Tigray War Marked By Systematic Violence

Wombs as Battlefields: The Unspeakable Horrors Endured by Tigray's Women

For two agonizing years, Tseneat bore the physical evidence of her violation. The pain was a relentless internal assault. Inside her womb, the attack left more than just traumatic memories; it left a chilling collection of objects. Doctors surgically removed eight corroded screws, one set of steel nail clippers, and a handwritten note that had been sealed in plastic. The message was a declaration of brutal intent: "Sons of Eritrea, we are brave. We are committed to this and will not cease in this effort. Our goal is to make Tigrayan females infertile." These items were forced inside her unconscious body after a horrific group assault by a group of six assailants.

Tseneat’s ordeal represents one of many thousands of similar cases. Women across Tigray have suffered the most extreme forms of sexual violence, in a campaign seemingly designed to obliterate their ability to have children. A systematic pattern of abuse is evident in medical documents and X-rays examined by unaffiliated medical experts. Assailants inserted foreign items—such as gravel, plastic, screws, and nails—into the reproductive organs of their victims. The deliberate destruction of fertility with the intent to eliminate a particular ethnic population, whether entirely or partially, constitutes genocide according to international legal standards.

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A Calculated Campaign of Terror

The notes left by attackers, which were sealed in plastic before being pushed into their victims, confirm their motives. Certain letters make direct reference to acrimonious border conflicts from the 1990s and vow a vicious retribution. One such message, recovered from another woman, posed a terrifying question: "Do you recall what you did to us in the 1990s? We remember. After today, no more Tigrayans will be born." This cold, premeditated cruelty points to a strategy targeting not merely a single person, but the very future of the Tigrayan people. The violence was clearly not arbitrary; it served as a tool of war.

The assault on Tseneat occurred only a week after she delivered newborn twins. On November 25, 2020, soldiers came to her home within Zalambessa, a municipality bordering Eritrea. The war was in its early days. After demanding to know her husband’s whereabouts, they pulled her outside. She attempted to fight back. They struck her, repeatedly kicking her skull with their military footwear until her ears started to bleed. The group assault followed. At one point during the assault, she recalls, a soldier administered an injection in her leg, making her lose awareness. When she regained awareness, she overheard them debating her fate. One suggested she be killed. Another argued she was already effectively dead.

A War Shrouded in Silence

The Tigray conflict is frequently described as a forgotten war. While global powers may have looked away, the people who suffered through its savagery are unable to forget. The conflict started in November 2020 after Ethiopia's prime minister, Abiy Ahmed, dispatched the military to remove the area's governing party. That party, the Tigray People's Liberation Front or TPLF, was accused by Abiy of being a risk to the nation's security. Troops from Ethiopia, supported by their Eritrean allies at the time and armed groups from the adjacent Amhara region, moved into Tigray. A near-total blockade followed. Ethiopia restricted humanitarian aid, barred journalists, and pushed the area toward a catastrophic hunger crisis that cost the lives of hundreds of thousands.

Despite a near-complete media and communications shutdown, stories of shocking human rights violations started to emerge. These accounts detailed civilian massacres and the widespread sexual assault of women from Tigray by forces aligned with the government. When a peace agreement was reached in November 2022, researchers' estimates suggested that between 300,000 and 800,000 non-combatants had lost their lives, from either direct attacks or starvation. Although all parties perpetrated abuses, the evidence indicates that the vast majority were committed by troops from Ethiopia and Eritrea. Disturbingly, surveys revealed that roughly 10% of Tigrayan women had endured acts of sexual assault, and of that group, around 70 percent were victims of gang rape.

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The Horrors Witnessed in Hospitals

Dr. Abraha Gebreegziabher led the pediatrics department at Ayder Hospital in Mekelle, Tigray's largest medical facility, at the conflict's start. He soon began collaborating with his colleagues in obstetrics and gynaecology as women and young people who were survivors of rape by Ethiopian and Eritrean soldiers started to come in. The first patients were a group of six young women, all of them under the age of 18. This was a deeply distressing experience for the medical staff. When they encountered their first patient with foreign objects inserted into her womb, the hospital staff was stunned. This represented a deeply distressing and previously unseen type of violence. The emotional weight of seeing just one such instance was overwhelming.

Nevertheless, more women arrived seeking help. Dr. Abraha, who currently serves as the hospital’s chief clinical director, remembers personally treating multiple such patients. The actual figure is certainly much greater. It is likely that many women did not survive the assaults themselves or the period that followed. He explains that objects with sharp points can shift inside the body, puncturing large blood vessels and leading to deadly internal bleeding. For those who lived, the shame associated with rape is a significant barrier to getting medical attention. Many were told they would be murdered if they sought assistance. Numerous cases were never documented because patient records were deliberately eliminated or were not created at facilities where the staff feared reprisal for providing aid to rape victims.

A Cache of Incontestable Evidence

A small clinic in the city of Mekelle, run by several nuns, served as an improbable vault of proof. Inside one secured cabinet, they preserved a chilling cache: medical records, X-rays, and the actual items recovered from the women who had been assaulted. Sister Mulu, the clinic’s director, says they recorded and preserved a wide variety of objects—plastics, metallic items, and anything else the assailants could find—that were pushed inside the victims' reproductive organs. She presents X-ray films, each revealing another horror. One image shows an abdomen pierced by a pointed, curved piece of metal and a heavy bolt. The goal, she says, was obvious: to make the women bear the weight of these items and extend their pain.

This small, four-room clinic saw between 7,000 and 8,000 individuals who had survived sexual assault. The brutality was shocking. Women arrived who were covered in plastic that was then ignited, shot in their genital area, slashed with scissors, or disfigured by acid. The psychological burden on the staff has been immense. Sister Mulu acknowledges being profoundly traumatized, haunted by the thousands of accounts she has listened to. Sleep provides little relief, as the nights bring back the visions and sounds of the women's suffering. She carries a deep mental scar and yearns for justice, not just on behalf of Tigray's women, but for the entire world to acknowledge what happened.

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The Elusive Prospect of Justice

For Tseneat and countless others, receiving justice feels like a remote possibility. Numerous survivors, including Tseneat, name their assailants as Eritrean soldiers who were acting in coordination with soldiers from Ethiopia. However, Eritrea was not a signatory to the peace accord negotiated by Ethiopian officials and Tigrayan leadership. This means Eritrea will not be involved in the "transitional justice" framework being promoted by the leadership in Ethiopia. Isaias Afwerki, the president of Eritrea, has rejected these claims of widespread rape and human rights abuses as "fantasy." His administration has declined to cooperate with international inquiries, and the United Nations believes there is little chance of holding perpetrators accountable within the country's own court system.

Physicians for Human Rights (PHR), an organization, has voiced significant alarm concerning the process for transitional justice, pointing to the huge accountability void left by Eritrea's absence. Meanwhile, Abiy Ahmed, Ethiopia's prime minister, is facing allegations of war crimes committed by his own military, but he has not faced any sanctions or legal charges. While a small number of soldiers faced charges for their involvement in mass killings or for rape, Ethiopia lobbied successfully to have a UN-supported investigation defunded. The probe was terminated in 2023, and its mandate was not extended. Advisors for a joint UN-Ethiopian human rights inquiry called the policy for transitional justice a "farce," intended to let the atrocities committed in Tigray be forgotten.

A Systematic Weapon of War

The scale and character of the sexual violence are strong indicators that it was not a string of isolated incidents but a deliberate military strategy sanctioned by the state. Many survivors describe being held captive and subjected to repeated rape at military installations operated by soldiers from both Ethiopia and Eritrea. These testimonies suggest a methodical campaign of terror created to humiliate, dehumanize, and ultimately destroy the Tigrayan population. On a desolate summit near Adwa city, the walls made of grey cinder blocks of a former military base are a silent monument to this violence. In this place, women like Alana were detained and continuously assaulted by occupying forces.

A 32-year-old woman named Alana recalls being forced into a cell alongside Maeza, another young woman. Huddled in fear, they shared the names and phone numbers of their relatives. They made a pact: whoever managed to get out would find assistance for the one left behind. Alana saw Maeza get raped by a group of 14 soldiers before she died. The soldiers then compelled Alana to dig a burial spot for her friend. Her release was secured only after her relatives paid a significant amount of money. When she went back later to locate Maeza's body, the ground was covered with so many corpses she couldn't find it.