource-rich states, such as Kaffa Zone, struggle to attract credit. In the eight years beginning in 2013, the rural population rose by 24.4pc, outpacing a 20.8pc rise in rural-to-urban migration. Rural Ethiopia grows faster than it urbanises, deepening a paradox. Prosperity clusters in the capital even as countryside hardship widens.

Attempts to spread industry often leave control in Addis Abeba. An industrial park may sit in Hawassa or Kombolcha, but cash and command still run through companies and firms headquartered in Addis Abeba. Local governments become spectators despite constitutional promises of self-rule and fiscal decentralisation. And numbers tell the story.

Only 57pc of districts in the Somali Regional State are reached by asphalt; coverage is lower in the Afar Regional State. Yet, the capital presses ahead with light-rail extensions, new terminals and beautification drives. Urban glamour is evident in Unity Park and along the main manicured roads, while clinics in Gambella Regional State lack access to clean water, and children in Benishangul Regional State walk for hours to school.

Policy moves from the centre can feel punitive at the edges. Currency depreciation and subsidy cuts planned in Addis Abeba reach villages in regional states not as reform but as higher food prices and the risk of drought. Systems theory would call it a feedback loop. Central nodes grow stronger as peripheral ones depend on them.

Leaders in Somali Regional State may say currency moves and subsidy cuts are drafted “without even a post-it of consultation.” Officials in Afar Regional State could voice similar complaints when decisions about freight tariffs or fuel prices arrive by circular from Addis Abeba. Such top-down governance, they could argue, treats local administrations as mere extensions of the capital rather than elected governments.

Even agencies meant to devolve resources often retain their senior managers and budgets in the capital, leaving regions with little say over projects on their own soil. The imbalance shows up in hard data. The Gini Coefficient index is climbing, and resentment in the hinterlands rises with it. The growth story risks resembling “accumulation by extraction,” with airports, rails, and green parks financed by resources from neglected districts.

Addis Abeba’s brand machine nonetheless sells optimism. Billboards hail the capital as a “Renaissance City”; its skyline is used as shorthand for national progress. Drought or hardship in rural zones rarely command the same airtime as a ribbon-cutting downtown. Symbolism, like tarmac roads, is unevenly laid.

Officials appear enthusiastic about digital transformation, achieving middle-income status, and new investment corridors. Critics argue that before the country wires itself for fintech, it should pave the way for Kaffa and give regions a voice in setting the plan. The hinterlands hide billions in potential output; unlocking it would enlarge, not diminish, the capital’s fortunes.

Over-centralisation is not merely unjust; it is inefficient. Hoarding talent and capital leaves much of the country underused and weakens the base needed for lasting growth. A strategy that channels money beyond the ring road, equips regional schools and hospitals, and lets local leaders set priorities could turn millions of spectators into stakeholders.

The cranes over the capital’s skylines could serve as a pathfinder to what the whole country could become. The challenge is to ensure those towers cast light, not shadows, on the lands that sustain them.

Matters of Manners

As we walked down the road from Mexico (then Maychew Square) to AU (then OAU), the four of us munched on what we called Nechu Qolo, properly called Shimbra Dube, bought from Mebrat Hayl recreation center. Thousands queued in the Bingo hall there, eyes glued to cards as winning numbers were called. Vendors selling qolo, chewing gum, and lewz (peanuts) swarmed the gates, catering to the players.

A familiar argument erupted among us over whether to take our “wuyiyit” taxi or spend the transport money on the delicious snack. My classmate Binyam Bisrat and I always voted for the snack. My younger brothers Abiy and Tewodros Balcha preferred the taxi.

As Berhanu Tezera once sang in his folk ballad you cannot get Shimbra Dube on credit. It was a snack paid for in hard choices. Buying the Qolo meant walking, and we elders had the burden of persuasion. We usually succeeded.

Binyam would eventually turn toward Bulgaria Mazoria, and the rest of us would climb the steep road to Sar Bet and the Vatican Embassy. Along the way, we would pass the makeshift football field, where I once saw national hero Mulugeta Kebede play joyfully with neighborhood kids. That alone made the long walk worth it.

Every evening at six, we would be stopped at the gate of the nearby military warehouse. The soldiers would lower the Ethiopian flag with solemn reverence. Their stern faces taught us patriotism without uttering a word. It left a lasting impression on what it meant to love your country.

Discipline and respect were daily rituals, not abstractions. At our church school, we lined up each morning, said the Lord’s Prayer, and sang the national anthem. On the streets, every adult became a surrogate parent. They would correct, scold, or even tap you on the wrist if you strayed, followed by the ever-familiar, “Boy, where are your manners?”

Social etiquette was not taught as a theory; it was modeled everywhere. Bowing to elders, using two hands to greet, and modestly refusing food out of politeness were part of daily life. Manners were not special; they were expected. Elders would bless well-behaved youth, and affection was a given, not a gesture.

It is easy to romanticize the past, but those norms of decency were real. I did not fully grasp how much they had eroded in our society until I visited Japan last December. From the moment I landed at Narita International Airport, people bowed deeply, offered help without hesitation, and made sure visitors felt seen.

In Japan, strangers go out of their way to assist, even overcoming language barriers with apps that transcribe and translate in real time. If you lose your phone on a Tokyo train, it will likely be turned to the lost-and-found. Such behavior reveals a national moral compass. Goethe once said, “A man’s manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait.” Japan reflects its best self.

Contrast this with what I saw back home. In one spa, someone left their wet slippers on a shared stool despite ample floor space nearby. Was it thoughtlessness or spite? Either way, it denied others comfort. I have seen running taps left open in public restrooms, common spaces blocked as if privately owned, and even cars abandoned mid-road while their owners drink and dance nearby.

One night, a narrow one-lane road became a traffic nightmare because a group parked their 4WD right in the middle and refused to move. No one dared confront them. Their leisure mattered more than the needs of a dozen drivers trying to pass. It was both stunning and deeply disappointing.

Even in the men’s bathroom, basic decency is rare. I once saw a young man flush the urinal, a rare act, and thanked him. He shyly nodded, silently acknowledging our shared dismay. Others routinely urinate on seats without lifting the lid or even flushing. It is not about privacy. It is about carelessness.

Then there is the culture of public rudeness. People stare at strangers for an extended period or even until out of sight without shame and for no apparent reason. Motorists ignore right-of-way. Queue-cutting is rampant. Worst of all, public urination, especially by taxi drivers, remains common. Some even urinate on their car wheels as if marking territory. Animals do so with biological purpose. Humans, in this case, have no such excuse.

A friend once visited Singapore and casually tossed a gum wrapper on the pavement. A Porsche driver stopped, picked it up, disposed of it properly, and left without a word. His silence said more than scolding could. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” was written all over that act.

In our part of the world, where acts like vandalism or public indecency are barely frowned upon, it was a revelation. But we are slowly changing. Decency and development are not at odds. In fact, old-fashioned manners often support modernity.

That is why, in Japan, even the samurai, clad in kimono, katana in hand, sandal-footed and hair in a topknot, waits his turn to board the train, avoids staring, and keeps to his phone on silent. Civilization is not just skyscrapers and smartphones; it is, above all, a matter of manners.

Why the Clock Should Not Run Out on Share Ownership

Ownership is widely recognised as the most comprehensive right one can possess over physical property, entitling an individual to control, use, enjoy the benefits of, and ultimately dispose of the assets in question.

This complete authority comprises three core aspects: usus (the right to use the property), fructus (the right to enjoy the fruits or benefits from it), and abusus (the right to dispose of or transfer it). Together, they grant the owner a vital power to use the property as desired.

The Constitution explicitly protects the right to property as a democratic right. Under Article 40(3), the Constitution guarantees every citizen the right to own property, including the right to buy, use, and transfer ownership through legal channels such as sales or inheritance. This constitutional provision acknowledges property ownership not only as a personal entitlement but as essential for broader economic and social stability.

However, such ownership rights are subject to legal restrictions intended to safeguard public interest and protect the rights of others.

The law categorises property broadly into movable and immovable properties, the former being tangible objects that can be moved without changing their inherent characteristics. The Civil Code further differentiates between ordinary movable property, such as everyday household items, and special movable property, which includes items like corporate shares.

The transfer procedures for movable properties, including corporate shares, vary based on their classification. For ordinary movable property and bearer shares, transfer of ownership is straightforward, requiring only the physical handover of the item or the bearer document. Once delivered, ownership is presumed to be transferred unless proven otherwise.

This simplicity reflects the practical need for efficiency and flexibility in commerce.

However, transferring ownership of registered shares, such as those issued by share companies or private limited companies (PLCs), involves a more structured procedure. Unlike bearer shares, registered shares are required to undergo formal registration procedures.

Ownership of these shares is transferred only after the transaction has been recorded in the company’s shareholder register. The registration details the names and addresses of the seller and buyer, the number of shares transferred, and the precise date of the transfer.

Transferring registered shares also demands a formal resolution by the existing shareholders. Such resolutions should be notarised and documented in meeting minutes. The company’s Memorandum of Association should be amended to officially acknowledge the new shareholder, displaying the change clearly in company records.

This formal approach to share transfers is meant to serve several crucial policy objectives.

Registration enables clear identification of shareholders, which is vital in industries with restrictions on foreign or diaspora ownership. It helps authorities ensure compliance by clearly identifying legitimate shareholders.

It also supports revenue collection efforts, particularly in the enforcement of capital gains taxes. When shares are sold above their original value, proper documentation through registration helps track these financial gains, ensuring accurate taxation.

Registration safeguards the interests of third parties. Share Companies, unlike PLCs, may experience discrepancies between subscribed and paid-up capital. Shareholders remain legally responsible for any unpaid subscribed capital. Without a formal register, determining financial responsibilities becomes challenging.

Accurate records clarify these obligations, ensuring transparency and fairness.

Registered shares often serve as collateral in financial transactions. Legal recognition through registration provides banks and other creditors with assurance about the authenticity of ownership, which is crucial when establishing valid security interests.

The legal characteristics of registered shares closely resemble those of immovable property, especially concerning proof of ownership and formal transfer procedures. This similarity prompts an important legal question, though.

Should ownership claims (petitory actions) over registered shares be limited by time?

From a plaintiff’s perspective, imposing a period of limitation can encourage timely legal action, ensuring cases are addressed promptly when evidence is fresh and reliable. For defendants, limitation periods offer protection against indefinite legal uncertainty, while courts benefit from managing their caseloads efficiently by avoiding outdated claims.

However, the argument against applying limitation periods to registered shares is compelling.

Ethiopia’s law lacks an explicit limitation period for registered shares. While the Civil Code, under Article 1192, sets a 10-year limitation for ordinary movable property whose location or ownership the owner has lost track of, it makes a clear distinction in Article 1186(2), suggesting that different rules apply to special movable property.

The absence of explicit time constraints for special movable properties, such as registered shares, implies the legislature’s intention to exclude them from limitation periods.

A precedent from the Federal Supreme Court demonstrates that no limitation period applies to disputes involving immovable property. Given the comparable formal requirements for immovable property and registered shares, this precedent logically extends to registered shares, reinforcing the position against limitation periods.

Neither do legal principles dictate that limitation periods should be narrowly interpreted. Without explicit legal provisions mandating such limits, courts should refrain from inferring them. The constitutional guarantee of property rights strengthens this position, emphasising that restrictions on fundamental rights require clear and explicit legal authorisation.

Considering the nature of property rights, it reinforces the argument against limitations. Property rights are inherently enduring and are not forfeited merely due to inactivity. For instance, shareholders maintain their ownership rights irrespective of their participation in corporate affairs or dividend collection. Therefore, inactivity alone cannot extinguish ownership rights.

Finally, moral and ethical considerations further support excluding registered shares from limitation periods. Property rights, historically upheld in Ethiopian legal tradition, emphasise lawful acquisition and protection against wrongful possession.

The ancient legal text, “Fetha Negest,” articulates this principle clearly: “Do not take the wealth of anyone by violence; do not buy from him by force either openly or by trick.” Thus, allowing property ownership to lapse simply because a rightful owner has not promptly contested unauthorised possession violates fundamental ethical standards.

The comprehensive protection of ownership rights, as detailed in the constitutional and civil law, supports maintaining unlimited temporal scope for claims over registered shares. Unlike bearer shares or ordinary movable property, whose ownership claims can lapse due to lack of timely action, registered shares demand continued ownership legal protection.

BRICS Countries Plot New World Order as Global South Demands a New Playbook

Brazil’s capital, Rio de Janeiro, will host the BRICS+ Summit of presidents and heads of state between July 6 and 7, 2025. With 10 current member states and many others seeking to join, the BRICS+ brings together countries with diverse political, cultural, and civilisational outlooks, but which share a commitment to promoting South-South cooperation and pursuing a more equitable, multipolar global order.

Such efforts are needed more than ever because climate-change mitigation and adaptation cannot be separated from socioeconomic development. From a production standpoint, responding to such a complex, multifaceted challenge requires integration into higher rungs of the value chain, through strategies underpinned by strong sustainability principles. In practice, that means adopting policies to incentivise energy-efficient production methods and expanding into higher-value-added industrial outputs.

But, industrial decarbonisation depends on knowledge-intensive sectors and technologies, and investments in these areas do not arise organically from market dynamics. They require political will, strategic planning, a risk appetite for long-duration projects, and – crucially – increased productivity through the more efficient use of natural resources. Such an agenda demands empowered states. It calls for a strategic mobilisation of public institutions that can operate with relative independence from fiscal constraints.

The BRICS+ should focus on identifying complementarities across strategic sectors and activities, enabling member states to drive innovation and strengthen their international competitiveness without undermining one another. Initiatives such as the Partnership for the New Industrial Revolution (PartNIR) represent important steps in this direction.

Moving beyond dialogue is essential. To translate commitments into concrete action, policymakers should engage a broader coalition of stakeholders, including companies, civil society, trade unions, and academia, to co-develop policies, guiding principles, and common standards. Creating shared value among businesses and communities not only strengthens relationships but also enhances the sustainability and reputation of those businesses.

This, in turn, enables greater public acceptance and reduces the potential for resistance or conflict.

Specifically, new investments could require labour safeguards such as fair working conditions, the prohibition of child and forced labour, and protection of freedom of association and collective bargaining rights, all by international agreements and national legislation. Safeguards promoting gender equality and the elimination of racial discrimination would support a more inclusive and comprehensive understanding of sustainability, informed by the perspectives of the Global South.

Finance is another critical pillar. Here, the discussion should be led by members’ state-owned financial institutions, since these are best positioned to direct capital to strategic sectors and coordinate their efforts with private investors. BRICS+ countries already have dozens of public development banks and sovereign wealth funds with patient-investment (long-term) mandates, technical expertise, and demonstrable experience in supporting structural change and sustainable development initiatives. These institutions offer fertile ground for further cooperation, particularly through innovative financial instruments that could strengthen the role of the New Development Bank.

Importantly, public development banks and sovereign wealth funds should go beyond merely correcting market failures. They should serve as early-stage investors to catalyse the necessary structural transformation, including by attaching social and environmental conditionalities to their investment frameworks to influence private decisions across the value chain. For example, a company may be required to share its technology and knowledge in exchange for public financing. That is how the state can facilitate new markets and ensure that public support contributes to the development of more inclusive and sustainable economic models.

With clear short-, medium-, and long-term targets, such as the BRICS’ goal of tripling renewable energy capacity by 2030, public programs to direct resources toward specific sectors would naturally enhance coordination. Each member state will need to adopt policies that target sectors ripe for productivity and efficiency enhancements. Input-output dynamics can be shaped through a number of channels, including effective demand, derisking mechanisms, reduced unit production costs, and measures to encourage private investment, including through public procurement.

The value chains for critical minerals and energy bio-inputs (such as sustainable aviation fuel) are two such sectors. Countries like Brazil have already made advances in these domains and are in a position to share some technologies and expertise in exchange for strategic financing.

An effective BRICS+ development agenda will require a coordinated mobilisation of resources and institutional efforts, with the state playing a central role in steering the overall strategy. More than a mere investor or financier, the public sector is uniquely positioned to anchor private expectations in an increasingly uncertain world. Brazil’s BRICS+ presidency, which comes at a time of rising protectionism and global economic fragmentation, presents a historic opportunity to advance a model of cooperation that is attuned to the Global South’s economic realities and development imperatives.

Ethiopia’s Scorecard Sets a New Standard for Inclusive Finance

In a historic first for Ethiopia’s financial sector, the National Bank of Ethiopia (NBE) has unveiled the “Women’s Financial Inclusion Scorecard”, a pioneering initiative that may well become a game-changer in the quest for gender equity in finance. Designed in partnership with the World Bank’s Africa Gender Innovation Lab, the Scorecard represents more than just a measurement tool; it is a bold statement of intent and a strategic lever for reform.

Why does this matter?

For far too long, women in Ethiopia have remained underserved and underrepresented, both as clients of and leaders in financial institutions. They are 1.5 times less likely than men to access formal loans, hold fewer digital accounts, and occupy an extremely small proportion of senior management roles. The Scorecard wants to change this.

The tool, developed as part of Ethiopia’s National Financial Inclusion Strategy II (NFIS-II, 2021–2025), offers a standardised way for banks to assess their performance across three critical dimensions: women in their workforce, women’s use of financial products, and financial innovation tailored to women’s needs. This structured and data-driven approach marks a shift from aspirational rhetoric to actionable accountability.

The findings from the inaugural cycle, spanning 30 of the 32 commercial banks, reveal an industry that is beginning to move but still has a long way to go. On average, banks score 2.95 in the composite index, ranging from one (lowest) to five (highest), placing most institutions in the average “Building Momentum” category. Encouragingly, one institution, Enat Bank, founded with a mission to serve women, achieved the highest status, “Transformational,” demonstrating what is possible when inclusion is at the core of its institutional identity.

Enat Bank was the only institution to achieve a “Transformational” score, but it is not alone in demonstrating meaningful progress. Three other banks, such as Goh Betoch, Tsedey, and Wegagen, were rated “Intentional,” signalling their strong institutional commitment to women’s inclusion. A further 19 banks, including Ahadu, Amhara, Abyssinia, Bunna, Commercial Bank of Ethiopia, Cooperative Bank of Oromia, Dashen, Global Bank Ethiopia, Hibret, Hijra, Lion International, Nib International, Omo, Oromia, Shabelle, Siinqee, Siket, ZamZam, and Zemen, are “Building Momentum,” illustrating growing but not yet fully institutionalised efforts.

The remaining seven financial institutions  Abay, Addis International, Awash, Development Bank of Ethiopia, Gadaa, Rammis, and Tsehay  were assessed as either “Neutral” or in “Emerging Awareness,” indicating foundational or early-stage engagement with gender inclusion.

Government mandates are playing a vital role in nudging the sector forward. Recent regulations require at least one woman on every bank board and aim for 25pc of senior management to be female. These policies are not merely symbolic; they are catalysing fundamental institutional shifts, especially in workforce inclusion, where board diversity is visibly improving. Yet, progress is uneven. While workforce metrics show some progress, especially in boardroom representation, structural support for women, such as childcare, flexible work arrangements, and mentorship, remains scarce.

On the client side, banks are beginning to reach more women, but products often remain generic and poorly tailored to women’s unique financial realities. Innovation, particularly in digital finance, is still in its infancy.

What the Scorecard ultimately reveals is not failure, but untapped potential. Women are not a niche market. They are a growth engine. Research has consistently shown that women repay loans at higher rates, invest more in their families, and can drive broader social and economic impact when financially empowered. The Women Entrepreneurship Development Project, for instance, reported a 99.6pc loan repayment rate among women participants. Closing the gender gap in access to finance could unlock up to 3.7 billion dollars annually in additional GDP for Ethiopia.

The message to banks is clear. Investing in women is not charity, but a smart business move.

To accelerate momentum, financial institutions should move beyond compliance and into strategy. First, they need to develop financial products based on the lived experiences of women, with products that are flexible, accessible, and relevant to informal workers, smallholder farmers, and urban entrepreneurs alike. Digital innovation should also be gender-intentional. The digital divide is real, and solutions should be designed to include, not exclude, women.

Internally, the sector can create leadership pathways for women, backed by mentorship, professional development, and family-friendly policies. And critically, all of this should be underpinned by data. Many banks still lack the systems to collect and analyse gender-disaggregated data, limiting their ability to design responsive services or track their impact.

The NBE has wisely positioned the Scorecard not as an enforcement tool, but as a learning and transparency mechanism. This approach promotes a culture of progress rather than sanction, enabling institutions to benchmark against peers, identify gaps, and adopt best practices.

Looking ahead, the Scorecard offers a foundation for systemic change. But it will only succeed if banks treat it not as a box-ticking exercise, but as a strategic compass. Regulators, investors, and donors can reinforce this by aligning capital, incentives, and technical support with institutions that lead on inclusion.

Ethiopia’s financial institutions now face a choice. Either they will have to remain passive observers in the face of systemic inequality, or become active architects of an inclusive economy. The Scorecard has lit the path. It is up to the industry to walk it.

Working But Still Broke in a World That Promises More

My first job was in a cybercafé. I was in medical school in Nigeria, my home country, but the school was not in session, as our professors were on strike for higher pay. I secured a full-time position providing customer support to the dozens of people hunched over desktop computers.

My compensation would be variable, paid in cash when the business made “enough profit.” It would barely cover my living expenses, and benefits, from healthcare to sick days, were not included. I learned a lot from that job. But perhaps the most important lesson was that work does not guarantee well-being.

For decades, development policy and programming have treated work and well-being as synonymous. While the work-centric model of well-being is considered inadequate in some cases – for example, for people living with disabilities – the question of how to become financially secure is typically met with one answer: get a job. And development initiatives have often focused on facilitating this process.

There are good reasons for this. A job can be a source of dignity and purpose. It can provide structure to daily life, connections to the community, and opportunities for personal growth and skills development. Perhaps most important, a job provides an income, which is critical to economic security.

But, as I saw firsthand at that cybercafé, many jobs are too low-paying to provide any semblance of prosperity, and too precarious to provide financial stability. While global unemployment stands at a historic low of five percent, more than two billion workers worldwide remain financially insecure.

In 2021, the World Bank found that 63pc of adults in developing economies reported being “very worried” about one or more common financial expenses, and 45pc reported that they would not be able to access extra funds to cover an unexpected expense within 30 days. Things are not all that much better in high-income countries. In the United States, 59pc of people do not have enough savings to cover an unexpected 1,000 dollars emergency expense. The bottom 60pc of US households cannot afford a “minimal quality of life.”

This problem is set to worsen. From violent conflict to technological disruption, major shocks are becoming so frequent and severe that no job – even a good one – offers true security. Meanwhile, inflation is eroding purchasing power, particularly for the lowest-income households, in many parts of the world, undermining financial resilience.

Making matters worse, many countries are facing rapid population aging, where fewer working-age adults are supporting more retirees. Traditional employment-centred pension schemes are expected to break down when more than a quarter of the population is beyond working age. That threshold will be crossed globally in 2030.

Policymakers and the development community now confront an urgent choice: either watch the gulf between work and well-being continue to widen, or revise our approach so that it focuses not on maximising employment, but on delivering universal financial well-being. This means that everyone can reliably cover their living expenses and save enough to weather most shocks without resorting to high-cost borrowing.

Effective interventions would include labour policies that ensure adequate incomes and portable benefits even for gig and informal workers; automatic stabilisers, such as unemployment insurance and child allowances; and accessible, even mandatory, savings programs. Educational campaigns can enhance individuals’ ability to make informed financial decisions.

Some of these interventions are already occurring. Singapore’s Central Provident Fund promotes long-term financial security by helping citizens accumulate savings for a wide range of objectives, including retirement, home ownership, and healthcare. New Zealand’s KiwiSaver, a voluntary program focused on retirement savings, has shown that automatic enrollment dramatically increases impact. The European Union’s Child Guarantee ensures that children in need can access key services, easing financial pressure on families.

More such initiatives are in development. In the US, the proposed Portable Benefits for Independent Workers Pilot Programme Act would test models for delivering benefits to gig workers. But, if we are to build a world in which every person is secure in their current and future finances, still more should be done.

Critics might argue that decoupling well-being from work would reduce people’s incentive to participate in the labour market. However, experience has shown that when people have financial security, they make better employment decision, invest in eductiona, take entrepreneurial risks and contribute more productively to the economy. The costs of maintaining the status quo – in the form of lost productivity, higher healthcare spending, and emergency crisis responses – dwarf those of investing in universal financial well-being.

I feel fortunate that I no longer have a job that offers no benefits or sufficient income to save. But this should not be a matter of luck. Everyone deserves basic financial well-being, and perhaps more important, we have the means to deliver it.

Absence of Agile Discipline

In Ethiopia, across both public and private sectors, a quiet saboteur undermines productivity: the meeting. Too often, gatherings stretch endlessly, draining time, energy, and focus, yet producing little in return.

Having worked extensively with European companies and international teams, I have experienced a radically different rhythm. There, meetings are swift, 10 to 20 minutes long, with a clear agenda, tight execution, and outcomes that matter.

When I traveled for work or joined virtually, participants would log in early, never late. Every session had a defined purpose, and by the end, responsibilities were assigned, reports drafted, and deadlines set. Time was sacred. Momentum was everything.

In global organizations, agility is cultural. You will find daily stand-ups, weekly sprint reviews, one-page agendas, and crisp syncs. Decisions are measured in actions, not airtime. This is not just efficiency, it is respect for one another’s time and a belief in forward motion.

The Ethiopian reality paints a different picture. Professionals often spend entire days in rooms with vague or absent agendas. Discussions meander, attendance is performative, and there is often no clarity, only the promise of another meeting. These are not minor quirks but structural inefficiencies draining potential.

Meetings, ideally, should align teams, resolve bottlenecks, and propel action. However, here they frequently become ritualistic and drawn-out affairs. They are socially gratifying but professionally hollow, masking a distinct absence of progress. The illusion that longer meetings equate to greater output persists.

Hierarchy plays a role. Junior staff hesitate to challenge or redirect. Senior voices dominate. Interruptions feel taboo. The conversation loops, veers, and drifts, anchored more by formality than function. Appearances trump outcomes.

This facade eventually erodes morale. Goal-driven professionals who crave structure and results find themselves demoralized. Hours disappear into open-ended dialogue, leaving little accomplished. It is like walking without a destination.

The private sector is not immune. I have sat in hours-long marketing or operations sessions where participants trickle in late, conversations meander, and decisions are perpetually deferred. The meeting ends, but no one knows what is next.

Meanwhile, our regional peers have already pivoted. In Kenya, Rwanda, and Ghana, teams lean into mobile-first updates, quick check-ins, WhatsApp summaries, and real-time decision-making. Speed is strategic. Focused iteration, not inertia, is the norm. This shift is not anecdotal anymore. It is economic.

This culture of inefficiency spills beyond work into social life. A casual coffee chat becomes a half-day marathon. Lunch drags on endlessly. Events swell with delays and digressions, often heartfelt, but ultimately exhausting. Our relationship with time is elastic, but elasticity kills focus. People leave drained, not recharged.

Imagine something different: meetings reframed as micro-projects. One clear objective. One facilitator. Three to five participants. Twenty minutes, max. Everyone speaks. No one dominates. A shared document tracks decisions. Follow-ups are assigned. Conversations follow a rhythm: status, blockers, resolution, next steps.

Even more radically, consider a national meeting culture reset. Every institution could embrace agile rituals as an urgent necessity. This transformation could begin with one outcome-driven sync at a time, requiring intention and a cultural commitment to clarity. “Let’s meet” would become a purposeful act, not a default reflex.

Ethiopia’s strong social fabric means meetings often serve to connect and bond. Community matters, but when camaraderie overshadows goals, work suffers. Progress stalls without a robust culture of iteration, accountability, and definitive closure.

In high-performing teams globally, efficiency is sacred. Executive meetings rarely exceed 20 minutes, with agendas shared in advance and meetings starting promptly. Decisions are documented, responsibilities assigned, and timelines tracked. The format is simple: “What is new? What is blocked? What is next?”

Everyone leaves knowing precisely what to do and by when. Every hour wasted is a crucial missed opportunity, time not spent innovating, building, or resting. For a developing nation like Ethiopia, these hours accumulate rapidly, imposing a significant national cost. Without streamlined communication, we fall behind.

Effective time management is a critical national imperative. Focused attention cultivates clarity, and clear decisions catalyze momentum. Professionals feel valued, energy is conserved, and rapid responses become the norm. Organizations adapt and thrive instead of stagnating.

What if we reclaimed meetings as drivers of change, short, deliberate, and empowering? What if we protected our energy by designing gatherings that respect both time and intention?

What if we reclaimed meetings as dynamic drivers of change; short, deliberate, and empowering? What if we protected our collective energy by designing gatherings that profoundly respect both time and intention? The payoff would be tangible: enhanced morale, swifter execution, and greater impact.

Through small, steady changes, Ethiopia’s organizations can transform meetings from time sinks into strategic engines. The real game changer is not a new system or structure. It is the fundamental decision that our time matters, and the deliberate design of every meeting to prove it. If just half of the country’s work meetings saved one hour per week, we would unlock tens of thousands of invaluable hours. This is development, measured precisely in minutes.