I recently attended a presentation given by a veteran Ethiopian ambassador with extensive experience in the Middle East. His account of how Ethiopians are often perceived abroad left me not just disheartened, but profoundly disturbed. In one host country, he recalled being met with the reductive stereotype that most Ethiopians are domestic workers. “Even my children were not exempt,” he said. “I witnessed it with my own eyes.”
Regrettably, I wasn’t entirely shocked. I, too, have encountered similar reactions. Expatriates—especially those from the developed world—often recount the disbelief they face from friends and family when they choose to work in Ethiopia, even temporarily. “Are you serious? What will you eat? Is it even safe?” These questions are all too common. Ethiopians living abroad report countless instances of this kind of dismissal or patronization.
These misperceptions aren’t limited to the Global North. A fellow African once remarked to me, “Ah, Ethiopia—the country whose migrants perish en masse trying to reach Europe.” The comment still echoes in my mind, years later.
For too long, I naively hoped Ethiopia could escape the stigma of its past—particularly the 1984/85 famine that seared the country into global consciousness as a place of despair. But here we are, four decades later, grappling with crises far more complex and devastating. Hunger has evolved into widespread malnutrition. Internal displacement, ethnic conflict, and insecurity have compounded our challenges.
According to a recent United Nations report, 10.2 million Ethiopians—including over three million internally displaced persons—are severely food insecure. 3.6 million are at imminent risk of losing food assistance, while some 650,000 women and children may lose access to life-saving malnutrition treatment. Alarmingly, 55 percent of children under five are malnourished.
Experts say it takes decades—often over a century—to build a nation’s reputation, yet only weeks to destroy it. I remember a moment from my time at the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit (GIZ), the German development agency. When GTZ was merged with two lesser-known entities and rebranded as GIZ, management hesitated. GTZ, they argued, had become synonymous with quality—like Mercedes-Benz or BMW. A brand, after all, is a promise built over time.
The same principle applies to national image. “Country of origin” effects are real. According to scholars like Barrister and Saunders, a country’s reputation is shaped not just by its products but by its history, politics, cultural identity, and technological standing. When Germany was forced to label its exports “Made in Germany” after World War I, the intention was to warn buyers. Ironically, the label became synonymous with quality and engineering excellence.
Ethiopia has known similar moments of prestige. Take Ethiopian Airlines, for instance. When Flight ET302 tragically crashed in March 2019, CNN described the carrier as operating from a “reputable, major hub with a strong safety record.” Aviation analyst Richard Quest went further: “When you’re unsure about another airline,” he said, “you choose Ethiopian.”
That level of trust isn’t built overnight. It is earned through relentless commitment to excellence over years. A sterling reputation doesn’t just boost market share—it offers resilience in times of crisis. This applies not only to companies, but also to individuals.
I’ve felt firsthand how reputation can open—or slam shut—every door. I’ve faced repeated setbacks simply for lacking the “minimum threshold” of perceived credibility.
This is why the damage to Ethiopia’s image should concern us all. It affects not just diplomats and officials tasked with representing us on the world stage, but every Ethiopian abroad and at home. The ambassador’s painful experience wasn’t his alone—it was a symptom of a national reputation in free fall.
There was a time when Ethiopia stood tall on the world stage. In October 1963, Emperor Haile Selassie was welcomed to the United States with full honors. President John F. Kennedy declared: “We welcome a man whose place in history is already assured… There is no guest who gives us greater pride and satisfaction than your presence here today.”
That was then. Today, Ethiopia faces a reputational deadlock—overshadowed by instability, mistrust, conflict, and displacement. The world no longer sees us through the lens of our historical grandeur, but through the prism of our present turmoil.
We must recognize that national reputation is a shared asset. Either we rise together or fall together. Our historical achievements mean little if they do not translate into present credibility and future potential. Restoring Ethiopia’s image—of dignity, reliability, and hope—is not a cosmetic exercise. It is an existential imperative.
The time to begin is now.
Contributed by Selamawit Kidane
