*The Rent-a-Crowd Betrayal: How Tsadkan and Getachew Sold Tigrayan Blood for USD*

Today, July 18, 2026, history recorded another chapter of shame. Not the shame of defeat — Tigrayans do not know that shame. The shame of performance. The shame of theatre. The shame of old men who could not win on the battlefield, so they rented a crowd in Addis Ababa and called it "the people's voice."

Let me tell you what I saw. Let me tell you what the world should see.

In Addis Ababa — the capital of the very man who waged genocide against Tigray — a demonstration was held. Paid actors. Rented bodies. Mothers and fathers who were not Tigrayan, holding signs that blamed the TPLF and TDF for the crisis in Tigray. Chanting slogans written by Tsadkan's handlers. Waving banners designed in Getachew's safe house. Performing outrage that was not their own.

They were not Tigrayans. They had never buried a child under rubble. They had never sat on a curb in a white shamma, blessing strangers with the happiness of children they would never see again. They had never tasted the blockade. They had never watched drones fall from a sky that once belonged only to birds. They were useful idiots — paid, rented, used, and discarded.

And behind them, pulling the strings, sat the scavengers. Tsadkan Gebretensae — the ጻይቃን, the spoiler — now so old he can barely hold a pen, yet still hungry enough to hold a grudge. Getachew Reda — the Facebook philosopher who sold his soul for a chair and now writes essays defending the indefensible. And their scavenging crews — the tenkolojistoch, the conspiracy merchants who have turned Tigrayan suffering into a cash cow.

Because that is what this is. It has always been what this is.---

*The Cash Cow of Suffering*

Every battle, every struggle, every life lost — for Tsadkan and Getachew, it was never about Tigray. It was about income. It was about USD currency flowing from their riders. It was about staying relevant, staying protected, staying alive. They did not fight for the people. They fought for themselves. And when the people stopped being useful, they became a product.

The rented demonstration today proves it. They could not find Tigrayans to demonstrate against themselves. So they rented others. They paid strangers to hold signs. They commissioned foreigners to shout slogans. They manufactured outrage in a city that has never known the drone's shadow.

And then they called it "the voice of the people."

But the people of Tigray were not there. The people of Tigray were in IDP camps. The people of Tigray were on the curbs of Mekelle. The people of Tigray were in the mountains, still fighting, still crying in silence, still refusing to break. The people of Tigray were not in Addis Ababa, because the people of Tigray do not rent themselves out.---

*The Useful Idiots*

Let me speak about the rented crowd — the useful idiots who waved signs and shouted slogans for a cause they did not understand. They were paid. Maybe in cash. Maybe in promises. Maybe in the hope of a better life. But they were not Tigrayan. They had never tasted the genocide. They had never buried a child. They had never watched their village burn.

And yet, they shouted. They performed. They gave Tsadkan and Getachew the footage they needed for their propaganda.

But here is the truth, and it is a truth that will haunt the scavengers forever:

The people of Tigray survived the first wave of genocide.

They survived the second wave.

They survived the third wave.

They will survive this wave of rented lies.

You can rent a crowd, Tsadkan. You can pay strangers to shout. You can manufacture outrage in a city that has never known the blockade. But you cannot rent the soul of Tigray. You cannot buy the loyalty of a people who have buried their own and still stand. You cannot purchase the dignity of mothers who bless strangers with the happiness of children they will never see again.

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*Where Are They Kept?*

You want to know where the real people of Tigray are kept, Tsadkan and Getachew? I will tell you.

They are kept in the IDP camps, where three million souls rot without food, without medicine, without hope. They are kept on the curbs of Mekelle, where mothers in white shamma bless strangers and fathers beg for bread. They are kept in the mountains, where young fighters stand watch with rifles older than themselves. They are kept in the ruins of hospitals, the rubble of schools, the ashes of villages.

That is where the people of Tigray are kept. Not in Addis Ababa. Not in a rented demonstration. Not waving signs for a cause they do not understand.

And those people — the real people — they have survived everything you have thrown at them. They survived the drones. They survived the blockade. They survived the chemical attacks. They survived the betrayal of their own sons. And they will survive this too.

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*The Ridiculousness of the Puppets*

Let me laugh for a moment, because if I do not laugh, I will weep until my eyes dry.

Tsadkan, you are so old that your bones creak when you walk. Your beard is white. Your hands shake. You are closer to the grave than to the cradle. And yet, you still plot. You still scheme. You still rent crowds and call it "demonstration."

Getachew, you write Facebook essays as if anyone is still reading. You defend puppet presidents who have no letter. You call your former comrades "terminally stupid." You have become the very thing you once mocked — a scavenger, a clown, a useful idiot for a genocidaire.

And you think this demonstration matters? You think the world is watching and nodding? You think the people of Tigray are trembling?

No. The world is laughing at you. The people of Tigray are laughing at you. And history — the only judge that matters — is writing your names in the footnote of shame.

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*To the Scavengers and Their Rented Crowd*

You can rent a thousand crowds. You can pay a million strangers. You can make a hundred videos. But you cannot change one thing:

The people of Tigray are not for rent.

They are not a product. They are not a cash cow. They are not a demonstration you can commission from Addis Ababa. They are a civilization. A mountain range. A language. A blessing. A wound. A resistance. They are everything you sold and everything you will never have.

You, Tsadkan and Getachew, have chosen your side. You stand with the genocidaire. You stand with the puppet president. You stand with the rented crowd and the manufactured outrage.

But the people of Tigray — the real people — they stand with themselves. They stand with the mothers on the curbs. They stand with the fighters in the mountains. They stand with the seven zones that have become one tiger.

And that tiger is coming. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon. And when it comes, it will not be rented. It will be real. And it will remember every face — yours included.

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*A Final Word*

Today, July 18, 2026, you have shown the world who you truly are, Tsadkan and Getachew. Not leaders. Not statesmen. Not peacemakers. Scavengers. Clowns. Puppets who dance for a genocidaire and call it "resistance."

But the people of Tigray see you. The mothers on the curbs see you. The fighters in the mountains see you. And they are not afraid. Because they have survived worse. They have survived you.

ግዜ ፈራዲ — Time is the judge.

ኩሉ ንምርኣይ ምቅናይ — Being alive proves everything.

We are alive. We have seen. And we are laughing at your rented crowd.

Keep demonstrating, scavengers. The grave is waiting. And your audience is gone.

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July 18, 2026

From the seven zones of Tigray — to the scavengers and their rented crowd

You sold your soul for USD. We kept ours for free.