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In modern Ethiopian literary studies, there is a tendency to equate Amharic literature with Ethiopian literature. This comes from the fact that Amharic literature is the most vibrant strand of Ethiopian literature in its rich literary corpus, long written tradition, production volume and variety, and so on. Moreover, I strongly believe that the contribution of non‐Amharic mother‐tongue authors played a significant role for Amharic literature to receive such a status. One does not discuss Ethiopian literature without mentioning Tsegaye Gebre‐Medhin’s drama, modern poetry without Solomon Deressa, and prose fiction without Sibhat Gebre‐Igziabhier and Be’alu Girma. Gebre‐Hiwot Baykedagn’s critically acclaimed critiques, Assefa Chabo’s beautiful essays, and Sahle‐Sillassie Birhane‐Mariam’s celebrated Amharic translations of world classics are the jewels of the literature. The distinguished literary editor Amare Mammo has also contributed significantly to Amharic literary production. These individuals’ mother tongues are from different parts of the country – Oromiffa, Tigrinya, Guraginya, Gamo, Sidama. One might wonder whether their choice of the Amharic language was a conscious decision, a mere submission, or an imposition. Of course, there are several factors that contributed to the growth and maturity of the Amharic language compared to other vernacular languages. These factors include historical, social, and political reasons, which at times show disregard for these languages. I, however, hold the opinion that it is fallacious to simply assume that these authors’ choices are a result of ethnic hegemony and linguistic dominance. On this account, I will discuss the following points.

Firstly, almost half of the best canonical works of modern Amharic literature are written by non‐Amharic mother‐tongue authors. These authors are supremely literary; they have broken the old literary convention and established a new standard of artistic and humanistic discourse. Secondly, they are the most well‐read Ethiopians of their generation. They have demonstrated their high level of intellectual, ideological, and political consciousness through their works and other engagements. This is partly due to their exposure at a young age to different civil rights movements around the world. They have proven in their works that they would not submit to any hegemony. For instance, Baykedagn’s (1886–1919) brave request for the separation of the state and the national Orthodox Church was considered an “insane” gesture for the period. We have not seen a controversial avant‐garde Ethiopian poet like Deressa, who with his verses in Lijinet (Childhood, 1970) created a philosophical and stylistic radicalism. Gebre‐Igziabhier’s novels of serious literary merit, which were written in the early 1970s, were published thirty years later due to their unacceptable “obscene” style and pervasive and subversive thematic elements for the time. Gebre‐Medhin’s politically critical plays were censored in all three regimes. As Negussay Ayele noted, “[o]f thirty‐three plays Poet Laureate Tsegaye has produced between 1951 and 1997 more than half of them (eighteen) have been banned” (Ayele 2018). As mentioned earlier, Girma’s demise was one of the greatest mysteries in the country after Oromai (1983) exposed the system’s profound emptiness.

In my opinion, the reason these authors chose to write in Amharic is not only because they wanted to take advantage of distribution, growth, and maturity of their works, but also linguistically speaking by understanding the nature of the language. Several prominent philologists, linguists, historians, and sociologists (for instance, Haile 1969; Yimam 2017; Chernetsov 1993; Tamrat 1972) have argued that Amharic is an ethnically “neutral” and overarching language that has a national character compared to other Ethiopian languages not only in its geographical distribution, but also in its formal and semantic features. The authors’ use of Amharic is a conscious political engagement that is designed to promote a single national language to serve as a tool to bind the multi‐ethnic states to one united Ethiopia.

Gebre‐Medhin, Girma, Deressa, and even Gebre‐Igziabhier, whom many consider as neutral, display their strong pan‐Ethiopian sentiment through their views of the matter on many occasions. For instance, we find Gebre‐Igziabhier informing his biographer Zenebe Wella (2006, 145) that he possesses a supra‐ethnic attitude toward language:

I want you to believe me when I tell you this. Because I have read enough history books around this subject matter. Look –

Consider this, I am ethnically Tigre. And you are Gammo. What connects us? Amharic “lingua franca”; whose favor do you want me to reference to? Blessing to [Emperor] Menelik and his army. –French expression goes “You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.” In order to build an empire, it is necessary to break the so‐called ethnic and clan eggs that consider themselves as nation states. Menelik did exactly that. Because the time permitted it.

Menelik stood on equal footing with Italy and England. He formed his own empire. In the process, he created our lingua franca. He made it possible for you and me to communicate. It’s beautiful.

Some think that the reason for the authors’ choice of the Amharic language is to expand their reach. On the contrary, I think, had their intention been to increase the number of readers, they could have published their works in English because they possess high levels of English proficiency. This could even have protected their work from unnecessary censorship. Birhane‐Mariam, for instance, published his three English novels abroad to raise his readers and escape censorship (Molvaer 1997, 372–373). Deressa published English and French poems in a collection of works by different editors.⁷ Though Gebre‐Medhin wrote some poems and published a few plays in English, his firm belief was to translate his works in English: “By so doing he plans to tell ‘the fate of Africa’ to Africans in English” (Azeze 1985, 37). However, both Deressa and Gebre‐Medhin mainly produced their works in Amharic. Girma and Gebre‐Igziabhier mostly use Amharic except for a few of their articles published in periodicals. In the 1960s, when Gebre‐Igziabhier started writing his first novel, Letum Aynegalgn, he wrote the first sixty‐five pages in English before reading Worku’s Adefris, which made him realize the “power and beauty” of the Amharic language. He even abandoned English completely and wrote all his fictional works in Amharic (Molvaer 1997, 356; Wella 2006, 238). In this regard, the prominent literary scholar and folklorist Fekade Azeze, who is known for promoting the use of Amharic language in his writings, even points out the impact Gebre‐Igziabhier’s works would have if they were published in English:

After having read Sebhat’s [sic] recreated folktales, stories, wits and wisdom, etc., one really wonders why this writer whose use of the English language is probably the most lucid, clear, simple and beautiful of Ethiopian writers in English has not yet ventured to write and publish in English, a collection of short stories or a novel.

(1985, 36)

I think the discussion above can show that the author’s choice of the Amharic language is an ideological decision. This trend has continued even in today’s Ethiopia where multilingualism is echoing everywhere and in the heyday of ethno‐nationalism. This is evident in the works of the well‐known writer Endalegeta Kebede and one of the leading contemporary Ethiopian poets, Bedilu Wakjira. Wakjira’s poem “Ager Malet Yene Lij” (Nation Means My Child) is considered as a national anthem for the Pan‐Ethiopianist generation. In general, Amharic has served as the strongest connecting bond to create inter‐ethnic communication. As Haile (2006, 322) observes, “[e]ven ardent ethnonationalists” who still anchored in the “national oppression thesis” “who have stated their resentment of Amharic as the language of the oppressors, have seen the advantages of writing in Amharic.” On the flip side, the contribution of non‐Amharic mother‐tongue writers to broaden the conceptual, cultural, and artistic spectrum of Amharic literature is inestimable.

The final point in this part of the discussion is Amharic literature in the diaspora (an “émigré literature”). Amharic literary nationalism is not exclusively a homeland enterprise. Ethiopian writers living abroad or even those who have changed their nationality are seen persistently portraying their ancestral country in their own ways. This includes the late poet Hailu Gebre‐Yohannes from Stockholm, political satirist Hama Tuma from Paris, one of the best short story writers, Jarso Kirubel, from London, and Amha Asfaw, Fikre Tolosa, Adugnaw Worku, Alemtsehay Wodajo, Tewodros Abebe, and Alemayehu Gebre‐Hiwot from North America, just to name a few. Although there are many reasons why Ethiopians leave their homeland, the most significant migrations occurred in two distinct waves. The first wave was in the 1970s following the coming to power of the Derg regime and the second wave occurred due to the 1991 ethno‐nationalist group ruling pressure.

The Ethiopian diasporic literature in Amharic is mainly produced for that community’s consumption. Of course, the literature does not meet the growing demand of the diaspora population, which is currently estimated to be over three million people (Williams and Williams 2018, 2). The community, especially those residing in North America, which constitutes one of the largest African immigrant groups, uses different mechanisms to fill this gap. They import Ethiopian works of art produced in their homeland; utilize influential radio, television shows, newspapers, blogs, and social media as their cultural platforms; and conduct seasonal literary reading workshops to connect writers with some of their diaspora audiences. In this regard, places such as the poet and artist Alemtsehay Wodajo’s entertainment venue in Washington, DC – “Tayitu Cultural Center” (named for the eponymous heroine Queen Tayitu, wife of Emperor Menelik II) – play a significant role. The center regularly presents mainly poetry readings and plays in Amharic to nourish the youth with core “Ethiopian” national values and to maintain a sense of national integrity. This type of diasporic sensibility and identification is a manifestation of what Benedict Anderson called a long‐distance nationalism.

Amongst other things, Amharic literature in the diaspora treats exile, patriotism, alienation, trauma, and nostalgia. The writers in these waves portray some commonalties in their work as they envision their homeland as a modern, prosperous, and stable nation. However, the vision is mostly painted with memories of pain and suffering. In my opinion, this kind of ambivalence emanates from the writers’ diasporic condition resulting from geographical dislocation, cultural disintegration, and emotional displacement. Most of the writers from the first wave have not returned to their homeland. Hailu Gebre‐Yohannes passed away in 2014 after living overseas for forty years. Tuma, Asfaw, Kirubel, and Worku have been living overseas for over forty years. Gebre‐Yohannes infused patriotism with frustration and indignation in his works. In one of his writings he states:

Since I’m merely physically present in a foreign land

Of course, you have to know, I haven’t been living rather dead!

Asfaw’s collection of poems, Yilalla Denebo (1995), received its title from a traditional funeral ceremony. For anyone who is new to the tradition, the songs and dancing to commemorate the life of the deceased may be mistaken for a wedding. Thus, the title itself shows a state of sudden change from happiness to sadness and life to death – to reiterate, it signifies the collapse of certainty and disillusionment. Tuma (the pen name of renowned politician Iyassu Alemayehu), who is known for his political satire covered with traumatic memories, states that Kedada Cherka (Moon‐Hole, 2000) is “dedicated to those Ethiopian children who were killed by Derg and Weyane.” Worku’s collected poems and essays, Biketnm Tej‐Negn (1990), is almost entirely filled with longing and nostalgia. Tesfa Sintayehu has given the nickname “immigrant collection” to his fictional work, called Tobbia Chewata BeIyerusalem (1989). Wodajo dedicated her collected poems, titled Yemata Injera (the Eleventh‐Hour Blessing, 2009), solely to “immigrants.” The generation that fled the country in the second wave is highly self‐critical. As they witness poverty, disease, tyranny, and corruption in their frequent visits to their country, they courageously submit themselves for cross examination. They also feel guilty by taking on the responsibility for the daily suffering of the people in the country. Abebe’s Fetena YeInba Guzowochch (Trial: Journeys of Tears, 2005), as it resonates in the title, and Gebre‐Hiwot’s Etalem (The Endeared Sister, 2006) are poetic imperatives of such self‐interrogation.

To summarize, there is one fundamental common feature that is shared between both generations, whether they are frustrated or delighted, disillusioned or visionary. Their diasporic imaginary is tremendously national. In brief, the fact that most of these authors chose to write their literary works in Amharic than in their adopted language indicates their decision to pursue a long‐distance nationalism. I think using their native language in their writing goes beyond communicating their vision. It helps them maintain their identity while fulfilling their desire to be connected to their ancestral land, conceptually and emotionally. In essence, this desire gave them the strength to express their condition artistically in their own language. It inspired Ethiopian engineers and entrepreneurs to build on their niche by developing Amharic software and establishing printing presses in their respective countries of residence. All of these contributions and efforts have made Amharic literature a global phenomenon.