Public Denunciation
June 19, 1926. Geneva, League of Nations conference hall. The Palais des Nations hadn't been completed yet. This venue was a temporary building that had undergone renovations, and I'd heard the design competition for the main hall was already over.
It was a space with high ceilings, large windows, and the heavy pressure of Europe's characteristic stone architecture. The air was different from Paris. June in this city at the foot of the Alps was cool and crisp. It resembled Addis Ababa's highland air in some ways, yet felt distinct. I drew a deep breath of it into my lungs as I walked toward the entrance of the conference hall.
Ah, real evander. I kept it to myself. My chief maid Ayenash had stayed up all night the day before departure picking out this outfit that now draped my shoulders. The formal diplomatic version of Ethiopian imperial regalia. The golden emblem of the Solomonic dynasty was intricately embroidered on the shoulders and chest. Emperors were supposed to project maximum intimidation on the international stage. I understood the logic, but I still hadn't gotten used to how heavy it was. The conference hall was narrower than Versailles, too, which made the gazes feel even more concentrated.
Geneva was a smaller city than Paris, and the League of Nations Council was still finding its footing. The Ethiopian delegation's seats were, as expected, on the periphery. A slight improvement over Versailles in 1919, but nothing fundamentally changed. As I sat down, I scanned the room once.
The Korean Empire delegation was to my left. It wasn't Marshal Park Young-ho this time. It was Minister Yo Un-hyung. We'd coordinated routes before leaving Addis Ababa, and he'd arrived in Geneva first to prepare. The French seat held the consul who had replaced Brice. Then Britain, Italy. Giuseppe Colli di Felizzano wasn't there today. The head of the Italian side was another diplomat whose name Heruy had reported yesterday: Massimo Rocarelli. Known for a subtler, more pressing style.
I hope it ends smoothly today, but it won't. I set aside the thought and placed the document envelope on the table.
The morning session opened with declarations, and I slowly scanned the room again. Representatives from 32 countries were seated, eight years after the war's end. As for whether the League had accomplished anything in those eight years, I already knew the conclusion from history books in my past life.
The League of Nations was an organization where the great powers watched each other. Bluntly put, that's what it was—and even that lacked real power. But their principles carried actual weight. Gaining or losing legitimacy on the international stage determined how much diplomatic space you had before war broke out. That was exactly why Ethiopia was here now.
"We begin discussions on the first agenda item today: the protest letter submitted by the Ethiopian Empire."
Gazes in the room turned toward us en masse. I rose to meet them head-on.
This wasn't the first time Ethiopia had gotten a chance to speak at the League Council since joining in 1923. I'd appeared several times before, each occasion a chance to gauge how much weight the name "Ethiopia" carried in this space. But today wasn't about Ethiopia coming to complain of victimhood.
"Empress of the Ethiopian Empire, Zenebework Mikael, will begin her address."
Heruy's voice came through the interpreter channel, translated simultaneously into English and French. I faced forward without opening the document envelope. The room fell quiet. The quality of that silence was intriguing. It wasn't the polite hush awaiting a speech, nor the buzz of anticipation. It was the silence of observation.
I could guess the preconceptions these diplomats held about Ethiopia's empress: an ancient African Christian kingdom. The nation that beat Italy at Adwa. Ruled by a woman. And probably expected to make emotional appeals or sit meekly on this European diplomatic stage. I knew the first sentence would decide how they viewed Ethiopia here.
"Ethiopia has not come here today to plead as a victim."
I spoke in French, low and clear. The room grew even quieter for a moment. I continued.
"Ethiopia trusts the founding principles of this organization. Article 10 of the League Covenant: The territorial integrity and existing political independence of all Members shall be respected and preserved against external aggression... And Article 16: Should any Member... disregard its covenants, the Council shall recommend to the several Members... the measures to be taken."
I quietly scanned the room before going on.
"What Ethiopia requests today is for the Covenant to function exactly as written. No special exceptions are needed. It is simply a demand for the implementation of already-signed treaties."
As the translation proceeded, I sensed a subtle shift in the room. Papers rustled from some delegations. Appealing to emotion on this stage backfires. The moment Ethiopia looks like a 'poor victim,' it becomes proof of weakness—so I used logic instead. Not moral claims, but Covenant articles. Not feelings, but procedure. Heruy and I had polished the logical structure over two sleepless nights. Tafari had brought three revised drafts, and I'd reworked half of each. And there was one piece of info Minister Yo had passed through unofficial channels yesterday—it would be my closing card today.
I went on.
"In December 1925, Britain and Italy concluded an agreement via exchange of letters. Britain supports Italy's demand to Ethiopia for permission to build a railway crossing western Ethiopia. Italy supports Britain's demand to Ethiopia for water resource development rights."
There, I opened the document envelope.
"This document summarizes the contents of that agreement. It is the official copy held by the Ethiopian government."
I had it passed to the chair. The room stirred. From the British seats, someone leaned over to whisper to their neighbor; on the Italian side, Rocarelli's face had hardened.
"Article 11 of the League Covenant states that every circumstance that threatens to disturb international peace... is a matter of concern to the League. For two great powers to privately agree to demand from a third country construction rights across its territory and resource development rights—without that country's consent—is interference in Ethiopia's political independence. And it directly threatens the very articles for which this organization exists."
I set the envelope down and faced the room again.
"Ethiopia formally submits this to the Council of this organization. Ethiopia seeks only one thing: the application of the founding treaty as it was made. The territorial integrity and political independence of member states must apply regardless of continent."
As the translation ended, a brief silence settled. The pause of hearing something unexpected. That was one ingredient in the hush. And what broke it came from an unforeseen direction.
"Mr. President, the French delegation requests to speak."
Jacques Legre. Not the replacement consul after Brice. This was a Foreign Ministry representative dispatched directly from Paris. I'd first heard his name from Heruy last night, along with what his presence here signified. A signal that France was giving some weight to Ethiopia's issue.
"Permission granted."
Legre stood. His statement was concise.
"France, as a founding member of the League of Nations, supports the consistent application of the Covenant. The Ethiopian Empire has achieved significant social development in recent years: commercial trade via the Djibouti-Addis Ababa railway, growth in domestic industry, establishment of educational institutions. Ethiopia fully meets the criteria for sovereignty as envisioned by this organization. And external interference in a sovereign state's internal affairs violates its principles."
Short, but to the point. France had officially vouched on this stage that 'Ethiopia is not a backward nation in need of protection.' As his words ended, the Korean Empire side raised for the floor. I caught Minister Yo rising at the edge of my vision. I'd confirmed last night what he would say today. I knew the content, but hearing it here carried a different weight.
"The Korean Empire supports the request of the Ethiopian Empire."
Minister Yo spoke clearly. In French, with precise pronunciation and steady pace. The voice of a seasoned diplomat.
"Over the past decade, the Ethiopian Empire has built an independent industrial base. From arms production and steelmaking to textiles and medical education, Ethiopia has practiced every form of self-reliance a sovereign nation can. The Korean Empire has witnessed this directly through diplomatic relations with Ethiopia."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Whether a sovereign state from a non-European region receives equal protection as a member of this organization is a test of whether the League upholds its declared principles. The Korean Empire expects those principles to be upheld."
The room fell quiet again. The time for those present to process the weight of one of the Big Five—the Korean Empire—publicly backing Ethiopia's letter. I quietly accepted the silence, folding my hands neatly on the table.
Inside, I thought, very briefly: It's done.