Young Tigrayans flee forced recruitment fears as post-war tensions resurface

Nearly four years after a ceasefire halted the fighting in Tigray, young men are leaving the region in fear of being forced into the military. The war between Ethiopia's federal government and the Tigray People's Liberation Front ended in November 2022 under an African Union-brokered agreement, but the peace has proven fragile. Key disputes remain unresolved—contested territory, the return of displaced people, and the disarmament of Tigrayan forces—and as political tensions have risen between the two sides, reports of forced recruitment have begun to surface again.

Gebru, 27, was pulled from his neighborhood along with other young men and taken to a local administration office. His parents, fearing he would be sent to fight, paid 20,000 Ethiopian birr—roughly $123—to secure his release. After he was freed, they urged him to leave Tigray entirely. "My parents were afraid that if I stayed, I would be taken again," he said. "They told me to leave Tigray and save myself." He moved to Addis Ababa, the capital, abandoning his life in the region.

Human Rights Watch documented cases of forced recruitment beginning in April, with authorities taking civilians and children as young as 15 from streets, homes, workplaces, and gold-mining areas. The organization found that both former combatants and civilians were being abducted and detained. In June, a mobilization proclamation was introduced that criminalized desertion and attempts by family members to prevent loved ones from being conscripted. Laetitia Bader, the organization's Horn of Africa director, noted that the forced conscription was driving young people to flee not only because of recruitment itself but also because of the region's devastating humanitarian situation.

Shewit, 24, had been rebuilding his life after the war. He was enrolled at Mekelle University, running a language-class business he had started about a year earlier, and helping to support his younger siblings. As recruitment reports intensified, staying felt increasingly dangerous. "I had already survived one war. I didn't want to go through another," he told Al Jazeera. He left for Addis Ababa, leaving behind his family, his studies, and the business he had worked hard to establish. "I left behind my siblings, who depended on me, and a business I had sacrificed so much to build," he said.

Gebrehiwot, 28, fought in the previous war but remains in Tigray, though he has moved to Mekelle in hopes of avoiding identification. His experience on the battlefield changed how he viewed the conflict's leadership. He witnessed wounded fighters and families of dead soldiers abandoned after the fighting ended, which contradicted what he had been told about fighting for his people. When he heard that former combatants were being called back—some forcibly—his fear intensified. "I know what the battlefield looks like," he said. "I don't want to go back there and risk not coming home."

Muauz Gidey Alemu, an assistant professor of political science at the Tigray Institute of Policy Studies, framed the recruitment within a larger context. The Pretoria Agreement had stopped large-scale warfare but produced an incomplete peace settlement, leaving political and security issues unresolved. He described a dangerous cycle: political insecurity generates military mobilization; military mobilization reinforces political insecurity; and political insecurity then becomes justification for further mobilization. "The emergence of forced conscription at this particular moment should not be understood simply as a military recruitment exercise," he said. "It is better understood as a symptom of the deeper political and security crisis."

The TPLF has disputed the forced recruitment allegations, claiming that young people were joining voluntarily and describing the reports as a "mistaken narrative." A spokesman did not respond to requests for comment on the allegations. For the young men facing these choices, however, the political debate is secondary to survival. Gebru said leaving was his only way to protect himself. Shewit, now separated from his family in Addis Ababa, explained his departure simply: "I didn't leave because I wanted to. I left because I wanted to have a chance to build a future." Gebrehiwot's hopes are more modest. "I don't want anything extraordinary," he said. "I just want to live peacefully, stay with my family and never have to pick up a gun again."