Walk into almost any government office, company boardroom or community meeting in Ethiopia and one unsettling pattern appears quickly: people talk, but very few have read the documents they are talking about. Reports, policy papers, manuals and strategies are printed in glossy form, ceremonially launched—and then quietly abandoned to shelves, drawers and WhatsApp groups. In a country with a rich oral tradition, word‑of‑mouth has become not just a cultural strength but an excuse for avoiding the hard work of reading, reflection and informed decision‑making.
This is not just a matter of taste. Ethiopia still struggles with low reading proficiency and a weak reading culture. Adult literacy hovers around half the population, and even among those who can read, sustained engagement with written material is limited. Studies of school performance show that many children reach the upper primary grades without being able to properly comprehend basic texts, which means the habit of careful reading is never formed. At the same time, the explosion of social media and short‑form content has conditioned many urban Ethiopians—especially youth—to prefer quick voice notes, videos and rumours over lengthy documents or books.
Yet the most troubling dimension of this reading deficit is found among those who most need to read: public officials and policy implementers. Research on policy formulation and implementation in Ethiopia repeatedly notes that laws, strategies and guidelines are drafted with considerable effort, but then poorly understood and weakly applied at lower levels of government. Policy documents are often not read carefully, objectives are not internalised, and frontline implementers default to “what we were told in the meeting” instead of what is written in the directive. The result is a chronic “implementation gap” in which ambitious reforms on paper fail to reach citizens in practice.
This culture of “tell me, don’t make me read” shapes how information flows through the state and society. Many officials prefer presentations and oral briefings to detailed reports. Community members rely on hearsay about new policies rather than seeking out the source. Even highly educated professionals frequently react to rumours and social‑media posts without bothering to verify them against official texts. Studies of Ethiopia’s media and information ecosystem show that a significant share of people now get their news primarily from Facebook, YouTube and messaging apps, where nuance is scarce and misinformation spreads faster than corrections.
It is important to acknowledge the historical roots of Ethiopia’s oral culture. For centuries, knowledge and values were transmitted through sermons, stories, poetry, proverbs and songs—a sophisticated “orature” that still shapes how communities process information and debate ideas. Oral communication can be powerful: it is accessible across literacy levels, it builds relationships, and it can move people emotionally in ways that dense text cannot. The problem is not that Ethiopians talk too much, but that reading has not been elevated to its proper place alongside speaking and listening as a basic civic skill.
In a modern bureaucracy and complex economy, not reading has real costs. When civil servants sign off on projects they barely understand, when parliamentarians vote for laws they have not scrutinised, and when citizens accept or reject policies based on rumours rather than documents, the entire system drifts into arbitrariness. Studies of public‑service reform in Ethiopia show that unclear, unread or selectively interpreted policies lead to inconsistent implementation, local discretion detached from national priorities and frequent complaints that “the law is not being applied as written.”
Changing this culture will not be easy, but it is possible. Organisations such as Ethiopia Reads and others working on literacy have demonstrated that focused interventions—reading rooms, school libraries, teacher training and community reading campaigns—can transform children’s reading abilities within a few years. What is missing is an equivalent commitment to “document literacy” among adults, particularly in the public sector. Every major policy or strategy should be accompanied not only by a launch event, but by mandatory reading sessions, practical manuals and simple summaries in local languages that are actually discussed and tested, not just distributed.
Leaders also need to model the behaviour they wish to see. When ministers, directors and mayors demonstrably know what is in their own regulations, when they question subordinates based on actual clauses rather than vague “instructions,” a new norm begins to form: that serious officials read. Universities and civil‑service colleges should treat careful reading and policy analysis as core competencies, not optional extras. Media outlets can support this shift by spending less time quoting speeches and more time unpacking what new laws and plans actually say, line by line, for the public.
Ethiopia’s oral culture will—and should—remain a vital part of its identity. But a country that aspires to complex industrialisation, sophisticated diplomacy and accountable governance cannot afford a leadership class that skims, delegates or ignores written texts. The habit of relying solely on word‑of‑mouth might feel efficient in the short term, yet it quietly erodes institutions, undermines reforms and leaves citizens at the mercy of whoever controls the narrative that day. Reading is not a luxury; it is the foundation of modern citizenship. Until Ethiopians—especially those in authority—treat documents with the same seriousness they give to speeches, the gap between what is promised on paper and what is delivered in reality will continue to grow.
