Gold, among the most prized elements known to humanity, earns its purity only through fire. The impurities must be burned away before it becomes 24-karat. So it is with people—and with nations. A life untested, like unrefined metal, earns no lasting distinction.
On March 1, 1896, under the blazing midday sun, Ethiopia proved its mettle at the Battle of Adwa. That day, Ethiopia’s army defeated invading Italian forces in a defining moment not only for the nation, but for the continent. It shattered the myth of European invincibility and inspired countless liberation movements across Africa. Ethiopia, then and now, stood apart: the only African country to successfully resist colonization at the height of European imperialism.
But Italy’s ambitions did not end at Adwa. In 1935, Mussolini launched the Second Italo-Ethiopian War, unleashing his fascist war machine in a brutal attempt to rewrite the past. Despite peace treaties, including one signed on August 2, 1928—meant to last twenty years—Italy discarded diplomacy in favor of conquest. But once again, Ethiopia proved unyielding. Mussolini’s bombs and bullets could not erase the resolve of a people who had already tasted victory.
One man, among many, stood as a towering symbol of that defiance: His Grace Abune Petros, the Archbishop of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. His soul was ironclad, his loyalty unshaken. On August 4, 1936, he was executed by Italian forces in the heart of Addis Ababa for refusing to betray his people.
In the days leading up to his martyrdom, Addis was encircled by Italian troops. The entrance of Ethiopian patriots into the city heightened tensions, and General Rodolfo Graziani responded with merciless force. Anyone suspected of resistance was summarily executed. But Graziani reserved special attention for Abune Petros—a man he recognized as a symbol of unbreakable moral authority.
Brought to Piazza Arada, near where his statue now stands, Abune Petros was offered a choice: publicly endorse the Italian occupation or face execution. His response was unwavering. With chains on his hands but freedom in his soul, he declared:
“I order you, my fellow Ethiopians, never to submit to the Fascist Italians. I even order the very land itself never to accept their rule.”
He spoke, too, against the lies used to justify repression. Italian forces, aided by Ethiopian collaborators known as banda, had smeared patriots as rebels. With his final words, Abune Petros set the record straight—his voice cutting through the fog of propaganda like a sword.
The Italians tried to kill him with eight bullets. When that failed, three more were fired into his head. Eleven shots in all to silence a man whose convictions had never wavered. He died, but his defiance endured.
This article cannot do justice to the full gravity of that moment. But it can serve as a gesture of reverence. In the minutes before his death, bound in chains, Abune Petros delivered a message that would echo through generations—a legacy not of vengeance, but of moral clarity and unyielding love for faith, country, and people.
His chains became his crown. And through his martyrdom, he handed down to Ethiopians not just a memory, but a mandate: to rise with dignity, to resist tyranny, and to live with purpose.
Nearly nine decades have passed since Ethiopia defeated fascist Italy a second time, reaffirming its place in history as a beacon of resistance. The Italian-built structures that remain in Addis Ababa and other cities are reminders of that chapter. But architecture cannot speak for the values of those times—unity, determination, and sacrifice.
What, then, have we done with that inheritance?
Today, Ethiopia is often shackled not by foreign powers, but by internal divisions—suspicion, hostility, insecurity. Where once we stood united against imperial armies, now we stand divided by politics, identity, and fear.
Yet the story of Abune Petros reminds us that even chains can lead to crowns—if they bind us to principle rather than to despair. Let the challenges we face today upset us enough to awaken our conscience.
Contributed by Selamawit Kidane
