The Changing Heart of Addis Ababa

 

Under the guise of modernization, Addis Ababa's urban fabric is being unstitched, displacing the poor to the fringes, and reshaping the city into a playground for the wealthy.

As dawn breaks over Piassa, the historic heart of Addis Ababa pulses with the sound of a city undergoing profound change. The first rays of the sun illuminate streets that have borne witness to decades of history, now echoing with the sounds of transition. This is not just a physical transformation but a vivid display of an evolving urban landscape, where the old and the new clash in the early morning light.

In the midst of this transformation stands the historic neighborhood of Piassa, once a bustling hub of commerce and community life. Today, it resonates with the noise of construction and destruction, a stark contrast to its former vibrancy. Workmen move methodically, uprooting aging infrastructure and dismantling buildings piece by piece, as if rewinding history itself. Not only are old shops and homes being torn down, but many are violently smashed, leaving behind piles of debris where life and livelihood once flourished. The methodical demolition sends a clear message of irrevocable change, erasing the physical markers of a shared past.

This unprecedented wave of demolitions marks a pivotal moment in the history of Addis Ababa, one that is watched by its residents with both admiration for the progress and fear of the unknown. These sweeping changes reflect the uncompromising vision of Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, who believes that transforming the city is essential for attracting foreign investment akin to what has reshaped Dubai. His policy proposals, including lifting restrictions on foreign property ownership, signal a dramatic shift towards an internationalized economic model. This vision of modernization is pursued with zeal, as the government seeks to reforge Addis Ababa into a city capable of competing on the global stage, yet at a profound cost to its historical identity and its people.

The government’s vision for the city extends beyond mere economic growth. It encompasses beautifying road corridors, developing cycle lanes, and overhauling the city’s aesthetic to mirror global metropolises. However, these physical transformations also signify a deeper, more unsettling upheaval—an ideological dismantling of what Addis Ababa has represented for its inhabitants.

Founded in 1886 by the gaze of an emperor’s wife, Addis Ababa, meaning "new flower," bloomed into a cosmopolitan hub by the early 20th century. Piassa emerged as a melting pot, drawing Greeks, Armenians, Italians, and a host of other nationalities. It became a district where art and commerce thrived side by side, where people from diverse backgrounds mingled, and where Ethiopians experimented with urban life. The streets of Piassa, described by Marco Di Nunzio of the University of Birmingham, retained a spirit of "commerce and conviviality," even as some structures began to crumble.

In stark contrast, Abiy Ahmed envisions a city tailored to tourism and technology. His plans include constructing grand parks, gleaming museums, and a multibillion-dollar complex featuring a national palace and a grand hotel. The recent opening of the Adwa Victory Memorial in Piassa symbolizes this new direction. Here, visitors encounter not the familiar, bustling streets of old, but rather, cavernous exhibition rooms displaying the country's history amid the backdrop of ongoing demolitions.

This redevelopment has displaced as many as 11,000 Piassa residents. Stories of eviction abound, with some residents given mere weeks to vacate their homes, only to be relocated to unfinished condominiums on the city's outskirts, where living costs have tripled. The police, enforcing a strict no-criticism policy regarding the project, further exacerbate the atmosphere of fear and suppression.

While some residents acknowledge the necessity of urban renewal, noting that such transformations are common in cities worldwide, the specific manner in which it is being conducted in Addis Ababa strips many of their homes and livelihoods, disproportionately affecting those who are not wealthy. The city's once inclusive urban fabric, where the rich and poor lived in closer proximity than in many other African cities, is being relentlessly unstitched.

The bottom line is clear: the future of Addis Ababa hangs in a delicate balance. The thud of sledgehammers not only marks the physical deconstruction of Piassa but also signals a profound shift in the essence of the city. The dream of a modernized, economically thriving Addis Ababa is being pursued with vigor, but at what cost to its soul and its people? The transformation, while bold and visually striking, raises critical questions about heritage, community, and the true beneficiaries of urban modernization.